Origins
by SovereignGFC
Summary: The Reapers have been defeated. The galaxies are slowly rebuilding with help from the outsiders. All is not well, however, as mysterious forces are at work in reaction to developments during the Reaper War. Old foes return, new adversaries appear, and galactic society will be shaken to its very core. Rated M for intense sci-fi violence, language, & mild sexual content.
1. Prologue

A/N: Given "Fractured" is hardly my best work (it was my first finished project), I'm providing this summary of it so that anyone wanting to read "Origins" can hopefully jump right in.

**Prologue – "Fractured" in Five Minutes or Less**

The galaxy chooses ignorance over action. Samantha Shepard's warnings have gone un-heeded.

In a remote galaxy, scout ships stumble upon an object familiar to those facing the Reaper threat: a dormant mass relay. Activating it, a group of powerful warships including a Star Dreadnaught 35km in length arrives at the Citadel and agree to remain and fight the Reapers, who have not yet shown up.

Seeing an opportunity to pursue human dominance over the rest of the galaxy (as the newcomers are human too), Cerberus tries to duplicate the technologies of the outsiders from turbolasers to hyperdrives. Heat management issues not faced by this Trans-Galactic Republic caused such efforts to fail, though pilfered developments from batarian starships lend Cerberus additional offensive punch.

Hyperion's misadventures with expensive journeys did not end with Jack and Pandora. Seeking further riches in a world far from their current, poverty-stricken star cluster, Hyperion's board attempts to launch a customized starship to another galaxy. Instead of carrying the iron rule of a corporation, however, it ends up transporting the true heroes of Pandora (who hijacked the ship). A follow-up fleet, brought together under the auspices of ending "Vault Hunter terrorism," sees Jakobs, Vladof, and Hyperion cooperate for the first time in decades.

When the Reapers finally arrive, a stout defense by the Trans-Galactic Republic sends most of them packing. Though there are casualties, they are far fewer than what would have happened without outside intervention. Dropping out of faster-than-light in what is hoped to be a new profit center, the JVLN alliance runs afoul of the batarian Hegemony, whose xenophobic, paranoid rantings have earned it a permanent spot on the Citadel Council's "ignore" list. Cerberus, ever ready to exploit events to its own advantage, solidifies a pact with these travelers, forming "Sapiens Shield."

Newcomers welcomed by Shepard come with a warning: the Reapers may have given up on her home galaxy, but now they threaten a neighboring cluster. Initial attempts to advance Citadel space technology to Trans-Galactic Republic levels lead to a new class of starship designed to kill Reapers: _Aspirations Toward Infinity_, which will deploy to protect that neighbor under the guidance of a "Local Cluster Council" and "Federated Cluster Union." However, a small wartime department called the United Defense Command schemes to expand its power under the pretext of managing the conflict. Severely depressed by the death of Liara T'Soni, Samantha Shepard slides into an easy fit within this warmongering, junta-like power structure. Corrupted along with Lilith Cashlin, the two (and others) depart with the goal of destroying Reapers the next galaxy over. Instead, they end up imprisoning former friends in a fortress on Pandora's surface, one of whom talks Lilith out of her madness.

Ultimately, Samantha Shepard becomes incapacitated as her flagship is stolen and used in a last-ditch effort to put an end to Reapers everywhere. Steering the massive craft into a temple made of Eridum at Pandora's north pole, Lilith's death assures the galaxies a future…


	2. What Was Lost

**Chapter 1 – What Was Lost**

When one side of a conflict becomes incapable of offering meaningful resistance while the other rampages on, it is less appropriate to call it a fight; words like "slaughter" come to mind instead. In the case of Samantha Shepard's Pandora base, the transition from battle to rout happened relatively quickly. Biotics led by Jack and Brick overran defenses intended to handle wildlife or the occasional conventional soldier as opposed to highly-empowered individuals such as those trained by the KOMBT school. Many of Shepard's forcibly-impressed soldiers gave up and fled when faced with overwhelming odds—being career criminals, undesirables, and generally less-than-upstanding individuals instead of those who would have followed their Commander into Hell itself.

In a few hours, the base had been utterly trashed.

Turrets which once pointed their watchful barrels skyward drooped like wilted flowers, overheated from constant fire. Once-shiny armor plate now bore massive score marks from kinetic and energy impacts. Within the structure's confines, virtually everything taller than a meter had been obliterated to deny anyone shelter from mass-accelerator and blaster rounds crisscrossing the battlefield. One such round impacted a water fountain—removing the gum which had been stuck to its tray, and the tray. Really, the whole top of the water fountain. Still, it no longer had gum in it! If Commander Shepard has been conscious of it, she would have approved. That said, the loss of an opportunity to drop someone in the skag den might have brought about another tantrum…

The massive white flash later dubbed the Cosmic Cleansing Sphere passed over the wrecked base and its combatants without apparently doing much of anything, though as was later noted all Reaper technology under study simply disappeared.

Brick had to reign in the "Psychotic Biotics" as it became clear the battle, if it could be called that, was mostly over. A few of Shepard's mercenaries were foolish enough to keep fighting, though they went down fast. Between the Iron Abs and Jack's squad, only minor injuries were reported as the mop-up finished.

"Spread out, and find the Commander!" he barked.

Brick realized he could simply return to where he'd hammered the crazy woman into the ground, but somehow, he didn't want to see the galaxy's former paragon like that again. He hadn't heard from Jack either—she'd gone up to _Infinity_ to help Maya, Lilith, and others take the ship for some undetermined purpose. He waited, and hoped.

"Search party three to Brick! Shepard is alive."

[…]

Despite the sudden disappearance of the Reaper threat, Xytler's fleet remained as disorganized and chaotic as ever. The bounties and trinkets handed out by command to encourage Reaper-killing significantly reduced cohesion among a population already hungry for individual glory.

Xytler also realized without the Reaper/Harvester threat, his grip on power would be severely weakened. What was left of the Citadel Council had tolerated his rise due to an existential threat—now that threat was gone. As to the why, no one had any idea. Though, in what seemed to be an interesting coincidence, several of his gunnery chiefs (who had been appointed when Republic captains refused to carry out the controversial orders), personally overseen the controversial Base Delta Zeroes against mostly-civilian worlds sympathetic to Sapiens' Shield dropped dead of heart attacks soon after the "big white flash."

Struggling to organize his fleet without any overriding purpose, Xytler resorted to yelling over the comm. Each dress-down was tailored to exploit the weaknesses of the individual captain, but it boiled down to this. What is acceptable in wartime can constitute war crimes in peacetime. Even winning the war may not be enough to keep us out of the courtroom. Only I can protect you, so you better make sure I am in a favorable mood when your name comes up.

Whether the "following orders" defense would actually work remained another matter, but Xytler didn't emphasize that line of thought to his subordinates. Legal theory surrounding the theory of "command responsibility" went all over the map. Much ink had been spilled on this subject over the centuries of warfare that occurred within and between species.

Humans had seen the argument both successfully and unsuccessfully invoked. Among the turians, such a defense often incurred greater punishment, for permitting or encouraging subordinates to break laws violated the basic covenant between leader and led.

With the Reapers gone, many Republic captains were reasserting their authority vs. the bloodthirsty turian. The coincidental deaths of Xytler's representatives aboard their ships only encouraged them. Anna Erickson held back more than once—but this time she pulled no punches.

"First, he corrupted Samantha Shepard and Lilith Cashlin. Then, when Systems Alliance, Hierarchy, Union, and asari Republic soldiers refused to debase themselves doing his dirty work, he replaced them with the scum of the galaxy."

Said scum had been locked in several cargo bays aboard _Endless Calm_, some forcibly. Under ordinary circumstances, Republic officers would not have cooperated with an individual who massacred civilians, disregarded established protocols, and ran his fleet like a dictatorship. However, the principle of least-harm took precedence at this point. Republic forces were limited, had still needed to defend against an invader that would slaughter the entire galaxy they'd found themselves in when the monster took command, and faced with hybrid super-ships containing many Republic-driven technological advances that could give Star Destroyers serious competition. Any attempt to stop the carnage would have led to the deaths of many Republic personnel on top of those already marked for slaughter by the insane admiral. TGR captains bided their time by distancing themselves from Xytler and his acts, forcing him to replace them with his own men. With the sudden departure of Reapers from this plane of existence, that time had come.

Lilith's death was not known at the time to anyone except those who had ejected from the doomed _Infinity_. These individuals currently tumbled about in escape pods.

Lilith left this world believing some of her compatriots had followed her to the great beyond. However, this was not to be—Garrus, Marcus, Jack, and Moxxi crammed into the first pod. The second pod's occupants experienced a rougher ride, but it wasn't anything Michael, Maya, and Tannis hadn't experienced before in crazy drives on Pandora itself. The third pod auto-launched due to a hardware malfunction and it was the one which ended up being destroyed. Due to system damage, EDI was unable to determine whether the pod was occupied, so she just told Lilith what she knew (that the pod had launched and been destroyed in the ship's wake).

Accepting even dealing with the nutjob Xytler or his forces remained preferable to dying in the wilderness, both pods turned on their locator beacons. It was this which spurred Erickson's call to action.

"Now, we strike out to rescue those left behind in this trail of destruction!" she shouted. "Shepard may be beyond saving, but many of the crew of her ship were heroes in their own right—and they need our help."

Giving the order for the helm to take _Endless Calm_ almost suicidally deep into Pandora's atmosphere, she hoped the whole "weightlessness" portion of the mass effect technology could hold up. "Increase negative current to the eezo core!"

Of course, though _Endless Calm_'s lower mass would make maneuvering in the atmosphere easier, it would also cause the ship to be more affected by any opposing forces (like wind shear). Not designed to operate planetside, _Infinity_-class dreadnaughts possessed no repulsors or similar tech that might've otherwise stabilized Erickson's attempted rescue (aerodynamics not resembling a flying brick would have also helped). The ship's only method of maintaining lift was sheer speed, just as _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ had done, until it ultimately crashed on purpose.

Never mind the means of capturing the escape pods. Barely any thought had gone into this. Again, the specialization of the _Infinity_ design meant that items standard on Trans-Galactic Republic vessels of similar size or purpose remained absent. No tractor beams or hangers. However, a device built into the ship for nefarious reasons would have a chance to be used for a better purpose: the magnetic sled attachment points which were supposed to hold cryogenically frozen biotics in a rapid-deployment mechanism would instead hopefully be able to pull the pods to the hull. No guarantees about soft docking, but it beat either being tumble-dried in Pandora's atmosphere or a possible nasty landing on the planet's surface in the unmapped northern regions.

"So, basically we fly as close to the pods as possible, dial the magnets up to maximum, and hope no one dies if the pods slam into the hull."

Turning to her operations officer, Erickson gave a curt nod. "We know we'll catch the pods, it's just a matter of what we find when we open them up."

"Just be warned, ma'am, running the magnets at this power might buckle the hull if two of them start attracting or repelling each other as we are powering them way over spec" came the reply.

"Understood. How much longer until we reach them?"

"About two minutes before we're going to dip below the minimum altitude that we can expect to climb back up before hitting the mountains on the other side of the pole." Indeed, the ship's altitude decreased slowly but steadily as _Endless Calm_ hammered toward the lifepods.

"Noted." Erickson knew her ship might get splattered, but she had confidence in her ship and crew. Besides, given the Republic task force's apparent blasé passivity toward Xytler in the name of stopping the Reapers, _someone_ had to do something heroic.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Garrus might have been commenting on the time of day. Marcus couldn't believe these people.

"Does anything ever bother you?" he spluttered. "We're tumbling around in a metal box with no control, no sign of rescue, and most importantly, _no parachute!_" A look of panic spread across his face as he waved the mostly-pictographic lifeboat manual manual around. Indeed, no mention of parachutes could be found anywhere.

"Well," flanged the reply, "in this case I see no reason to worry. Not the most well-calibrated rescue, but it'll do."

"Would you just tell me what the hell is going on?" bellowed Jack. "Great, something's happening—"

The pod hit turbulence, shaking its occupants violently.

"Fuck!"

A rivulet of blood trickled down the side of Jack's face.

Meanwhile the mad rushing of air whipping past the pod changed as its pitch dropped lower. Something blocked out the light above the cylindrical pod, covering the top half in shadow. A tingling sensation overtook the quartet. Marcus would later compare it to a dentist's drill, except the vibration shot through his whole body instead of just his head.

"Look!"

Moxxi gestured wildly at a small readout showing a large object moving toward them. Very fast. The pod suddenly swung end-over-end much more rapidly than it had before—which had been a slow tumble. It felt as though their capsule was being yanked along by its floor, before all motion abruptly slowed.

CLANG.

A mechanical-sounding voice emanated from a speaker somewhere. "You have landed safely. Locks have disengaged and hatches may now be opened from the inside. Pod hatches will remain sealed in case of environmental hazards. Please check sensors before opening main hatch."

THWUCK.

"What was that?"

Turning to the strange tattooed woman, Moxxi shrugged. "I have no idea, sugar."

"Call me 'sugar' again, and I'll…"

"Jack, calm down!" retorted Garrus. "I'm sure she meant no offense."

"Is it just me, or are we upside-down?"

[...]

"There's something big headed our way. Looks like it should be friendly."

"Michael, what does it take to make you panic?" demanded Patricia Tannis. "You, of all people I have met…"

"Uhh, guys?" Maya interrupted to point at the windows. Windows which moments before had light streaming through them, but were now framed in shadow. "Whatever it is, it's much bigger than we—"

"Yaaaaaah!" cried the three in unison as their pod rocketed upward. For reasons unknown, Maya concentrated as hard as she could—her tattoos nearly blinded her companions as a flash of purple surrounded their lifeboat. The rapid motion ceased.

THWUCK.

[…]

"Pull up!" snapped Erickson, as if the looming mountain range on sensors wasn't enough incentive. Her helmsman simply rolled his eyes while simultaneously indicating the manual steering system which was pushed all the way forward to bring _Endless Calm_'s nose up.

"Armor status?"

"Holding steady ma'am but the power draw is taking energy away from engines!"

"Redirect!"

It took only five seconds for alarms to begin blaring, but the words scrolling across her terminal meant the mission was complete.

"WE HAVE THEM."

"Let's make a run for the closest fleet not under the control of a warmongering blood-drinker" said Erickson. "Maximum speed!"

Rerouting power from the ship's armor to its engines provided the boost in power _Endless Calm_ needed to begin ascending. Mountaineers years later swore they found paint chips from the vessel's hull at the tops of the Polar Peaks. The thinner air from higher up in Pandora's atmosphere reduced friction on the dreadnaught's hull, but also reduced its ability to radiate heat away since fewer particles existed to carry energy elsewhere.

"Hull temperature rising!" came an urgent query from operations. "Wave-guides compensating, but it will take time!"

_Reaper fire is far worse_ thought the Captain. _The hull should be fine._

[...]

Xytler could hardly believe what he was hearing.

Suddenly, these mewling quims from another galaxy grew consciences and were objecting to his leadership? He'd brought them through the greatest battle in the history of his galaxy!

"With all due respect, _admiral_, given the lack of any current threat we have no need to continue your severe methods." Benjamin Reid, captain of RNS _Sacrifice of Angels_, had plenty of respect for turians as a species, having seen how fiercely the Hierarchy had pushed back against the massively superior Reapers. This particular turian, though, he respected less and less.

"_Captain_ Reid, your objection has been noted, however…"

"I must object, and note my support for his position" interjected Captain Ratzik, RNS _Warrior's Honor_.

"Matt, while I appreciate the support, I really don't—"

"You are both right" chimed in Captain Isabelle Long, RNS _Veritas_. "We did what we had to in order to stop the Reapers, but now that the bloodrot is gone there is no need to leave the nanomachines raging!"

"Under the Trans-Galactic Republic Standardized Regulations of Military Law Section Six, Chapter Twelve, I hereby declare you, Maximilian Xytler, unfit for duty" finished Alexis Kazansky, RNS _Star Paladin_.

The next ten minutes served as an exemplary specimen of cross-cultural conflict. No turian would ever question his or her superiors in this manner. No provision existed in the turian military code for such an occurrence—intervention only came from above, not below. Subordinates were to trust the system and wait for those above their direct superiors to take action should anything untoward occur. The Trans-Galactic Republic military seemed almost, well, non-military to the regimented and highly disciplined turians.

As-written, the Status of Forces Agreement lacked detail on who was in charge. At its worst, this could have led to an open war between former allies—at the moment, since no one could draw formal authority from any agreements between the Citadel and the Republic, the conference devolved into a shouting match.

"You are a monster, a brute, and a poor excuse for a flag officer" fumed Reid.

"And you have no respect for your superiors, lack the ability to control your own emotions, keep your opinions to yourself, and get the job done!" spat Xytler.

"As far as my readings of the SOFA goes, there is nothing which forces us to remain under the command of…questionable individuals" replied Kanzansky. As she had joined the conference remotely, her image flickered and weapons fire could be heard in the background. A turn of her head to issue different orders not pertaining to the conversation. "Contain those hooligans." She sounded almost bored.

"What is going on? Why have you lost control of your ship?" snapped the admiral.

"I have not lost control of anything" came the reply. "Your men, on the other hand, seem to have lost something."

Behind her, TGR-uniformed personnel dragged stunned UDC-wearing turian and human soldiers by their feet. It seems not everyone had followed the "Same side, same colors" edict issued by Xytler before the fleet departed G-6 for G-3.

"We do _not_ wear the same colors, Maximilian Xytler, and for that, I am proud." Kanzansky disconnected without so much as a salute.

"Anyone who attempts to leave this room will be detained" said Xytler to the physically present Republic captains.

Without responding, each captain discreetly activated a small transmitter hidden on their person. Its purpose was to indicate that the individual wearing it was under duress, being held against their will, or otherwise in a situation where an overt call for help would not be possible. Alerts came up on the command screens of each ship, though Xytler had no way of knowing this. Republic ships in the battle group moved into predetermined positions, ready to initialize full-on alpha strikes if necessary. A Captain who activated his or her homing beacon was to be retrieved or killed (hopefully along with those who took him/her hostage). No middle ground.

Any battle would not be over quickly. Though the Republic "side" possessed four ships to Xytler's three, _Aspirations Toward Infinity_-class dreadnaughts were much more nimble than their Republic counterparts (despite mass effect technology). They wouldn't survive a direct beating from _Curator_ guns, but it was quite likely the big cruisers would be unable to deliver said beating.

"Admiral!" A bridge officer stuck his head into the conference room aboard UDCS _Menacing Hatred_. "Targeting scanners from our Republic escorts have locked onto us!"

"What?" demanded the turian. He stood in shock. "What have you done?" he bellowed.

"Nothing" replied Ratzik. "Merely informed our crews of your forced hospitality." As if to exaggerate the situation's ridiculousness, his booted feet appeared on the table.

"Sensor contacts, Captain Erickson!" _Endless Calm_ used its hyper-zero drive to arrive at the outer edge of Pandora's star system. There, it found a fleet of seven ships in a bit of a standoff.

Erickson wasn't about to start anything, but her mind moved into overdrive. _If the Republic shoots first, they will likely win since Force-Fire-Over-Ride wasn't installed on the Infinities_._ If the hybrids somehow shoot first, the_ Curators_ are in deep trouble since they won't be able to physically hit their opponents._

"Set our weapons!" barked Xytler. "Aim for the closest Star Destroyer, but _do not fire!_"

It also appeared none of the would-be combatants had yet taken notice of _Endless Calm_ either. The four Star Destroyers were arranged in a "corners" formation around the side-by-side _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ class flying guns, which themselves were slightly staggered. One forward (Xytler's flagship _Menacing Hatred_), two back (_Enveloping Darkness_, _Mailed Fist_).

In a flash, blue lanced from the sides of each _Curator_-class Star Destroyer, landing perfect hits on unsuspecting _Infinities_. In a reversal of _Revenant_'s fate, it was the enemies of the Republic who found themselves unable to fire. Activation of each Captain's Distress Device enabled Force-Fire-Over-Ride which permitted Republic guns to ignore Identify-Friend-Foe tags. _Darkness_, _Fist_, and _Hatred_ possessed no such feature and in any case found their computers fried by the massive ion blasts launched from their Star Destroyer escorts.

"Treacherous thugs!"

Xytler could do no more than shake his fist—he was pretty sure trying to physically stop the Republic shipmasters from departing would result in more weapons-fire.

"We'll be leaving" said Reid.

"It wasn't nice seeing you" continued Long.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch" added Ratzik.

Republic assault shuttles retrieved their officers, while _Curtana_ heavy bombers delivered precision strikes to disable weapons systems and engines aboard the trio of UDCS dreadnaughts. The attack had been so sudden no messages were transmitted to other United Defense Council fleets or battle groups. Republic jamming stopped any transmissions made after the lightning strike.

"So much for avoiding the blood-drinker" mused Erickson. She hadn't known the task force of four Star Destroyers had been combined with UDC vessels, nor was she expecting to see her now apparently former allies be lit up by Star Destroyer weapons fire. The whole laser/ion shield thing still vexed scientists—how to defend against both simultaneously without carrying a whole separate set of shields for each? No military ever considered the extra power draw or space used in such a design worth it, so ships were left unable to defend themselves against the disabling effect of the blue bolts.

In other battle groups, Republic crews and captains turned on, imprisoned, and disabled their United Defense Command counterparts. Some battles initially tilted toward the UDC, but Republic forces strategically retreated to areas controlled by friendly interests, creating numerical advantages too large to overcome. Swarms of Republic fighters dealt with _Infinities_ just as they would have with smaller ships displaying similar levels of maneuverability. Since the dreadnaughts carried no fighters, mounted zero point defense guns, and were designed with the singular purpose of killing Reapers, defeating them wasn't as difficult as was originally thought.

[...]

"We need a medical capsule, now!"

Brick had pinned the insane Captain Shepard under an artillery shell she'd intended to use to blow up her own base on Pandora (with herself inside). Her Cerberus cybernetics, Alliance enhancements, and natural toughness were keeping her alive, but only just considering everything below mid-chest had been crushed.

Now, her eyes barely opened, her mouth grimaced in a silent scream.

And what was that stench? "Did something die in here?" demanded a corpsman.

"The Captain's death will be on us if we don't move quickly" snapped his superior.

The disabled artillery shell was carefully lifted, and the source of the smell became apparent. A wrinkled, black, _thing_ lay next to the broken Spectre. The medical corpsman estimated its length as half an average human's height. It made small movements, as much as a blob of, well, _something_ could and emitted small noises when approached.

"What the hell is that?" demanded a Marine escort.

"I'm a doctor, not an encyclopedia!" said the senior medical officer. "We'll take both of them—put Shepard in the capsule and get a second container for the, thing."

A box was found for "that giant raisin thing" while Shepard was carefully lifted into a medical pod. The two medical personnel made a best-effort to keep as much of Shepard's lower body as possible, though given that her legs were shattered, her lower torso pulverized, and thus various innards had ended up not inside anymore, the task tried their patience. Temporal life support systems were hugely expensive, could only operate for a few minutes on energy cell power, and were extremely temperamental. However, given the state of Shepard's body, it was the only way to even have a minute chance of keeping her alive. Even plugged into the MedEvac transport, the pod massively taxed the ship's power systems, cutting speed and acceleration in half.

Not that there were any concerns—all hostile activity on Pandora had ceased with the destruction of the Reapers, and Republic-on-UDC asskicking had not yet reached Pandora proper, though it was well on the way.

[…]

Imprisoned aboard their own ships, the crews of _Darkness_, _Fist_, and _Hatred_ found themselves dragged behind Star Destroyers headed to Pandora. With mass effect technology, it became trivial for _Paladin_, _Honor_, and _Angels_ to pull the disabled dreadnaughts in their wake.

Aboard Erickson's _Endless Calm_, the escape pods had been detached from the hull using space tugs packed aboard _Sacrifice of Angels_.

The survivors were brought together in the main briefing room just off _Endless Calm_'s bridge. "Was this supposed to be some kind of test of patience?" demanded Patricia Tannis. "We…"

"Dude, relax. These pods have air and provisions for weeks just in case you land in the middle of a fucking forest full of killer bees or something."

Jack realized exactly how ridiculous that sounded, but hey, it was true. For all its flaws, the UDC did incorporate effective escape vehicles. It may have had something to do with a re-use of Republic designs, though, as the UDC did not seem to care much about the welfare of its crews.

On the other side of the conference table, Maya briefed Erickson and several other Republic officers, relaying the tale of Tannis' theory, Lilith's sacrifice, and the resulting destruction of _Aspirations Toward Infinity_.

"In the end, Lilith came around." Maya sniffed and failed at holding back a few tears. As much as she got a good belly laugh out of bandit guts, big game hunting, and general melee, this situation was different. Knowing where comedy ended and insanity began was the key to avoid becoming what Shepard had transformed into. She hoped the old Commander still lived in that husk somewhere, and speaking of Shepard…

"Priority transmission to any UDC or Republic forces in the area: Medical code blue! We have Shepard, and she's a code blue."

Ten minutes ago Erickson would have politely begged off receiving the patient. Having heard Maya's perspective, she now felt helpless that her fancy Reaper-killer no longer possessed the sophisticated surgical facilities of, ironically, the "less-advanced" _Curator_ Mark I's. Due to lack of casualties stemming from the inability of any commonly encountered foe (pre-Reaper) to seriously threaten the Republic's heavy cruisers, the Mark II design downgraded medical capabilities significantly. It was further assumed that dedicated medical ships would accompany fleets in any situation where mass casualties were likely.

As a result, "Commander Blue" ended up turfed to _Veritas_. Her capsule made it to the primary surgical suite with seconds to spare on its integrated power system. Immediately a swarm of nurses, doctors, and other assorted personnel descended upon it. It wasn't known how long a patient could be kept in stasis like this without adverse effects, but given that in order to operate parts of the patient had to be brought back to real time to operate (creating aging differences, however minute, in the range of hours or at most days), it was considered best practice to limit the time the patient "straddled."

A short time later, Maya and Anna arrived by shuttle.

Shepard's nurse intercepted them outside in the waiting room.

"Do you really want to know?"

Sounding indignant, Maya almost put her hands on her hips. "Yes, Nurse Marilyn, I do want to know."

"Her legs have been completely crushed. Her lower torso is also severely damaged—most of her body below mid-chest has been turned into paste. She is currently in temporal stasis to stave off a death by shock due to massive blood loss and blunt trauma."

A commlink beeped, followed by a tinny voice emanating from a nurse pager. "Nurse to the OR; all hands on deck, _we're losing her_."


	3. Cracked Mirror

**Chapter 2 – Cracked Mirror**

As the Republic task force consolidated its control over the Gamma-Three Galaxy, more questions swirled than answers. Why did the Reapers just disappear? Was it all worth it? Would breaking the intergalactic travel taboo change things for better, or worse? And what would the Republic proper have to say about its elite soldiers teaming up with someone who turned out to be a murderous thug?

Lilith Cashlin's selfless act redeemed her to all but the hardest of heart. The loss of one dreadnaught paled in comparison to the utter elimination of a threat which would have otherwise caused a long, hard slog. As for what actually occurred when the most powerful Siren in the galaxy phase-slammed a huge ship into Pandora's north pole, well, no one had the slightest idea. Even Patricia Tannis, who correctly predicted a "cataclysmic event" would be unleashed by this action could not even begin to hypothesize as to the "whys" or "whats."

One noted change came through the deaths of many officers directly under the command of Maximilian Xytler, himself now a "restricted person" aboard RNS _Star Paladin_. Said ship had become a holding ground for those deemed dangerous, criminal, or otherwise undesirable. While dealing with the "Rannoch issue," Alexsis Kazansky ended up taking several quarians into custody. Such individuals included quarian _admirals_—including Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema (refusal to follow orders) and Admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh (undermining the war effort).

"The defendant pleads not guilty" intoned Han'Gerrel vas Neema's Judicial Advocate.

Han'Gerrell vas Neema requested to be tried before a ship's captain rather than the usual Republic standard of judge-and-jury. This proved fortuitous in a way as the Military Adjudication Corps within the Republic's task force was quite short-handed (given that crew discipline was not considered to be a serious issue on the mission). Thus, the task fell to any "suitably unprejudiced, competent Captain in good standing."

It was agreed to utilize an inquisitorial approach, leaving the entire outcome up to that single Captain (as would have been the case in a quarian trial). The appointment of a Judicial Advocate rested on a technicality (that all accused must be represented) and a desire to keep the accused appraised of the process from beginning to end as it would be inappropriate for the presiding Captain to provide rolling updates.

Hence, Hans'Gerrel's fate rested in the hands of Isabelle Long. She had neither been present at Rannoch nor was she in contact with any of those involved, which cleared her on the impartiality front. The trial process was simple. She read the charges to the disgruntled quarian, spent several hours reviewing the evidence in her private chambers, and then rendered a verdict. The plea at trial opening offered the accused an opportunity to skip the fact-finding phase if he or she so chose by admitting guilt (leaving only sentencing). Admiral Gerrel refused to do so, however.

Long gave a brief summary of the facts before she pronounced her decision. "Admiral Han'Gerrel vas Neema, you stand accused of violating the Trans-Galactic Republic Standardized Regulations of Military Law which you were required to uphold while under the command of a Trans-Galactic Republic officer. The facts clearly show that as a member of the 'Fleet of Particular Justice' or 'Tide of Implacable Vengeance,' you did in fact with full knowledge of the responsibilities which came with it, pledge to obey the orders of your task group commander, a member of the Trans-Galactic Republic Navy."

Gerrel knew he was probably screwed. The quarian Admiralty Board had rolled the military portions of the Migrant Fleet into the Republic's whatever-they-called-it without settling the "geth issue." A geth fleet had approached to within what was supposed to be a no-fly-zone around the greater Migrant Fleet, desiring additional information about the rapid advancements noted in quarian starship technology. Without knowing its intent, and, following quarian custom of "No talk, we shoot" Gerrel ordered his ships to fire on the errant geth vessels. Of course, firing on the geth only made the situation even more hostile than it was to start, and RNS _Star Paladin_ threatened to lay waste to any active combatants, geth or quarian. He refused to follow the orders of Republic Captain Alexis Kazansky who demanded _both_ sides stop firing. Admiral Gerrel had ordered the attack on the geth to continue until _Star Paladin_ disabled several of his ships.

Due to this dust-up, he was hauled aboard and confined.

"The Trans-Galactic Republic Standardized Regulations of Military Law Section 3, Chapter 3, specifically states that any lawful order by a superior officer must be obeyed. The directive from Captain Kazansky was both lawful under Section 3, Chapter 1 and from the perspective of this Court delivered from a _de facto_ superior officer to a principal subject to the SRML. Thus, your refusal to obey that order, no matter how heartfelt or convicted, violates Republic law which you were bound to. Your actions incited those who looked to you for leadership to commit acts which violated the SRML. This is considered to be a series of deeds beneath the station of an officer, as outlined in Section 3, Chapter 7. Thus, you are found guilty and sentenced to two standard Republic years of confinement."

Unlike in the case of Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, no interruptions occurred, no names were shouted, and no pleas from others were made on behalf of the Admiral. Fully aware any outbursts could render him charged under other portions of Section 3 Chapter 7, Gerrel wisely kept his mouth shut.

In stark contrast stood the trial of Admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh. She had hoped a judge/jury and adversarial process would be more beneficial to her. In a way, it was, as the prosecutor offered a relatively lenient plea bargain. After some deliberation with her appointed council, Xen opted to reject the offer. This proved costly.

Some of Xen's active research related to anti-geth viruses. This was an issue on its own (since the Republic had already ordered a geth-quarian cease-fire any action undermining such violated standing orders, leading to the charges). What was worse is that later investigations into the near-destruction of _Revenant_ revealed several algorithms from Xen's viruses had been incorporated into the "Keyboard Pounder MNKY-1" which crippled the Republic's flagship. Under intense questioning, Xen denied having anything to do with the development of MNKY-1, but admitted leaving the pieces she wrote available "for any quarian seeking to end the geth threat" to use (that is, in a very public place—akin to a "file locker"). Given that Sapiens' Shield had already infiltrated the Migrant Fleet, easy availability of viruses containing poly-executable code that would run on Republic systems led to rapid exploitation of such programs. Every war has traitors, and this one was no exception as Sapiens agents worked both within the Migrant Fleet and Republic Navy to bring down the newcomers' heaviest warship.

Everyone knew how _that_ turned out. _Revenant_ now hung near the Citadel, mostly empty but heavily guarded lest anyone attempt to salvage its advanced technology. Though the ship no longer rated battle-worthy, it remained theoretically possible (albeit massively expensive) to refit/rebuild the damaged hull, which remained basically in one piece despite the beatings it received.

Ultimately, the sixteen-member jury consisting of both Republic and Citadel military members returned a conviction on Section 3, Chapter 3 (Xen's research continued in defiance of orders), Section 3, Chapter 7, and Section 6, Chapter 8 (negligent behavior). However, the jury was unable to convict on either Section 4 Chapter 4 or Section 4 Chapter 5; no evidence was presented that showed Xen herself permitted agents of Sapiens' Shield access to the viral code. Furthermore, no evidence came to light proving she had reason to believe that placing the code in a supposedly quarian-controlled server would permit enemy access (spies, being spies, had not yet been caught), so she could not be convicted of aid-by-negligence.

"The defendant, Admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh, is found GUILTY of the following counts…and thus is sentenced to three-and-a-half standard Republic years of confinement."

Thus continued the difficult task of applying Republic military law to those accustomed to different standards. Some cases were cut-and-dried, like Gerrel. Others, similar to Xen, were not so easy—quarian law would have left this completely up to any captain (not constrained by words like "reason to believe"—gut-checks often ruled).

As datastreams transmitted from Gamma-Three arrived in offices on the Citadel, Grayson felt sicker and sicker. The Republic had already cooperated with a civilian/military government whose policies became more and more oppressive as time passed in the galaxy he currently resided in. That, if possible, things degraded even further while away on a distant mission turned his stomach.

"What have we allowed ourselves to become?" he asked of Adrien Victus, the turian Councilor. Turians knew nothing but "total war," such that execution squads (called "hastatim") roamed the civilian centers of conquered territory, rounding up those willing to surrender while shooting those who resisted.

Victus knew Xytler could be unorthodox, and brutal tactics were not something Victus objected to automatically. However, employing criminals and attempting to hijack starships (through the "biotic sleds") went too far.

"We did what was necessary" replied the turian. "The Reapers had to be stopped. Think of the bloodshed had the Republic's forces not intervened—casualties might have reached trillions."

Talking heads in the media latched onto the topic. Those more sympathetic to Xytler's unique methods compared his actions to the use of nuclear weapons in Earth's past. Those less inclined pointed to Sam Shepard's refusal to hand the Collector base to Cerberus—victory (stopping attacks on Systems Alliance colonies) was achieved without handing the keys to a madman. And then there was the simple fact that it was neither Xytler's terror fleet nor the Republic's super-colossal dreadnaught that dealt the final blow—it was the completely inexplicable cataclysm set off by a Siren, a Vault, and a starship. Each problem ended up being solved by something unexpected—the Reapers were a threat, until the Republic showed up. The combined fleet overstretched trying to defend multiple galaxies, suddenly Reapers exit left.

"It's like we're looking through plate-glass that took a couple rounds" commented an editorial in the Alliance Military Times. "You can recognize what's beyond the window, but it doesn't exactly look the same; it's distorted. Just like all of us looking at ourselves…"

[...]

For those more concerned with the science-y portion of the goings-on, even larger questions loomed. The event now being called "Cosmic Cleansing Sphere" correlated strongly with the deaths of certain individuals, mainly those working directly under Admiral Maximilian Xytler. It also seemed to have precipitated the disappearance of all Reapers, from whole Reaper dreadnaughts down to Reaper fragments being studied in places as far away as the Citadel itself.

The remains of "Prime Vault" had been cordoned off to prevent looters or other malcontents from removing key evidence prior to extensive professional analysis. Due to the lawless nature of Pandora, such restrictions were enforced via "shoot-on-sight," a most uncomfortable proposition for both Republic and Citadel personnel. Such hesitation tended to rapidly dissipate on first meeting the ranting, raving bandits who roamed Pandora's wilderness.

Patricia Tannis ended up being the head scientist at was called "The Altar" (after translated Eridian script found at the site). Scans indicated that a complex latticework of tunnels and caverns extended far below Pandora's surface, beginning at the site of the _Infinity_'s crash. The tunnels extended too far for mapping tools to generate a complete picture from the surface.

"We know that on impact, temperatures were high enough to liquefy Eridum" she dictated into a recording rod (much more durable and useful than those stupid ECHO recorders). "Not the 'slag' that is a by-product of Eridum processing, but actually turning the Eridum _itself_ into a liquid form!"

Based on estimates from previous scans and extrapolations pulled from the wreckage, the Prime Vault/Altar stood at least 900m high before a dreadnaught plowed into it. It had been constructed from pure Eridum, giving off a soft purple glow. Tannis believed most of the Eridum was consumed by whatever reaction Lilith set off (hence the apparently too-small quantity of leftover Eridum at the site given the estimated size of the former structure). Unfortunately, the vanishing temple also took with it many inscribed writings from its surface, so the archeologist had to work with the handful of lower-resolution photos taken by intrepid passers-by. Needless to say, only so much data could be compiled even with superresolution techniques. Republic sensors might have been able to do a better job, but the wacky Tannis refused to associate with "intellectual inferiors." Not that it mattered—no Republic captain was going to wasted his/her ship's processing time on the strange theories of an insane (though harmless) scientist. The more Republic personnel saw of Pandora, the more they wondered if the Gamma-Three galaxy was even worth the effort put into saving it, assuming Pandora represented a typical Gamma-Three world.

Tannis wanted to send an expedition into the caverns in the near future—though she refused to even contemplate setting foot there herself. "Such tasks are for those whose minds are lesser able to grasp trends of cosmic significance" she huffed, when a sardonic Republic trooper assigned to guard the site asked why she didn't just pack a rucksack for herself.

"Eggheaded boffin" he muttered in response.

Frustrated, she used a Republic communicator to get in touch with Maya. The Siren had helped her round up research notes she'd scattered all around Sanctuary in a fit of paranoia over fear of Handsome Jack (or his agents). She'd also gotten assistance from Lilith before, so she figured she might be able to convince the remaining Siren to do her bidding once more.

"You're not going to send me looking for another Vault, are you?" demanded the blue-haired woman. "Because if you are, I'm _not_ coming down there!"

"That is definitely not what I had in mind!" Technically, crawling through cramped passageways was not Vault-hunting.

"Also, unlike past times, you're gonna have to wait" intoned the Siren in a serious tone. "Commander Shepard is still in serious condition up here."

"If you place more importance on a dead woman than the advancement of matters of great importance, I will wait."

Were it not for knowing Patricia Tannis wasn't exactly "all there," Maya likely would have murdered her for the Shepard comment. She'd killed people for less, but in spite of that she still felt she could look in a mirror and see herself, not some twisted caricature (pre-redemption Lilith, Xytler, and insane Shepard— the list went on). Despite her last interaction with Sam Shepard being an adversarial one, if Lilith could find herself, the Commander might just do the same if she ever woke up. Currently, a flash-copy of the ersatz former paragon's brain had been uploaded to _Veritas_' computer core, which used a significant portion of its processing power and storage space. It was likely that the strength and clarity of memories within Sam's brain would have degraded during the time she was in stasis (why this happened no one knew—stasis was supposed to mean "unchanging" after all).

In theory, a complete clone could be made using the flash-copy, though without frequent (weekly) re-imagings of core memories the clone's mental stability would deteriorate, leading to insanity. Never mind not having the equipment for such procedures. Looking back, Maya couldn't quite understand how a society so advanced could have been so thoroughly unprepared for all the things that had happened recently. Still, when you think all you are doing is getting the mail from the end of the driveway, generally all you need is a pistol to fend off skags. Not a pistol, assault rifle, rocket launcher, three health kits, two personal enhancement devices, and a shield module as if one was going up against Hyperion itself. Given what was expected vs. what actually happened, the Republic's poor preparation was somewhat excusable. No one could have predicted their fleet would be called upon to act as a galactic savior against overwhelming outside force!

Since Brick (Why did he go so far? Questions would be asked) had smashed Sam's lower torso almost beyond saving, Republic surgeons had to replace what no longer functioned (or no longer existed). Below the breasts but above the navel, reconstruction had begun.

First, work began on connecting torn blood vessels to a system that would allow Shepard's cybernetic heart to pump normally while running her blood through even more advanced processing systems than she'd been given by Cerberus that would be included in her new artificial lower torso/legs. Once tubing connected time-frozen blood vessels, the filter modules themselves were installed. Such modules would make Shepard immune to any and all known chemicals. They would also assist in fighting off infections while minimizing inflammatory response by taking much of the load off the immune system, instead letting nano-machines kill off unwanted pathogens. These tiny soldiers could even be deployed throughout the rest of her body (organic and not) to remove disease. Samantha Shepard was never planning on having children, which was probably a good thing as a functioning uterus was not on the menu. Neither were ovaries as their function would be fulfilled by bio-fiber glandular replacements mounted inboard of the dual filtration systems.

Speaking of the general lower regions of the body, surgeons ensured she would (if she desired) be able to remain sexually functional despite lacking the usual innards associated with the biological imperative for such activity. A clever system routed any fluids resulting from any "horizontal physical training" into the filtration systems where nutrients were extracted and the rest processed as waste.

The Commander was already at least 30% cyborg to begin with, so by the time the surgery was done she would be far more machine than _Homo sapiens_. Organic nutrition systems were still required, mostly due to the upper half of her body. Her stomach was beyond saving, so the replacements continued starting at the end of the esophagus. The Republic had quite a bit of experience with Human Replica Droids—automatons so life-like that only the most advanced medical scans could reveal their artificial nature. Nor would interacting with one immediately tip someone off—they breathed, ate, slept (or "slept"), and even bled! Combining the organic realism of HRDs with top-of-the-line combat skeletons, the Republic was able to build an army of super-soldiers. Able to, but declined to do so—with the technology kept under wraps. The blatant contradiction of building super-soldiers in a society whose priorities were everything but war, combined with the ethics (or lack of) surrounding creation of sapient beings forced only to kill put a kibosh on any attempts to make use of Combat Human Replica Droids.

However, the use of parts of these plans to rebuild Samantha Shepard posed no dilemmas at all. Since her memories had been temporarily stored within the databanks of _Veritas_, it was a semi-trivial matter to pull all references to her latent self-image in pursuit of a faithful reconstruction. Unlike some women who saw themselves as fatter, uglier, or somehow more physically flawed than they actually were, Sam Shepard simply saw herself exactly as she was: one of the most battle-hardened, tough, and toned examples of cyber-enhanced humanity to ever walk the galaxy. Had she been of lesser self-opinion, the plastic surgeons responsible for her new lower torso, hips, and legs might have asked for donations of other memories containing the Commander (technically, Captain, but everyone called her Commander and she didn't seem to mind) to affect a proper reconstruction.

Without a uterus to work around, the lower portion of her new body did not have to conform to the same physical arrangement inside as the human default, permitting the inclusion of advanced filtering systems and backup inorganic power cells. Her hip-to-leg flexibility was deliberately limited to prevent unnatural extensions of limbs, and in any case the HRD-derived lower torso had mostly standard ranges of motion. Hidden resonant inductive couplings permitted recharging these cells conventionally, or they could be powered up by an organic-electric conversion system controlled by the brain.

Such organic nutrition would be delivered in much the same way as a small-intestine-large-intestine system, though with much less length to the bowel. In lieu of over twenty feet of small followed by five feet of large, the entire system fit into enhanced bio-tubing measuring less than ten feet from end to end. Clearly, such a system would give away the heavily modified nature of Samantha Shepard's body, being about a third the natural length, but there existed no reason to try to conceal her hybrid nature.

Some debate occurred over whether to conceal compartments, weapons, or tools within her hips, thighs, and legs. Ultimately, the "naturalists" won out, leaving Sam's limbs mostly constructed of poly-alloy bone and turbo-charged bio-synthetic fast-reaction muscle fibers without any "secret smuggling pockets." Such enhanced musculature further exaggerated the disconnect between limbs seemingly too slender to hold such power and the ability to kick through reinforced concrete.

The whole package received synthskin coverings tougher than even Systems Alliance Heavy Skin Weave. Fully organic in appearance and matched to Shepard's overall skin tone, the covering would in fact bleed if subjected to enough force (something between a vibro-knife and anti-materiel round ought to do it). It was thought by some that only those who took certain pride in their physical appearance shaved their legs. How wrong this was—soldiers stuffed into very tight insulating/protecting bodysuits could end up with nasty cuts from impressed leg hairs over days of combat. Thus, the Paragon of the Citadel did in fact shave her legs out of military necessity—a chore no longer necessary due to receiving legs which no longer grew hairs on them. Downside to those legs: no tanning. Not that Samantha Shepard ever went to the beach, or tanned…

Overall, a team of twenty surgeons, nurses, and specialists assisted by hyper-sophisticated medical droids took thirty hours to put Samantha Shepard back together. Remarkably quick for such a complex procedure, though most of the inorganic components had already been assembled and simply had to be integrated. To ensure systems operated properly, only the lowest parts of her brain would be stimulated at first (ensure good nerve signals and autonomous control of the new parts). Estimates pegged at least four months before she could be fully awoken safely.

_Durius, Melius, Velocius, Fortior._


	4. Family Values

**Chapter 3 – Family Values**

"In the name of Montgomery, our patriarch, visionary, and founder, this meeting is brought to order."

"Order" might be stretching it a little. Or a lot. Jakobs corporate meetings never remained civil very long as inevitably some bad blood between two or more factions would surface, leading to sides-taking, alliance-forming, and general mayhem.

Family-owned often served as a "warm-fuzzy" marketing phrase, something that Jakobs had exploited for its nearly three centuries of existence. Of course, the advertisements never revealed exactly what kind of "family" was meant by this. More akin to feuding Mafiosos than anything else, the tree of Jakobs nevertheless kept growing despite its tendencies of one root to strangle another.

Originally, each member of the family gained a share in the company by birthright. This made sense when the company was smaller and virtually everyone whose blood, sweat and tears went into the product line had the last name "Jakobs," but over the years the family and company grew much larger. This demanded share split after share split to ensure each newborn received his or her birthright of at least one full share. As a result, those with few shares tended to band together against bullying by those whose holdings were more valuable, since no current member of the family was going to accept a dilution in his or her voting power just to accommodate a baby. Therefore, someone born with one share might find him/herself in possession of ten shares on their fifteenth birthday, and twenty shares ten years after that.

Jakobs previously backed the "JVLN" (Jakobs, Vladof, Hyperion) alliance to spread corporate influence to other galaxies. Given the current situation in which JVLN met stinging defeat at the hands of others not even from the intended target galaxy, it would probably be best for the men of wooden guns to make nice with _somebody_ lest the "Trans-Galactic Republic" come knocking loudly. Hence this meeting.

"We are gathered here today" (many sighs from the floor at the opening cliché) "to determine the fate of our company, and our family. The two have been synonymous for centuries. Bear that in mind when casting votes! As goes the company, so goes the family. For family, for company!"

The Chairman of the Board waited for raucous cheering, chanting, and stamping to die out before continuing.

"The joint venture we created with Hyperion and Vladof" (some boos erupted from the crowd) "has turned south. Other powers may seek to punish us for our involvement in galaxies far, far, away. The Board has been presented with three resolutions that are before us today: Strengthen our ties with our current partners" (some cheers, some boos), strike out on our own, or send envoys to the MALITOR Alliance" (sustained boos). "I know this may seem a lot to ask, but remember that the enemy of our enemy is our friend!"

Each faction would present a case to the Board and shareholders for fifteen minutes. Then, a discussion period would follow for thirty permitting questions-and-answers in a two-minute format (thirty second question, one-and-a-half minute answer). Following, the first vote would be taken. The two options with the most votes would move to the elimination round and the process would repeat. Politics had demanded the two-step process rather than allowing for elimination of all but one choice even if one of the proposals commanded majority support on the first ballot. The same considerations required any final proposal to achieve approval by 60% of shareholders and a majority of the Board before being adopted. Convoluted rules and procedures came as naturally to the Jakobs family as the crafting of firearms did, hence the slight delay picking up their "contractors" (Vault Hunters) who cleaned up the mess at Jakobs Cove—an incident, by the way, which never officially occurred.

The proposals were numbered one, two, and three. A random-number-generator would decide the first two speakers, with the last being determined by whoever hadn't been previously selected. Specific rules of conduct required speeches be approved in advance by the Chairman, who had the power to act as a referee (lest a following speaker deviate to, for instance, attack a proposal preceding his/her own). Again, this was all theoretical—it would be considered fortunate if there were fewer than five altercations on the auditorium floor. No weapons were permitted in the shareholder meeting, just as no disorderly conduct was to be tolerated. Of course, the likelihood of such rules being followed or even enforced remained quite small, as several blatantly obvious holsters could be seen from the Chairman's podium…

"The first proposal to be read will be that of dropping out of the venture and acting independently" intoned Chairman Bill Arkansas Jakobs. "The Chair yields to Bart Jakobs."

"The first rule on Pandora: Always trust the gun at your side! For years, Jakobs has stood above all others in providing the most powerful, reliable, and easily-maintained weapons to loyal customers across our galaxy."

(_Firepower Monthly_ disputed the notions of "easily maintained" and "reliable," though no one here much cared.)

"We have never worked with others, we declined to make use of any of that fancy-schmancy 'e-Tech' and have always stuck to doing things our way! The family's way!"

Bart happened to be a decent public speaker, not something one would expect at a gathering which mostly featured stereotypical frontiersmen and hunters.

"Hyperion wasted their chance by spending on extravagant toys that didn't get the job done. Vladof never really communicated with us. How do people survive on Pandora? By trusting themselves, and no one else! Why should we worry about the fortunes of others when even now, the 'alliance' falls apart as Vladof and Hyperion expend all their effort trying to shore up their own territories?"

Much eye-rolling commenced at the next portion of Bart's speech, even though it was completely expected.

"Montgomery Jakobs built this company with the sweat and blood of his family, not random people he found wandering the wilderness. Are any of those others going to put the family first? Hell no!"

If the typical speech at shareholder meetings was to be believed, Montgomery Jakobs not only created the company, he also built the Pandoran factories with his bare hands (not the underpaid labor actually employed), single-handedly drove Dahl off Pandora (rather than the wildlife/bankruptcy), and he might just have also been able to walk through Eridium slag without it sticking to him. Everyone tried to claim the mantle of "our patriarch" in some way or another despite universal disdain for the tactic. It was a classic case of the prisoner's dilemma—if neither claimed the mantle all would be better off. However, failing to include Montgomery references would pale next to someone who did. If all sides involved made the claim, no one could be accused of "disrespecting the memory of the Eternal Chairman." Thus, the outlandish claims.

"We may not be in the strongest position right now, but we will rebound more quickly if left to our own devices rather than having to take out Hyperion's garbage. Their finances are a wreck from spending all that cash on an intergalactic starship that got _stolen_ by the very people they were trying to _stop_."

Some polite applause followed.

"Vladof is about as transparent as a skag at your front door. We trust each other—families keep no secrets!"

A good portion of the audience doubled up in silent laughter—if the first Jakobs "value" was bureaucracy, the second was secrecy. Still, the glittery-sounding generality about "family good, others bad" held the audience's attention.

"First they get busted for slave labor—so much for "power to the people." Then we find out they're in the running behind Hyperion for obsessing over slag research. We are better than that. We need not debase ourselves by associating with mad scientists! Jakobs builds _weapons_, not torture devices. Every kill a clean kill—and if it took two shots, you weren't using a Jakobs!"

Out of the SDU came a Godfinger. Somewhere above, several targets dropped. And shattered over the heads of a stunned audience as they were each hit by a round, leaving confetti fluttering down.

Anyone expecting a standard discussion of the business case for each proposal would not see such a thing. That Jakobs continued to be profitable and remained in one piece confused just about everybody, as between factionalism, emotion trumping business logic, and virtual slavery to "tradition," the company should not have survived. But somehow, it did.

Loud chants broke out as the last pieces of paper landed. "Jakobs! Jakobs! Jakobs!"

Raising his hands for quiet, Bill Arkansas called for the next speaker.

"The next proposal for consideration shall be sending envoys to Maliwan/Torgue."

The loudest chorus of jeers yet emanated from the assembled members of the Jakobs family.

"Please, please!" Again, Chairman Bill called for quiet. After five or so minutes, order was restored, only to break down again upon the appearance of the next presenter.

"Buckshot! Buckshot! Buckshot!"

Buck Rogers Jakobs had a reputation—mainly because he was responsible for many innovations related to shotguns. Hence, "Buckshot."

That he was taking a disliked stance was mostly offset by his personal popularity. Those who supported him had begged, pleaded, and finally persuaded him to speak before the shareholder/family meeting for exactly this reason. If almost anyone else (short of, perhaps, the ghost of Montgomery himself) had suggested allying (or at least not shooting) Maliwan/Torgue, he or she would have been running for his or her life from all the items that would have been thrown from the audience.

"I'm sure all of you remember" thundered a voice befitting a man who designed shotguns, "that one of our most powerful shotguns uses a Hyperion barrel?"

Attendees noticeably deflated at this statement. No one liked to admit that the Striker used non-Jakobs parts, especially since it was widely considered the crown jewel of Jakobs' weapons.

"We don't have to stop being who we are in order to incorporate useful ideas or things from others" he continued. "I'm not proposing we join them—I'm proposing their technology and knowledge joins us! We give them enough to keep them interested, while grabbing as much as we can. Then we make a run for it. Classic smash and grab!"

That wasn't quite what most were expecting since it hardly qualified as a legitimate alliance.

"Hell, we don't even have to do the smash part. Why make unnecessary enemies when we can just get what we need and leave?"

"Kind of like going on dates for the free food" remarked a sandy-haired girl.

"You would do that, Stephanie" teased her brother.

"And you test-fly ships for the trinkets and coupons" she replied smugly. "Pot, kettle, black!" No one in the wider auditorium noticed this exchange.

"Not to point out sore spots, but don't we all kind of do this to each other all the time?" continued Buck. "We form alliances of convenience within the family. Lots of backstabbings, betrayals, and intrigue, but we're still here, aren't we? I say we see what we can learn from these others, then use it to our advantage."

A small but not insignificant number of shareholders actually did want a real military and (limited) commercial pact with MALITOR—and these individuals found themselves wholly unsatisfied with Buck "Buckshot" Jakobs' speech. Though, they had to admit he'd proved his own point by playing them, as it seemed Buck's end purpose was a platform for _this_ idea: the grab-and-run. Only it wasn't something he could sell to the go-it-alone hardliners and stick-it-out types. Supporters of genuine cooperation would have to settle for this. They knew it, they hated it, but there were no other options.

"Just yesterday, I met with Torgue Flexington himself!" bellowed the shotgun master. "He gave me this!"

Out of Buck's SDU came a shotgun few had seen—a Torgue Carnage. Not the old model either, this was a top-of-the-line version 2.0 with more damage, faster fire, and greater explosive radius. Firing the huge weapon over the assembled crowd, Buck made it rain…Eridum. Eridum fragments, from sand-grain size to grape-size fell like slightly dangerous downpour onto the attendees of the annual Family Meeting.

Eridium, being Eridium, was prized no matter how one acquired it. Much scampering about was had as everyone tried to get a decent-size chunk.

"There's more where that came from! We don't much use Eridium in our weapons, but we are running out of sources of reliable wood, especially since the events of previous years!" (This was as close as anyone could get to mentioning zombies and Jakobs Cove.) Torgue promised us to swap Eridium we find for shares in his private forest—the man has a personal FOREST on Pandora!"

As odd as the offer sounded, it turned some heads. Jakobs prided itself on manufacturing the finest weapons money could buy. The rarity of real wood added extra flavor. Boosting supply meant more sales (without lowering prices of course). It didn't matter how expensive Jakobs guns became. If fifty people chased after one gun because it was the only model available, and suddenly there were two or three, it wasn't going to put downward pressure on prices. If anything, a slight supply increase would boost the Jakobs name by giving the (false) impression that their weapons had become easier to acquire—making them once again the talk of Pandora as prospective buyers lusted after wooden stocks once more.

Not ones to overlook the opportunity to get a chant going, someone shouted "Smash and grab!" Chairman Bill had to actually use his gavel, which aside from opening, had lain untouched.

"All of you, shut it!"

Faces fell. When the patriarch got mad, everyone paid attention, though in this case his voice wasn't what the audience now focused on.

Jet-black hair. Ivory skin. Chiseled jaw. Piercing eyes. And a killer body wrapped in a tight bodysuit that showed more cleavage than would normally be appropriate at an ordinary business meeting.

Jackie "Blackheart" Jakobs was known for two things: dead-on aim and utter ruthlessness. Apparently a proponent of retaining the JVLN alliance (who knew, she mostly remained above such things), a savvy political operator, and a lethal assassin, it was rumored she'd been "involved" with Handsome Jack at one point. She vehemently denied the accusation. Her detractors also called her a "mantis" as many of her bed-partners ended up dead. Looking no older than twenty-five despite being almost ten years older, she remained unmarried—three guesses as to why and the first two don't count!

"When I was growing up" she began, "we didn't have much money."

An odd statement from a Jakobs directly descended from the man himself, unless you knew her background.

"My mother left when I was five" (even odder) "So I was raised by roughnecks. And I'm damn proud of it!"

At this point, a few who already knew the story were pulling out tissues.

"When my dad married her, he didn't know what she was—a great-great-great granddaughter of Montgomery Jakobs. I didn't know either, and if she'd had her way, I never would have. You see, she resented me. Resented that she suddenly had a child to care for instead of just her and Dad roaming the space lanes, preying on merchant vessels, drinking, fucking, and engaging in general debauchery. So she walked out."

Hearing someone drop an f-bomb in the middle of a family meeting was one of the few things that got a reaction as there were many audible gasps.

"Yeah yeah, you bunch of prudes, I said 'fuck,' get the fuck over it" she continued. "My mother was never the most accurate rifle in the armory—but she did know what she wanted: to ensure I never got my Jakobs birthright. By that time, it was a piddly one share, but she hated me so much that she was determined to deny it to me even if it was the last thing she did."

"That manipulative little…" A Board member started to rise, but stopped when he saw the Chairman's silent outstretched hand. "She's playing us, this room—she's always used her sob story as a crutch" he hissed.

Pickens Jakobs saw his terminal flash—"BE SEATED OR LEAVE. CHAIRMAN"

He resumed his seat, fuming to himself. Why many terminals had to print out messages in capital letters, he would never understand.

"She sent goons after me again and again. Atlas, mostly—Crimson Lance." She practically spat the last words. "Supposedly, she slept with the lot of 'em too. That Atlas _whore_."

Everyone knew what was coming next.

"Pappy held the lot of them off, told me to run for it. He gave me his Judge pistol—his most prized possession, before Atlas thugs kicked down the door. I lived on the streets—even took shelter with that crazy lady Moxxi for a while."

Laughs, hoots, hollers. Moxxi was on no one's side (unless she was on hers, in bed), never stabbed anyone in the back (though she spent a lot of time on her back), and in general made few enemies. Those who did end up on her bad side learned the meaning of the phrase "woman scorned" as two (Lucky Zaford and Handsome Jack) met death by Vault Hunter.

"She was also the one who tipped me off to my heritage, as much as my mother insulted it by selling out to Atlas."

Cheers accompanied mention of "heritage" which immediately changed to angry hisses at the word "Atlas."

"She tried to erase me from the family tree." Her voice rose. "That conniving harpy was a drug-addled wreck who couldn't get twenty dollars a night by the time she realized I was still alive. She had the nerve to access the family database and try to wipe me out of it!"

"You know who stopped her? Hyperion Elite Guards. Contractors! They didn't even know who she was—they just, they just knew what she was doing was wrong, somehow. The Hyperion that was before that megalomaniac took over came as close as you could to a benevolent corporation, hiring only the best and most upstanding people. I know I'm not one of them, for fuck's sake, a lot of us aren't. But give Hyperion a chance and we may well end up with the strongest partner in the six galaxies!"

"What about Vladof?" shouted a person in the audience.

"What about them? They've been mostly a silent partner—if they're not against us, they're an ally."

Jackie's somewhat illogical storytelling didn't quite explain why, other than out of a sense of personal loyalty, she thought Jakobs should stick it out with Hyperion and Vladof. Pickens may have been a bit of a prick, but he had a point—support for this position would come mainly out of sympathy for Jackie, not any belief that the JVLN would still fly straight and true.

"Jackie! Jackie! Jackie!"

Chairman Bill again had to fight the tide to regain control of the meeting.

"Thank you so much to our presenters—you each made a compelling case for your position. Now, the questions may begin…"

[…]

Over the thirty hours Samantha Shepard spent in a Trans-Galactic Republic surgical suite, her friends and allies trickled into the waiting room. Eventually, the medical staff became so tired of answering the same questions a short movie was put on a loop for any newcomers. 

_Durius, Melius, Velocius, Fortior: The Commander Shepard Reconstruction Project_

Roughly translated as "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" (every big project needed a Latin motto in order to sound more awesome), Sam's friends gathered before the vidscreen.

"This is going to be the second time someone put her back together" commented Garrus Vakarian.

"You think she'll be alright?" wondered Jack. "If they bring her back all fucked up, I bet she figures it out within a week and kills them!"

Her enthusiasm caused a few stares and cleared throats.

"Given what we've seen the Trans-Galactic Republic do, I doubt that would happen" commented Maya. "Really, at this point she might be able to outdo Lilith."

At the mention of Lilith, the mood became slightly more somber.

"We've just lost so many" sighed Brick. "War sucks."

Moxxi had caught a shuttle up along with some battle-weary Trans-Galactic Republic troops. She broke into a fresh wave of sobs on hearing mention of deaths. A combined memorial service for all those who had passed on fighting the war was being organized. So far, the honoree list included Lilith, Roland, Oriana Lawson, Liara T'Soni, Tina, Scooter, and Angel.

Strangely, she found herself being comforted by Michael Mamaril, someone she'd not really ever gotten along with as he didn't really approve of her rather bloodthirsty ways (the Underdome, mainly).

Urdnot Wrex made (for him) a rather understated entrance—with the war over, several ships were making runs between Gamma-Three and Gamma-Six. Mass effect cores allowed hyper-zero speedruns at the price of high fuel consumption. Thirty hours was a long time, especially when the trip inbound only took a fraction of that. Despite Shepard's descent into insanity, it wasn't the first time, and many who had shied away from her now realized if she did bounce back, she'd need all the support she could get.

This line of thought brought Tali, Miranda, and even justicar Samara to the waiting room outside where Shepard lay in temporal repose.

"I wonder if they'll do a better job than we did?" commented Miranda. "Though, based on that vid, it looks like they're leaving most of the reconstruction above the navel alone."

"For now" chimed in Tali. "They're going to have to fix her shoulder too, but only after the rest of her is put back together so they can safely bring Sam's upper torso out of stasis."

"The balance of Shepard's actions is still on the side of the Code, otherwise I would be compelled to kill both her and those attempting to bring her back."

"Thanks for that Samara, really brightens the mood" cracked Jeff "Joker" Moreau.

"Now, now, you really can't talk" chided Garrus. "You were the one implying I had a stick up my ass…"

"One big, happy, weird, family" growled Wrex. "She either walks out of that room, or we carry her out. She deserves nothing less!"

Miranda hadn't really paid attention to the repeating vid until she noticed the portion mentioning that one price of Sam's reconstruction would be the ability to bear children. Upon hearing this, _she_ broke down as well. Though she'd tried to hide it (no one hid things from the Shadow Broker), Miranda had been genetically modified to be unable to conceive—a final twisted "gift" from her bastard of a father. She grieved her inability to start a family, while being held by Moxxi who mourned the loss of hers.

"Okay, if anyone else starts crying, we're probably going to have a flood" muttered Jack.


	5. New Horizons Await

**Chapter 4 – New Horizons Await**

"This time, let's do it right."

That phrase became the unofficial motto of the Trans-Galactic Republic's Great Opportunities Fleet. Admiral Adam Grayson used what little power the remains of _Revenant_ had left to transmit an ultradense packet of information to Admiralty Command relating the battles in Gamma-Three and Gamma-Six. As a result of this new information, the Great Opportunities Fleet would not leave home unprepared. A dozen field secured container vessels for RNS _Ultimatum_ alone would ensure the mighty Star Dreadnaught would not suffer embarrassing power shortages. A second supply fleet would also follow the main group through. In fact, a continuous set of ships would make the run from the Home Galaxy to Gamma-Six to both keep the Great Opportunities Fleet running and bring back any items (or persons) of interest. Return trips would take far longer due to the absence of available mass relays aimed to provide a trip in the direction of travel—even using faster ships covering the millions of light years between the Home Galaxy and Gamma-Six would take half a year with favorable conditions.

Four squadrons of Mark-II _Curators_ (forty-eight ships), over a hundred light cruisers, and two hundred frigate-type vessels accompanied _Ultimatum_. The fleet carriers RNS _Skywalker_ and RNS _Solstice_ would offer fighter cover for the big battlewagon. The former bore the name of a near-mythical figure from millions of years ago—he was supposed to have ended wars merely be being present, slaughtered thousands of enemies on the field of battle, and been a great general. The name _Skywalker_ thus became a badge of honor for one ship in the fleet. Full-time historians chronicled the career of each ship so named.

In addition to staggering firepower, the fleet included several large ships whose sole purpose would be to drag what was left of _Revenant_ back to Trans-Galactic Republic space. The Home Senate passed a bill authorizing extensive release of Trans-Galactic Republic technology to the "brave, industrious citizens of our neighbor, Gamma-Six" in exchange for returning the burned-out hulk of the first Trans-Galactic Republic super-dreadnaught built in years (that the public knew about). It was hoped that it would be possible to use this "digistruction" technology found in Gamma-Three to make _Revenant_ spaceworthy again, but this was not a high priority, especially because it might permit those deemed less ready (Gamma-Three) to have access to cutting-edge technology in the process of repairing _Revenant_. If it were to be used, it would only be employed once _Revenant_ was well away from both Gamma-Three and Gamma-Six. Little did most legislators know that someone had clandestine plans for the broken behemoth.

No political machinations crossed the mind of Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz. A "lifer" career officer, she carried the unusual distinction of serving in both the "wet" surface Navy and the Star Fleet. Thanks to a strange genetic mutation, the eighty-year-old woman looked not a day over thirty five (and had the physique to prove it). Typical lifespans for humans in the Trans-Galactic Republic measured over a century; two or even three were not unheard of. When she set another record for calisthenics, some of those she beat were actually half her chronological age (much to their chagrin). Sending such a respected elder officer sent two signals: one, this is serious and two, we're willing to open diplomatic relations fully.

Nimitz had been present the last time the Trans-Galactic Republic made extra-galactic contact, bringing the tenth galaxy into the fold. That had been almost fifty years ago, when she'd made her first move from surface to space as part of an experimental cross-pollination program. That the Trans-Galactic Republic Navy essentially consisted of two separate branches had been a long-running concern of the Admiralty Command. The spacers had vast experience from flying everywhere in the nine (soon to be ten) galaxies but developed less operational depth (pun not intended), while surface Navy personnel were generally limited in service to a single planet with which they gained immense familiarity. After all, how practical was it to ship ships from one world to another? Asking personnel to relearn systems and procedures on vastly differentiated, fragmented ship-types would have been even more costly. Thus also began a drive to standardize surface Navy ship types, beginning with the gigantic repulsor-carriers.

Nimitz had been a Lieutenant Commander aboard such a carrier, RNS _Phalanx_, before being selected for the "S2S" program (Space-to-Sea and Sea-to-Space, depending on direction of transfer). She'd been a fast-riser in the wet Navy, and the trend continued once in Star Fleet. She had faced some prejudice upon joining the crew of the then-new _Prosecutor-_class Star Destroyer RNS _Adamant_ due to being a "fishy" or "splashy" (derogatory terms for the surface Navy used by spacers, who were in return called "asstronauts" and "stargazers"). Despite these initial disadvantages, she proved herself in the Fifth Battle of Maaleran V in which she successfully led an improvised militia of civilians against the insurrectionist Nebula Front. Despite spending eons in space, many a combatant fought as if starships were confined to two dimensions of movement instead of three. Knowing exactly what the limitations would have been in a surface engagement, Nimitz actively pursued alternate strategies that took advantage of her opponents' limited thinking. Striking from below, above, behind, and even head-on, her "fleet" of armed star yachts held off Nebula Front bombers attempting to release a bioweapon into the planet's atmosphere. The shocked, but gratified captain of the _Prosecutor _-class vessel RNS _Steadfast_ found the malcontents disabled awaiting capture rather than having to rescue thousands of helpless civvies as the perpetrators hyperspaced out. His commendation combined with the results of the battle ended any preconceived notions Allison Nimitz's fellow spacers had about her in one stroke.

Ten years hence, she had her own _Prosecutor_, _Unyielding Defender_. It was lost in a glorious battle against corrupt corporate interests, but not before racking up a vicious kill-count. She learned what happened when ships were designed by committee (as the _Prosecutors_ were)—trying to please everyone pleased no one. Lots of fighters that were cumbersome to launch/recover. Many weapons, but poorly placed. A huge spaceframe, mostly wasted. Slow, inefficient, poorly shielded for its size—about its only redeeming feature was its terrifically fast hyperdrive (class 0.65).

During a "world war" on the Keeran homeworld, she took command of the newly-standardized repulsor-carrier _Poseidon's Bane_, before being shunted back into space after the conclusion of that bloody conflict. Fate seemed to work in her favor, as an attempt to discredit now lower-echelon Vice Admiral Nimitz by placing her in an out-of-the-way sector backfired due to her stepping up to lead a fight over a much more senior but incompetent career spacer whose fleet was wiped out two sectors over. The Trans-Galactic Republic lost that little dust-up, but the fact that she gave them hell before pulling back earned her credit. After that, the Pendalites were formally banned from membership in the Trans-Galactic Republic and sanctioned back to the age of caves. The species never recovered. Over the course of the next few decades, she advanced to the upper echelon, then Minor Admiral, Admiral, and finally Fleet Admiral.

Star Dreadnaughts like the _Revenant_ rated a full Admiral or higher as a commanding officer. The need for an individual exceeding Admiral in rank depended on the situation at hand (mostly, the size of the fleet supporting the Star Dreadnaught, but no one wanted to admit that openly). Consequently, Fleet Admiral Nimitz found herself in command of the Great Opportunities Fleet. The success of Allison Nimitz and others like her over the years convinced the Admiralty Command to enlarge the S2S program, meaning a significant portion of the _Ultimatum_'s crew were S2S graduates. Increasing levels of standardization between space and sea led to easier transfers (and lower costs). The GO Fleet would take roughly a month to stage before shooting nearly instantly to its destination.

[…]

Not all fresh adventures involved outer space. After waiting a third of a Pandoran day for a response, Patricia Tannis finally had a group of intrepid volunteers to begin exploration of caverns below the Altar. Maya and Garrus (fresh from being cooped up outside Shepard's surgery), Athena, and Axton would spend two weeks mapping out the mysterious structures beneath the Pandoran ice.

"Make sure you pack enough dextro food!" harped Garrus for the umpteenth time. Compressed and liquefied nutrients would be the standard fare for the quartet since no one could figure out how to safely store food/water in Storage Deck Units or other digistruct devices. Of course, SDUs conferred other advantages—ammo, weapons, and other supplies did not take up space in backpacks so almost all of the available space could be dedicated to rations.

"I still don't understand" complained Maya. She enjoyed learning, but chemistry/biology was not her strong suit.

"If I eat your food, I could die" deadpanned the turian.

"Dying is not on the list of tasks to be performed in this study" said Athena. "At least not _us_ dying."

"Help me pack these towers" called Axton. "Watch out, Tannis said they're fragile!"

"Well, I'm glad I wear my armor everywhere." Garrus collapsed two of the seismic imaging towers into his backpack. "You know, just in case these imagers cause rocks to fall and kill everyone else."

"Very reassuring" snarked Maya. The turian seemed to think he was funny. With all his death jokes, he might fit in on Pandora after all!

Athena, as usual, was all business. "We move step-by-step, setting up the seismic towers, taking readings, and moving to the next area. Each tower can cover up to a 400 meter radius, depending on the composition of the ground. It takes thirty minutes to set up and calibrate a tower, fifteen minutes to take readings, and five minutes to break it all down. We are going to have 50 meter overlaps between imagings, and must work in pairs."

"So that means with an eight hour day…"

"You didn't hear the mad scientist, did you?" Axton was not happy. "She wants us doing twelve hour days!"

"She's not coming with us" replied Garrus. "Besides, I don't think the world will end if this survey takes longer than she wanted it to."

"Even with twelve hours a day spent imaging, we'll be lucky to get seven or eight samples per team" said Athena. "Remember, we have to walk around down there to place the towers and have no idea where we're going or the places tunnels will lead. We have to consider the possibility of becoming lost or stuck."

"This just gets better and better." Axton could no longer hide his annoyance.

"Hey! You volunteered for this" snapped Maya.

"Here we go…" muttered Garrus. "I thought Jack and Miranda were bad."

[…]

Thirty exhausting hours later, the medical team working on Samantha Shepard emerged from the surgical suite. "The first set of procedures was successful." After that statement, the exhausted doctor turned around to head back in—doubtlessly to another patient with another problem that had to be fixed by cutting, stitching, or relocating.

A soft chorus of cheers broke out among Shepard's assembled friends and crew, until Wrex pointed out "They only finished the first step."

"So what's the next step?" wondered Miranda.

Samara spoke up. "It is likely that additional reconstructive surgery will be required to repair the damage to Samantha's shoulder."

"And they'll have to hold off on that until after they've finished making sure the first surgery actually works out, along the lines of 'We put the mass effect core in the ship, now let's see if it flies'" continued Tali.

"Well, for the record, our job was harder." Miranda folded her arms and mock-pouted. "She was actually _dead_ that time."

"As you humans say, she is not out of the woods yet" replied the justicar. "There are still many remaining obstacles to the Commander's well-being to overcome."

As if on cue, a nurse handed over a datapad outlining exactly what had to go exactly right for Samantha Shepard to recover. The list was rather lengthy, and contained many "if and only if's."

After the subdued celebration of Sam Shepard's initial success in surgery, Tali'Zorah decided to head back to the SETTLE headquarters. Much work remained, including an experimental weapon to be mounted on a top-secret new design. Schematics liberated from Sapiens Shield/Cerberus showed great potential in small-scale tests, but also the possibility for tremendous devastation in the wrong hands. Even with the Reapers gone, no one was going to take the chance of being caught unprepared again.

Tali enjoyed confronting complex design problems—it was something common to most quarians. That said, her desire to tackle difficult engineering tasks was somewhat reduced when she found herself working with a hyper-active teenager. Gaige had incredible intelligence, but lacked the focus found among more seasoned personnel. Of course, that Gaige had often inspired or was the direct source of breakthroughs lately despite her age and newcomer status didn't help the situation as Tali was slightly jealous. Well, okay, very jealous, but she wasn't about to admit this to anybody. She'd fastened her father's actions firmly around her neck, so she had something to prove—she wasn't sure how she'd do it, but Gaige wasn't helping.

Gaige had an idea that combined guns which spat fire and starship weapons using mass effect fields. It was an awesome, incredible, and nifty idea. Take a property-charged bullet ("elemental" in Gaige-speak), shrink it down while maintaining its special property, and launch it out of a mass accelerator at extreme velocities. This improved both damage from the round itself and the effect of specialized ammunition, as the greater destruction left due to round travel speed made the target more susceptible to other types of damage.

"Oh, I am going to one-up that little brat" Tali vowed. "Let's see…inertial confinement fusion…"

Meanwhile, a turian-led design team worked over different hull possibilities for the new ship. Codenamed "Project Olympic," its goal was to produce an affordable, powerful "anti-Reaper" lest any other hostile forces come knocking. Unfortunately, even with the research that had gone into _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ these ships were looking downright huge. Lessons learned from the design included "install point-defense guns," "include fighters/hangars somewhere" and "for the love of all that's holy, no more fixed-forward-facing-weapons!" To accommodate these changes, more energy was needed. To produce more energy, larger power cores were needed. To fit a larger power core, a longer spaceframe was needed. Because of the longer spaceframe…

Thus far, the "Project Olympic" vessels would be 12,800m in length—twice the size of the single-purpose dreadnaughts they were meant to replace. 12,800m long, made of hypothetical materials that only currently existed in small quantities, and that still didn't solve the power-density problem. Affordability? Out the airlock to the tune of three trillion credits. _Each_. _Without counting development costs_.

"One step forward, five steps back" muttered Tali. Hopefully, the Reapers didn't have vengeful distant cousins or something.

[...]

As always, the Jakobs shareholder/family meeting dissolved into chaos once voting began. When the "go-it-alone" faction failed to survive the first round of balloting, both "stay-the-course" and "find-new-allies" camps tried to court them. Buck Rodgers and Jackie made personal appeals to Bart Jakobs to try to secure his support. They needn't have bothered as many who supported him previously splintered on their own and were not inclined to follow their "leader" anymore.

Ultimately, not much ended up changing because neither remaining side could muster the 60% shareholder support required to advance before the Board (on which a simple majority would have been enough). It appeared Jackie Jakobs had won by default, as "no change" essentially came out as "stay the course." That her advocacy for such a stance was rather odd (again centering more on a sense of personal loyalty to a Hyperion of the past than any present benefit to either her or the family) didn't seem to incense anyone once it was realized "stay the course" had won by not losing.

Really, so long as no repeats were had of the "Massacre on Themis," everyone would walk away at least not-angry. At that meeting a few decades back, a group of Jakobs family members were slaughtered by a hidden explosive. No one knew who planted it, and each faction within the family blamed another. The most curious aspect was that those who were killed did not hold a significant number of voting shares, nor were they connected to anyone important within the family power structure. Investigators concluded there _was_ a deliberate attempt to draw these people together since other than blood ties they were mostly unrelated to one another, but for what reason (given Jakobs family politics, killings almost always had a specific motive) no one knew. Sweeps for evidence turned up no traces of known explosives, despite a roomful of hundreds of witnesses who swore up and down that there was some kind of explosion. Never mind the clearly blast-related trauma on the bodies of those who died that day.

For all the pomp and circumstance surrounding annual Jakobs meetings, not much ever happened at them other than blatant showmanship. Then again, given how messed up the Jakobs family had become, this didn't surprise anyone.

Jackie took off immediately following the votes. Buck Rogers had some business on-world. Bart vanished into the nearby slums. The rest of the family slowly dispersed. Local enterprises had a love-hate relationship with Jakobs as a family. On one hand, they brought more business in a few days than most would see in a year on backwater worlds. On the other, they tended to leave tremendous messes behind that could cost as much to clean up as there was profit in hosting such a sizable gathering.

[...]

The end of the Reaper War left many questioning whether the United Defense Command had gone too far in supplanting traditional civilian (i.e. Council) control of military forces. The Council, over Udina's objections, voted itself back the powers it had ceded during the conflict, including the right to remove flag officers for misconduct. Victus, Clethon and Tevos wondered how they'd deal with the bombastic ambassador from humanity given that his views were now rapidly de-synching from the rest of his species.

Unfortunately for the Council, pieces of paper were far less of power projection tools than starships—and a good number of the latter remained under the control of the United Defense Command. At first, the UDC tried to project a front of "There are still threats, you need us" (especially referring to Sapiens' Shield). In a sense, this wasn't far from the truth since despite military devastation the remains of Sapiens Shield continued to attack convoys, planets, and other "softer" targets due to most heavy naval units being stationed in Gamma-Three at the moment.

On the upside, Sapiens Shield itself began to fragment in a major way. Cerberus reasserted itself harshly, destroying several vessels belonging to the "JVLN" group. Said group was made up of three entities—themselves not exactly the closest of friends. They went from teeth-clenched teamwork one week to quiet attempts to destroy each other the next. It appeared something from the "home" galaxy had changed, but no one within Citadel jurisdiction had any idea what that might be.


	6. Trudging, Talking, and Testing

**Chapter 5 – Trudging, Talking, and Testing**

Thankfully for Garrus, he'd badly misjudged the seemingly-vicious banter between Axton and Maya. He'd spoken to many of the non-Trans-Galactic Republic "outsiders" casually but hadn't really gotten to know them well. It turned out not only did these "Vault Hunters" viciously trash-talk each other (in ways that made Jack/Miranda look positively tame!) they even _killed_ each other. Repeatedly. _For fun_.

"AD&amp;D Insurance" had a whole different meaning on Pandora. Someone had figured out "brain-backups" to the point where, so long as one had bought their way into the system, a new body with all memories would reappear at a nearby "New-U Station." It was all _wireless,_ too! Though it sounded like something out of an omnitool game, the stations did actually work, until the Reapers destroyed the central control computer and many of the "respawn" points.

_That system might be able to help Shepard if someone rebuilt it_ he thought, though he did not mention it to anyone.

Speaking of Shepard, Wrex always wanted to know who would win in a fight—the-other-person-in-the-elevator or Samantha Shepard. Perhaps on Pandora the burning question could be answered.

The four moved cautiously through smashed rock littered with bits of Eridium. For some reason, Garrus and Garrus alone felt a strange tingling sensation as they passed through what was once the Prime Vault/Altar. Handheld sensors revealed nothing of interest which might explain the phenomenon, so the party focused efforts elsewhere. A most intriguing find came toward what was termed the "basement" of the Altar. A large cylindrical shard of Eridium the size of a human forearm lay on the path, glowing with a blinding inner light. Anyone who touched it felt its vibrations pulse through them. Said vibrations followed a pattern from one end of the piece to the other following the long axis every few seconds. No visible changes occurred though, the repetition had to be felt, not seen.

Axton carefully wrapped it in anti-static cushioning before placing it in his pack, reckoning that "Something this weird could get scrambled by being put in an SDU."

_Some time later..._

"Garrus, catch!"

Athena tossed a ruggedized calibration pad to the turian. It would set up the seismic tower's software for the environment and run tests to make sure any data collected would meet the required (exacting) standard established by Tannis. So far, the quartet mapped three spots with an average radius of 250 meters each. Nothing interesting yet, but since they'd barely moved beyond the basement level of the structure depth-wise no one expected to find anything. They were still within areas that had been previously mapped—Tannis wanted to scan for unusual mineral deposits in areas whose topography was known.

"This definitely is a nice break from being shot at" said Axton. "And if rocks do fall, my turret can project a shield."

"That's good to know" droned Maya. She'd been totally absorbed in some information she'd downloaded from Hyperion. Combined with Patricia Tannis's research notes, she was trying to see if anything new could be determined about the origin of Sirens (when not assisting the team with setting up seismic sensors).

"Sirens sure are strange" remarked Athena with no hint of taunting or malice. "You're born that way, with a half-body tattoo and a unique power that seems to defy the laws of physics. Somehow no one knows what this is about, or why it happens."

"There's always the Rakkman legend" said Axton. "Not that I believe stuff that's written in ancient books, but Lilith was the one who put an end to the Harvesters. The psychos might be, well, crazy, but the whole shtick about a Siren being our 'last hope' turned out to be truer than we thought."

Not everyone knew the entirety of the Maya/Lilith story. She decided it would be a good time to share it.

"In the end, it looks like Sirens impacted the fate of the galaxy thrice recently" she concluded. "Angel, Lilith, and myself."

"So you're like Sam Shepard, except without the whole Reapers thing" replied Garrus. It seemed some people were just always in the thick of it when entire galaxies were at stake, as if events of cosmic importance were pulled to them. "And there isn't more than one Sam Shepard."

"Based on what I've seen, if you had six Sam Shepards the fight would have been over a long time ago" said Axton, lounging against a rock. "If you want a lady of war, she's it!"

"Let's…let's get moving." Axton could almost hear Garrus deflate about a size from all the talk about his old Commander.

That day, the survey team completed a total of seven scans, roughly on par with what Tannis wanted. At what passed for dinner, the four actually decided to get to know one another rather than spending the whole trip complaining (which would have been easy enough to do as they forced themselves to swallow almost-liquid nutrients).

"You're not from around here" began Axton, indicating Garrus. "Why don't you start?"

"Well, my father was very by-the-book. He worked in C-Sec, or Citadel Security—they're law enforcement on the Citadel space station that is usually considered the center of society where I'm from."

"At least you had a choice" replied Maya bitterly. She and Athena exchanged significant looks.

"Well, only somewhat of a choice" he continued. "When I was chosen as a possible candidate for the Spectres, my own father blocked me from even trying. That isn't much of a choice. And he didn't even do it to my face—he pulled behind-the-scenes strings."

"That sucks" spat Axton. "Backstabbed by your own dad!"

"It wasn't all bad—I did get tapped to investigate corruption in the very Spectres whose ranks I never ended up trying to reach. Unfortunately, it was just a political ploy to appease the human ambassador Udina…"

"That asshole who was practically kneeling in front of Xytler every time he opened his mouth?" laughed Athena. "Since I was supposed to be the 'auditor' making sure Spectres didn't go too far off the rails, I got to see a lot. Some of the policies he was pushing—Spectre-level standing army, super-Spectres not accountable even to the Council, you're getting the sense of a pattern here, no?"

"Create an entire military with zero accountability and the mandate to do 'whatever it takes'" said Garrus. "Somehow, I don't think that would work."

"Anyway" he continued, "when Sam Shepard was named the first human Spectre, again an appeasement measure I suspect, I jumped at the chance to work with her. Very, very, very long story short, we took down some terrible people—some who were escaping justice through loopholes or flat-out legal neglect."

"Such as?" Axton leaned in—he was genuinely interested now.

"A crazy scientist was actually growing organs inside his own test subjects, then selling said organs on the black market. If the organ failed to grow correctly, _he just left it inside_."

Maya made a small retching noise.

"We took him down. He escaped the first time because C-Sec wouldn't shoot down an obvious criminal 'too close to the station.'"

Garrus took on a self-satisfied smirk. "No bothersome regulations about 'potentially clogging traffic lanes' to stop a Spectre!"

"A Spectre who clearly kicked a lot of Harvester ass" remarked Axton. "Damn, she is fine!"

Maya's eyes rolled, Athena facepalmed, and Garrus did his best to not react.

"Stopping a Spectre that's gone bad is difficult" he continued. "It basically takes another Spectre to do so, and the Council needed a lot of convincing that a blatantly racist turian Spectre was working for the Reapers. It took Shepard to sort that one out, and she had to beat her way through red tape set to stop her every time she thought she had a lead. The Council protects its favorites. Of course, even after we stopped Saren, for years afterward those yammering politicians insisted it was 'the geth' even though Sam and I nearly got crushed by a piece of the Reaper in question. The tech was too advanced for the geth—too smart. Any quarian could tell you that!"

"Some people won't recognize a skag problem until their garden is nothing but a pile of skag shit" huffed Axton.

"Exactly" concurred Garrus. "Then Shepard went and _died_ on me, and for a while it looked like everything I ever fought for was for nothing. The Council swept the whole thing under the proverbial rug. They pretended nothing was going to happen. Then the Collector attacks against human colonies started… I wanted to make a difference, but working inside the system wasn't going to change anything. C-Sec was too set in its ways—when I left the force I also had a huge falling-out with my father over it too. He accused me of betraying everything he'd taught me to believe in."

"Rough break" commented Axton.

"I went after a local smuggler who'd been taunting C-Sec for years. On my own, without the force of the law or even a squad. Eventually, I caught up with him, and before I killed him with an overdose of his own red sand, he told me his actual supplier could be found on the lawless Omega space station."

Maya's small "Oh…" could have been interpreted in several different ways. On one hand, she felt sorry that Garrus had tried so hard to "be good" only to run into obstructions at every turn. On the other, she was clearly impressed, even mildly aroused. This Garrus might not be from these parts, he wasn't even _human_, but he definitely would have made the cut as a Vault Hunter. A particularly brutal and effective one at that!

"Can we turn up the heat a tad?" Athena shivered under a thermal blanket.

Garrus twisted the dial on the cylindrical device that sat in the middle of the four as he resumed telling his story. "Omega. What a twisted container of villainy and malcontent! Run by an asari named Aria T'Loak. She wasn't really who I was there for though—it was the pirates, the slavers, the drug dealers. It took a couple months of hard work, but the three mercenary corporations who normally fought like street thugs finally decided to team up on me since I'd been wiping the floor with their sorry asses. Helped that I found a lot of people like me—wanted to make the galaxy a brighter place, found nothing but ever-dimmer lights at C-Sec. Eventually, the mercs turned one of my operatives, which wiped out my whole squad save him and me. The mercs then coordinated a massive assault on my hideout, and I prepared for the end. I decided to call my father so the last words I would have said to him weren't me storming off. He wanted me to come home so we could hash it all out. And then…_she_ came."

"Shepard sounds like a right goddess on the battlefield" mused Axton.

"In all the years I've worked with Shepard, I've learned one thing—do what you believe to be right, and put all of yourself into it. She trusted a geth construct named Legion—Anna Erickson tells me that Legion was instrumental in getting the geth to stop fighting at Rannoch. She handled delicate situations and got everyone out alive, without compromising objectives, on more than one occasion. Even a time when I was ready to kill someone who didn't deserve it—she stopped me."

"Intriguing. I hope now more than ever that she is able to recover" breathed Athena.

"I didn't even tell you about the Collector Base battle…"

After he finished relaying the attack on the Collectors with all its vivid details, his audience remained spellbound.

"Well. Impressive," said Athena. "What else?"

"Oh come on, it's been all Garrus, all the time!" he replied, a twinkle in his eye (as much as a turian could have such a thing). "Surely, at least one of you has something interesting to say. It's an opportunity to share!"

"Cloning blues…" offered Athena.

"…fighting religious rabble…" continued Maya.

"…or more explosions?" finished Axton.

"I think we've had enough explosions for now" replied Archangel. Axton's face fell.

"What's this you say about clones?" He turned to Athena.

"It's a long story…"

[…]

"Attach that last lead!"

Nurse Marilyn hoped against hope Sam Shepard would pull off another miracle. She'd already been dead once, so not technically having died there was still a chance for recovery that didn't involve bringing her back from the other side.

Now came the first true test. Fortunately, when Shepard had been pile-driven with an artillery shell, it had only damaged part of her body, leaving the rest intact. Physical repairs had been completed to the lower half of her torso and her legs had been replaced. In order to ensure these new parts would work, it was necessary to see if electrical impulses fired from the brain actually reached her legs. Performing such a test would require bringing Shepard out of temporal stasis, which meant both placing appropriate examination equipment and being ready for "shock support."

The thing about temporal stasis was that when a patient was "frozen" their body would "unfreeze" in the exact same state as they were when first put under. This meant if a patient was going into shock or had experienced massive trauma somewhere, the brain would assume the condition was still ongoing even if it had been corrected (as was the case here). So Shepard's heart was likely to be beating out of rhythm, and a huge pain surge was also possible. As a result, she was to be kept in a mostly-comatose state. This was possible because Trans-Galactic Republic medical technology allowed semi-selective restoration of brain functions without engaging the higher consciousness. For example, autonomous processes such as breathing or heartbeat could be brought back without actually waking the patient.

Stasis would be gradually withdrawn to bring Sam Shepard's body back up to speed, while drugs would be administered to keep her higher brain under. "Raw" shocks (transmissions from one lead to another without using nerves) showed that her new hips and legs were physically connected to the rest of her body.

A doctor's voice filled the room. "Cardiopulmonary restart in three! Two! One!"

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP.

The electrocardiogram went nuts as Sam Shepard's heart raced, failing to do its job properly.

Pre-placed paddles beneath the left shoulder and right armpit (viewed from above) delivered stabilizing current to restore normal heart function. Audio and lights indicated the status of the machine—a steadily rising whine followed by a "ZAP!" sound. Just like audio emulators for spaceships, these cues assisted people in performing the required task, the consequence of millennia of inaccurate portrayal of such situations in fiction. People had expectations which contradicted reality, and when the unrealistic expectation didn't materialize, more than one medic/soldier reported the defibrillator/guns were not working when in fact they were.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-T-ZAP!

A red "X" appeared in a small screen on the defibrillator. Normal heart rhythm not yet restored.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-T-ZAP!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-T-ZAP!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-T-ZAP!

Ding. Green check-mark. Normal EKG. Marilyn punched the air. "YES."

Heart rate elevated, but pumping correctly. Breaths shallow, but not hyperventilating. Intravenous drug mix changed to include mild sedative.

In the meantime, Mordin Solus, salarian scientist extraordinaire, finally arrived after some diplomatic misunderstandings delayed his departure from hush-hush work on Sur'Kesh.

"Need detailed data. Summaries inadequate."

Less than twenty seconds later: "Prognosis—positive. Will need to maintain coma to protect higher brain functions. Should begin tests on electrical transmission from brain to new implants. Nurse. Please assist!"

Issues were already cropping up. For some reason, impulses sent to Shepard's right leg were not coming through.

"Will procure artificial nerve tissue from Alliance sources. Send memo to Karin Chakwas. Expect she will be most cooperative."

An ultra-sophisticated Virtual Intelligence was wheeled in on a trolley. Its purpose was to replace _all_ automatic nervous system functions until it was safe to reactivate Sam Shepard's brain fully—there was some risk now even with only basic neural activity. As a result, appropriate electrical leads were connected to the back of Shepard's neck. They would use nano-wire drills to reach the medulla, which was where automatic nervous system functions were normally coordinated from.

The only way to verify the functionality of most work done was to run the body through its paces. For instance, it was necessary to see if automatic nerve responses even occurred in areas that had been replaced: digestion, respiration, heart rate, salivation, urination, perspiration, and even arousal. Next would be conscious control—movement of limbs, breathing (again), chewing, eye functions, fine motor control…

"Challenging process. Will require focus. Can do it. Must run many tests."

Indeed, Mordin Solis would not certify the work as done without conducting hundreds, if not thousands, of re-runs of the same small checks. That was where the four-month prognosis came from.

"Has to be this way. Other methods might get it wrong" he insisted when questioned. "Must maintain induced coma, ensure functionality of autonomous nervous system. Observe for a period of several days."

[...]

"Do you know what I used to be?" questioned Athena. Undoubtedly at least two present would know of her employer, if not the fact she worked for them. The last gave a quizzical but interested stare.

"The Crimson Raiders are what's left over when you strip out the nepotism, corruption, greed, and blind idiocy that characterized the Crimson Lance, largely due to Atlas Corporation's legendary incompetence."

"So you worked for the Raiders? Why'd you leave?"

"The Raiders" (she turned to Garrus) "weren't my first rodeo. I was grown in a vat from the DNA of many young girls who had been kidnapped and trained into Crimson Lance Assassins."

Shock registered on the turian's face. "Ooookay, that's a little crazy…"

"Undoubtedly." Athena's tone remained flat and unemotional, as if she were describing the day's shockball scores. "The scientists at Atlas thought combining the genetic material from their first batch of thirty-six would create the ultimate agent. Genetic memory is still a debated subject—but my combat scores were off the charts. Regardless of why that was the case, they decided to produce more of me."

"Produce more? Wait…so they cloned you."

"And put me in charge of training them" she continued. "Atlas was, at the time, the best of the best. That included their military preparation facilities—state-of-the-art live-fire exercises. For weeks, I ensured they learned (or relearned) everything I knew—they were, after all, intended to be as deadly as me. Replace me if necessary, even!"

"Did anyone ever figure out that genetic memory thing?" Garrus really wanted to know.

"Shush. That's not the point. They were the only family I ever had…"

Her voice trailed off, and Athena stopped speaking, visibly attempting to control a rising emotional surge.

"They were the only family I ever had, and I killed them" she whispered.

"I…assume this wasn't…voluntary" stuttered Garrus.

"The brass wanted to see what each of us were capable of" she replied, her voice taking on a mocking, condescending quality that dripped with barely-concealed hatred. "So they pitted us against an entire wave of our own. Most dropped like flies. A few lasted long enough to entertain, but no one was able to survive all of them at once. Except me."

She began openly crying.

"When it was my turn, the bastards wiped all of my sisters from the New-U as they fell" Athena hissed. "I _enjoyed_ putting them all down, showing off my superiority. I figured I'd see them all again in the barracks once the big shots were gone. Instead, I was congratulated as the 'Sole Survivor' and 'Supreme Lance Assassin' afterward. They told me to take the rest of the day off, even sent a car for me rather than the usual obstacle-course-back-to-the-barracks."

"When I said this was an opportunity to share, I didn't mean…"

"Of course you did. You just didn't know what kind of darkness and betrayal you might find…"

"I…"

"I need someone else to know. I need to tell people. It's the only way to make sure this doesn't happen again. If there was a line, Atlas crossed it. Child trafficking, tricking me into murdering my family, slavery, brothels, drugs, illegal business practices, littering…"

Garrus wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the last item on that list. So he kept his mandibles closed.

"When I dressed down to casuals and found the barracks empty, at first I was confused. I noticed a terminal had been left on at the front desk, which was unoccupied, so I looked to see what was on it. 'Project Pinnacle: SUCCESS' with a list of all my trainees. A list with a big red 'X' over each face, status column reading 'TERMINATED.'" Her voice lowered to a low but deadly intensity. "I don't know how long I sat in front of that screen. I don't even remember what I did after I stood up. Once I became aware of myself again, I saw flames. Blood. Corpses piled everywhere, some still wearing high-ranking military uniforms. Doors pulled off hinges, desks upended, windows shattered, walls riddled with bullet holes."

Athena looked down at her hands, as if seeing them for the first time. She turned them, palm-up, palm-down, palm-up.

"My hands were covered in blood. My arms were covered in blood. I found a mirror in the barracks locker room—my armor, which I didn't remember putting on, was coated in it. My hair, too. At that point, I realized what I must have done. I turned, and saw my helmet—it remained completely pristine, sitting on a nearby bench on top of an ECHO recorder. On that ECHO was a short recording—my voice! 'I will avenge you, sisters, and I will see them dead **with my own eyes**!'"

Mouths dropped open in shock. Garrus made a mental note not to anger the former assassin. Ever. Maya couldn't decide whether to throw up, laugh, or burst into tears at the barbarity of it all. Axton sat stony-faced, clearly trying to contain whatever his reaction would have been otherwise.

"Inside my helmet, a data disk attached to a reader. It had red lettering scrawled on it. 'Never Forget,' and on a new line, 'KILL THEM ALL.' On the bottom of the disk reader, a bloody handprint. I deduced it was my own as I must have held the device to write on it."

Slowly, deliberately, Athena pulled a small chain around her neck from beneath her adventurer outfit. On the end hung a tiny memory chip. Gently, almost reverently, she let the chip and its chain pool in her other hand.

"This is security footage from the facility that day. I have never watched it, but I carry it with me wherever I go. The memory of what they made me do, even under false pretenses, and my vengeance after that, is a burden I will carry for the rest of my life."

Athena slumped, deflated and defeated. Broken. "This is why I took a desk job on the Citadel after we fought our way off Pandora, so I would never fight or kill again. Stay as far away from the battlefield as I could—my fiercest opponent would be paper cuts or finger strain."

"Cloning blues doesn't even begin to put it mildly" breathed Garrus. "I'm sorry, Athena."

"Don't be. I made my choice, and I mostly keep my demons to myself." The woman was regaining composure as she sat up straighter.

"Heaven help anyone you set those demons on" replied Maya. The two exchanged wicked grins.

"Uhh, guys? It's kind of getting late" said Axton, ruining any "friend-moments" that might have been occurring. "We should probably hit the sack!"

All but Athena were grateful to turn in. Though the quartet enjoyed the past conversation, it had gotten heavy and depressing. Escaping to dreamland would be the perfect antidote for three of four. For the last, sleep brought no relief. Only nightmares, terror, and re-living it all over, and over, and over. Athena kept her eyes open until her body could tolerate wakefulness no more.


	7. Please Be Kind, Rewind!

**Chapter 6 – Please Be Kind, Rewind!**

The Illusive Man, formerly known as Jack Harper, was in a terrible mood. The "Sapiens' Shield" alliance with JVLN had only made a mess of things by adding opinions that were not his to the process of an otherwise-orderly advancement of human interests. Thus, he decided to call off the alliance—once he'd extracted/appropriated anything valuable from his soon-to-be-former "partners."

The decimation from fighting _Revenant_ (and the United Defense Command) had left the newcomers with vastly diminished forces. Cerberus had taken a beating on its war materiel as well, but still had the manpower, just not the ships, necessary to operate a galaxy-spanning navy (especially since many planets backing it were completely destroyed, gutting its "economy"). Thus, instead of ditching its allies right away, Cerberus made an apparently-magnanimous offer to help crew the few ships that were left. In their desperation and fear of "the others," all three members of JVLN went along with it.

Cerberus stole the ships in short order, dumped JVLN crews on random planets (if they were lucky), and consolidated its forces. Neither the Council nor UDC noticed. Then again, had either side tried to bring attention to the situation, it would have been similar to calling the police while committing a crime.

Thinking himself in a position to return Cerberus to its roots, the Illusive Man found himself less difficult to find than his name suggested. Much to his relief, it wasn't the Systems Alliance, Citadel Council, or Trans-Galactic Republic who found him (despite the logos on a clearly-stolen ship). Much to his displeasure, he found himself pressed into the service of a shadowy organization run by someone known only as "The Lady." Mere talk would have been insufficient to convince the Illusive Man to go along with another person's plan, but the operatives arrived with more than that. A centipede-like device forcibly attached itself to his spine, compelling obedience.

"Yes, my lady" were his last words as he signed off.

[…]

The Citadel Council found itself in more and more conflict with the United Defense Command—which was originally an obscure department _inside_ the civilian Citadel government. On one side, supporters of the UDC pointed out that if the Reapers or something similar invaded, the galaxy stood unprepared to repel such an attack. Furthermore, despite the splintering of Sapiens' Shield back into its original components, said components were still dangerous.

On the other hand, garrisoning entire worlds, conscripting populations, and enforcing "military first" policies that gave soldiers the finest consumables available while leaving civilians with nothing did not go over well, no matter how supposedly-benevolent the intent. Too many "bloody Marys" gave the galaxy one hell of a hangover, and now they would do anything, _anything_, to get rid of it.

Like most out-of-control juntas, the UDC walked a fine line between maintaining control and inciting their own rapid downfall. For example, trying to get rid of Donnell Udina and replace him with someone less likely to say idiotic things on the news vids.

"Of course I believe the UDC was justified in its orders to Shepard!" he fumed. "The terrorists were not going to back down otherwise!"

"Councilor, those were civilian worlds with virtually no military presence…could you comment on why that method was used, instead of attacking, for example, their shipyards?"

"Miss Wong, _we are at war_. Sometimes, we have to do things during a war that turn stomachs. Someone has to make that call!"

"Opinion polls show that the citizens of the Alliance do not approve—surely, civilian control of the military still means something?"

"Yes, yes, but unless those civilians are willing to pick up a rifle, they should defer to those who are actually in harm's way."

Wong cut off the interview. "There you have it—the United Defense Command doesn't like difficult questions. Apparently, if the military says jump, everyone else is supposed to ask how high. That doesn't sound like civilian control at all. This has been Emily Wong for ANN!"

Despite the name, the Systems Alliance never directly controlled or funded the Alliance News Network. This became a sore point—UDC brass griped "ANN" gave "unfair legitimacy" to "anti-military" and "unpatriotic" points of view. However, its ownership by a large corporation kept the UDC from attempting to deal with the Alliance News Network too blatantly—the same people in charge of the ANN also contributed heavily to key UDC-supporting politicians in the Alliance Parliament.

On paper, each Council race chose its own representative, so if humanity wanted to recall Udina and send in someone else, they could. The main problem manifested itself in a split between those who wanted someone saner and those who actually agreed with what Udina had to say. The latter category was filled mostly with Cerberus, which meant despite small numbers, these people had a large amount of economic and political power.

As Cerberus peeled away from its old allies, it began to retrench back into its black-ops, share-nothing self. Quiet, unseen power was better than boisterous, loud influence at this point, especially given the decidedly minority size of Cerberus' political support (both among citizens and elected officials). Looking to expand by making "investments" in reluctant politicians, operatives sought out various officials for "one-on-one" chats about "the future of humanity" (which often involved supporting Donnell Udina). Some knuckled under and began surreptitiously supporting pro-Cerberus/pro-UDC positions. Others, however, surreptitiously recorded their encounters, broadcast them to the entire extranet, handed over videos to the media, and generally made a scene. Cerberus, like the United Defense Command, was stuck—"silence" the noisy politicians and by doing so prove their point, openly admit to bribery, or the usual standby?

Problem was, the usual standby of claiming "Rogue cell, rogue cell!" only worked so many times—and the count of incidents that the general public would believe this had been exhausted many "random" explosions ago. Once people learned not to be afraid of Cerberus, it saw a good amount of its "soft power" melt away.

This internal debate among humans rapidly spilled over, dragging the rest of the galaxy into it. Before long, humanity found itself politically besieged by those who sought to influence its face on the Council. Something that would not have happened had the UDC not tried to push Udina out, and Cerberus had not made such an issue about it. This being exactly the type of "alien interference" both Cerberus and the increasingly human-oriented United Defense Command sought to _prevent_.

In order to assuage civilian gripes about subpar treatment vs. the military, the UDC created the Neighborhood Patrol in which civilians could earn "points" that were redeemable for goods reserved under "military first." At first, the program remained benign, people reporting pot-holes, broken windows, and the occasional gangbanger were rewarded with (relatively) rare steaks, prized ales, and first-access to the cinema. However, anti-UDC forces saw an opportunity to turn the program on its makers, while simultaneously making the hated shadow-government look stupid.

Coordination among troublemakers caused several thing to go wrong with the program, all at once. One: a massive surge in signups. Two: Since Neighborhood Patrols were responsible for "the maintenance of order" which was overly-broad on purpose to let the UDC abuse its authority, it would be easy to overwhelm NPs with trivial tasks. Civilians (and some secretly-dissident members of Neighborhood Patrols) flooded Neighborhood Command Centers with angry calls covering just about everything from potholes to people not cleaning up after their varren and late garbage pickup, since all of these things "promoted disorder." Doing nothing would undermine the program; responding to all the requests sucked up resources. Three: The "points system" ended up allowing so many people access to formerly-restricted goods that it defeated the point of aforementioned restrictions, essentially removing the rationing. Four: Trying to get _rid_ of the Neighborhood Patrols required a demobilization order, which was illegal during "times of war," which underpinned the entire reason for the UDC's continued existence.

Either the rationing would end up _de-facto_ removed or the UDC would have to admit there was no longer a war. Furious UDC commanders spent hours in courtrooms screaming at judges, who, doing their job of applying the law, refused to budge off the position that the Neighborhood Patrols could only be disbanded by ending the state of war.

Obviously, such examples of self-contradiction and general incompetence only served to undermine the concept of taking the UDC seriously. The more bluster the junta spewed, the less anyone cared. In a sense, it was hard to not feel sorry for them—they _could_ send storm commandos onto the sets of late night TV shows to put an end to the jokes, they _could_ bomb the civilian centers where UDC troops were tied up patching roads instead of "repossessing" valuable items, they _could_ do a lot of things. But if they did, the population would break into open revolt.

For once, the Council's default position of doing nothing (save Udina's saber-rattling) actually helped. "When your enemy is self-destructing, just sit back and watch" went the most prevalent line of thought. All motions put forward by the human Councilor (such as sanctioning UDC "internment" camps, building more _Infinity_ dreadnaughts, and redirecting tax revenue from battered women's shelters to fund said dreadnaughts) were unceremoniously voted down by the remaining three Councilors. Of course, this egged on Udina's idea that the aliens were "working to keep humanity down" (never mind how utterly ridiculous his proposals were)—which only led to more ridiculous suggestions from him. Rinse, repeat.

Emily Wong pointed out that, minus Trans-Galactic Republic technology, things were headed straight back to where they were before the Reapers invaded—one Councilor raising hell over something, Council does nothing because the one rocking the boat is human (the _same_ human, in fact), shadowy human-supremacist organization making messes…

[…]

Upon waking, the members of Patricia Tannis' survey team settled back into their routine. As much a routine as one could have living on rations and sleeping on hover-mattresses. More towers, more scans.

At a lunch stop, Maya pulled Athena aside.

"Uhhh, just so you know, last night…"

"I was screaming in my sleep, wasn't I?" Athena's voice seemed very small, and her eyes cast downward, as if ashamed.

"Yes. It was that. I have no idea how you don't wake yourself up…"

Athena sniffled. "My past wasn't a barrel of roses either" continued Maya, who put a reassuring arm over the other woman's shoulders. "I can relate to being raised by people whose only agenda was to exploit me."

"What's going on?" Garrus, expecting to find the bottom half of a seismic imager to mount the top half he carried, turned to find not a single seismic imager part in sight. Instead, he found Maya trying to comfort Athena.

"Am I interrupting?"

Athena turned to him. "No. We're just bonding over the fact that growing up for both of us utterly sucked."

"Well, we did get sent down here to dig" interjected Axton. "If we're going to dig up the past, I have a death sentence on my head…and the divorce to prove it."

"Hey!" Maya shot back. "We can hear all about your glory-hounding days later. My story is almost as depressing as Athena's, and I'm going to tell it!" She said this as if the level of depressingness of her story was a point of great pride.

"Alright, alright!" Axton made a motion with his hands suggesting he was backing down. "I'd offer to settle this with a duel, but the New-U system is still busted." He winked at her.

"So, just like Athena, I grew up without parents."

"At least you _had_ parents" sulked Athena.

"Might as well not have. Once someone figured out I was a Siren, they handed me off to a bunch of monks who run my home planet of Athenas. At first, it was just boring, being surrounded by men who do nothing except chant and pray all day. Plus, there weren't any other kids around."

"What use would monks have for a baby? Sounds like one giant distraction" commented Axton.

"Yeah, ordinarily, you'd be right, but this situation was a bit different. See, the Order of the Impending Storm _used_ to rule the planet with an iron fist, but, big surprise, advancements in science caused fewer and fewer people to believe in the 'power of the church to smite wrongdoers.'"

Maya used her boot to draw her former tormenters' hated symbol in the dirt on the passageway floor.

"These guys used to be able to extract money as tithes from virtually the entire population. Then Athenas got the ECHONet and all of the sudden, tithing started to drop. The Order wasn't dumb—they knew lashing out would probably backfire, and quickly. So they decided to play the long game."

"Well, that explains why they would wait over twenty years" said Axton. "They must have been looking at one hell of a payoff!"

"Yep. I was supposed to be the payoff. For years, I was trained to increase the strength and duration of my phaselock" (she levitated a small pebble for effect).

"For a while, that is all I could do, and as soon as I picked it up, I'd drop it. It was massively exhausting, so I practiced hard to lift up bigger objects for a longer time."

"I hope they…did they punish you if you failed to make progress?" asked the soldier.

"No. That was the strange part. They were total hardasses to everyone else on the planet, but not me. The ECHONet was the only thing I was denied, and does it really count as being denied something if you never knew it existed in the first place?"

"Uhh…philosophy was never my strong suit." Garrus shuffled uncomfortably in agreement.

"And how do you train to move things with your mind? Did you stare at spoons until they bent?"

Maya smiled. "Very funny, Garrus. That's not how it worked—there weren't any spoons! It's surprisingly similar to regular physical training. Your body has to be able to withstand the physical strain of channeling the power, so calisthenics are a must. Your mind must be able to remain focused without completely ignoring the physical self in the process—it's kind of complicated."

"So we gathered." Athena spoke up for the first time since Maya began telling of her past. "By the way, your story isn't nearly as depressing as mine." She smirked, as if daring the Siren into a contest.

"If I wanted to beat you, I'd have to invent more stories than Mr. Turrets over there" she replied. "Still, I will say my childhood wasn't exactly an open library…"

Blank stares.

"Oh you people are such knuckledraggers! It's called a _book!_ Bed of roses! Half-price gun store!" (Garrus and Axton high-fived at this).

"Anyway, it took years to increase my lifting limit, by a few ounces at first. Then I might gain a pound or two" (the men snickered, until a glare from Athena silenced them), "until finally I could reliably lift most human-sized objects."

"I saw you lift that giant blue crystalisk" interrupted Axton. "Man, that was a doozy!"

"Did you just say doozy?"

"Yes."

"Again, returning to my story" continued Maya, in a tone of faux annoyance, "the monks finally decided I was ready for my 'unveiling.' Keep in mind their yearly income from tithes had been cut in half at this point, and projections showed that it wouldn't take twenty years more for it to be cut in half a second time."

At this point, Garrus looked at his chronometer—they'd spent almost an hour on lunch. Given that he wasn't particularly fond of seismic tower management, he quickly looked back up, hoping no one else had checked the time. They hadn't.

"There was a huge parade and gathering, because 'the Order has been blessed with the presence of your goddess and savior.' A bunch of them gave grandiose speeches about a new era dawning, peace on Athenas, the usual drivel. Then they did the first of many things which led me to conclude they were idiots—they made me go out to speak to the assembled multitude."

"Public speaking, the horror!" mocked Garrus. "Sam Shepard _loved_ giving speeches. She'd never admit it, but she always got a thrill out of, as humans put it, 'haranguing the multitudes.' Though I never understood why you were supposed to stand on a box made out of soap to do it, since soap is soft and squishy…"

"Shut up" replied Maya, clearly amused. "First of all, it's a 'soap box,' like 'ammo box,' not a box actually made out of soap. Second, when they pushed me out onto a balcony before what was probably ten million people—"

"More like a hundred" said Athena, in a clear stage whisper.

"—whose story is this, mine or yours? The only thing I could think of was 'Uh, hi.' Then I kind of slowly disappeared back behind the curtains."

Striking up a ridiculous pose reminiscent of an overpuffed dictator or other self-aggrandizing figure, she kept going. "'Tell them your name, child!' hissed Brother Sophis. 'Oh, never mind, I'll tell them myself!'"

"So, _child_, what happened next?" Axton grinned, knowing full well where he was headed with the "child" comment.

Placing her hands on her hips, Maya took on a stern expression that was immediately undercut by a barely-controlled giggle fit. "Say that again, and you'll be breathing through a new hole in your skull."

"Ooooh, so the pretty lady has claws!"

"You guys could, you know, get a room" suggested Garrus.

"Or…I could…Finish. My. Story." huffed the Siren, suggesting a great deal of indignation over being constantly interrupted.

Even Athena managed to look less dour.

"So Brother Sophis goes on, and on, and on. I couldn't really hear what he was saying. Honestly, I didn't really care. But then I heard chanting that got louder and louder. 'Maya! Maya! Maya!' Something Lilith would have loved…"

Athena sprung to her feet, pointing at Maya. "Aha! DEPRESSING!" she crowed.

"This is getting a little weird" volunteered Axton. "If we're done using humor as a coping mechanism over the crappy lives we've led, I would actually like to hear the rest of Maya's story."

"Sure thing, FUN-Loader. As I was saying, so I hear this crowd chanting my name, right? Sophis comes back, grabs me by the arm, and hauls me onto the balcony again. There's this guy there, on his knees. He's blubbering, crying, and by the look _and smell_ of it, he's soiled himself."

"Thane told me that Shepard…"

"Garrus, if you start in on another one of those Shepard stories, I'll have to decide between being in my sleeping bag and taping your mouth shut."

"Axton, dude, ew!" squeaked Maya, in a similar tone to whenever she found a sticky vehicle seat. "I might have to do some mouth-taping of my own if you guys don't stop talking!"

"Be careful with that" came Athena's deadpan voice. "Someone might like it."

"So let me describe _in great detail_ the back-side of this man's pants. There was a big brown smear, and…" She trailed off, noticing that her appeal to the disgusting had the desired effect, before resuming.

"He kept crying, 'Not her, not her! I'll pay your tithe! Just don't let her near me!' I didn't get it at first. I later found out that aside from not paying his tithe, he was told all sorts of horrors would befall him if I decided to 'punish' him. For a bunch of uptight monks, these guys were pretty creative—first they said I would kill him. But before I 'slit his throat,' apparently I was going to have some 'fun,' since according to the old sexually repressed men in robes, I'm secretly an insatiable sadomasochistic dominatrix who loves humiliating men. In bed."

Now that she thought about it, the last part wasn't needed. She still felt like it was a worthwhile addition, though.

"The best part? Or is it worst part? The people they were threatening with my divine wrath were these very chaste, pure types who still believed everything was 'as the good book said.' So, threatening them with a sexually-confident, dominant woman scared the piss out of them. Literally. They even built a whole bed-chamber they walked the men through before being dragged onstage. It had graphic photos of what 'I' supposedly did to my 'conquests.' Anyone with half a brain could see they PixelChopped my head onto some two-bit porn actresses from the ECHONet. These men probably barely even saw their wives naked, so their reactions were understandable. I don't want to sound like Moxxi here, but seriously? My chest is definitely better than those!"

Maya had taken on a smug look, as if she was some kind of anti-repression warrior spraying clean the gutters her former Order had clogged.

"Now, I have nooooooo idea where these _men of faith_ could have _possibly_ learned how to accurately construct a dominatrix's bedchamber…"

"Oh boy, if Brick were here, you'd never get past this part of the story!" laughed Axton.

"I am going to finish telling this story if I have to pin you all down with spare seismic towers and stuff your mouths with extra bandages!"

Maya stopped, realizing exactly what she'd just said, in context of what she'd said thirty seconds previously.

"Oh wow, that came out really wrong…"

"Yep" replied everyone else.

"Once I figured that out, all Sophis' yapping about 'sinners' and 'bad men' kind of went in one ear and out the other. So I phaselocked his sorry ass, ventilated his head, and got the hell off that rock."

"So, given that we've nearly busted our guts laughing, _how_ was that story depressing?" inquired Athena. "I mean, if you were going to try to earn some sympathy, I'd have expected some mention of being locked up, starved, inappropriately touched…"

"First, not funny. Second, I guess it really wasn't depressing. Reliving the past can be fun—sometimes things aren't as bad as we thought they were!"

"Or sometimes they're worse" mumbled Athena.

"You didn't…"

"I watched one minute of it. I wasn't telling the truth when I said I hadn't ever seen what I'd done" came a flat, emotionless voice. "I can't even describe it in words."

"Maybe scanning for some purple rock can take our minds off…stuff?" asked Axton.

"Let's do that" said Garrus. "I guess this is what it feels like to be Commander Shepard—having to play therapist all the time because everyone brings you their problems."

"True, but it's when your friends _stop_ bringing you their problems that you know something is truly wrong."

"Since when did Athena, queen of the traumatic past, ever have to play warrior-therapist?" demanded Maya.

Wearing a self-satisfied grin, she replied "You don't want to know. You _really_ don't want to know."


	8. Once More, With Feeling

A/N: Bonus chapter! The writing's going well, so more than once-a-week this week!

In other news, I gotta ask: Did I put in something somewhere that says no reviews allowed? (I've noticed some other writers ask for critiques in author notes and I operated under the assumption people would do that without prodding for some reason—well, here's your prod :P)

**Chapter 7 – Once More, With Feeling**

More than a month elapsed since the end of the Reaper War and the beginning of what appeared to be a reversion-to-the-norm among Citadel races. It was thus only mildly surprising that Citadel Control resembled the pandemonium which reigned every time Serrice Council dealers held an "open shop" when a new giant unknown thing showed up. Known for being one of the few entities which picked and chose its own customers (via rigorous background-screening processes), it was difficult to even get on an application list, let alone make it through. These "open shop" days allowed the public to see what, exactly, they were missing. Potential customers queued for hours just to _look_ at equipment—most of the time it was not even powered on due to fears of "industrial espionage."

"Check those scans again!" came the reedy voice of Chief Traffic Controller Exxallin.

"What, like we triple-checked that huge dreadnaught?" muttered a junior traffic officer. "It's not like we've seen ships that size before—oh wait, we have!"

Whatever it was, the signature at the Citadel relay displayed as a massive blob over a hundred kilometers long.

"Where do they find the resources to build these things?" wondered another who had been on duty the day _Revenant_ arrived. The new ship, or likely ships, represented an even larger force than the last time non-Reaper forces showed up uninvited on the Citadel's doorstep. As the blob closed in, it became apparent this new arrival was both a fleet rather than a single ship and actively obfuscating itself.

With information sent by Grayson, the Great Opportunities Fleet made easy contact with the Citadel. No tense standoffs or being chased (anything trying to attack this fleet would have been a fly against a meteor, anyway).

"Great Opportunities Fleet to the Citadel, we come in peace!" began Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz. "No seriously, we aren't here to kill anyone."

The Council found that hard to believe-another giant dreadnaught, forty eight heavy cruisers, and hundreds of smaller support craft. Two long vessels that didn't mount any obviously-large armament were assumed to be carriers. It was if a krogan battlemaster showed up with 10,000 at his back, "just to say hello"—actually, that sequence of events might have been more probable, some thought.

But the "battle-waiting-to-happen" was not to be.

"The extradimensional weirdoes sent us" she continued, "You know, back when the Reapers were still attacking. We've been authorized to help you prepare just in case any more purple squid show up—that means full technology sharing, by the way."

Word quickly spread throughout the galaxy—_more_ of those Trans-Galactic Republic super-ships. More humans. Some non-humans really began to wonder if this was all some sort of carefully-orchestrated ploy to let _Homo sapiens_ completely take over the galaxy. Then again, that last phrase got absolutely _everyone's_ attention. Any attempt to "take over" would do very badly if all advantages were given away!

For alleged human supremacists, the Trans-Galactic Republic did a very poor job of it, as any Cerberus vessels were automatically flagged hostile (and sometimes shot at). Something about "basically blew up the last super-capital ship we sent here" might have had an influence there.

The second fleet arrived soon after, containing hundreds of behemoth freighters. The _smallest_ were over two hundred meters in length, while many larger cargo-carriers eclipsed the kilometer mark. Like deprived peasants forced to watch a caravan of plenty arriving at the monarch's palace, the citizens of the Citadel's galaxy gathered awestruck at the sheer size of the operation unfolding before them.

"This time, we're not going to play favorites, but we _are_ going to be responsible" vowed Fleet Admiral Nimitz.

Admiral Grayson found himself summoned by his newly-arrived superior. He was pretty sure there would be "items of concern," but at the same time he felt the brass couldn't be _too_ hard on him given the circumstances. No laws had been broken—it would simply be a case of judging judgment.

_Do not comment on her looks_ he reminded himself. Not that it was standard practice to use crude pickup lines on officers—rather, looking-thirty-five-chronometer-says-eighty generally invited questions. Adam Grayson didn't quite look his age either, but such an extreme difference between years lived and appearance was a rare gift, even in a society where most could expect to live more than a century. It also made dating awkward.

He saluted as Nimitz entered the conference room. _Revenant_-class dreadnaughts were known for their sweeping interior designs in addition to huge firepower, and _Ultimatum_ did not break the trend. For some reason, it was necessary to have multiple views out over the ship's bow. For intimidation, impressing people, or some other reason he did not know, but such "grand" visages were practically a requirement on any Star Dreadnaught-size vessel.

"At ease, Admiral. You're not in trouble, I just wanted to go over what happened to make sure I understand exactly what we're dealing with here."

"A very divided galaxy that seems to get into metaphorical, excuse the language, pissing contests every time technology comes up" he replied. "Every species seems to take any advancement of another as a zero-sum game."

"And why shouldn't they?" countered Nimitz. "Our scans show that the asari, in particular, have something very big they are hiding. Are you familiar with the Temple of Athame?"

"I thought your entire fleet was here!" spluttered Grayson. "Even our sensors don't reach that far!"

"They do mounted on _Vorknkx_-class intelligence ships."

Grayson knew about these black-ops, seldom-discussed vessels. Unarmed, but nearly impossible to detect and _very_ fast, _Vorknkx_ vessels could slip in and out of a system to gather useful intel. Such as what had apparently been brought to the attention of Admiral Nimitz.

"So, what did you find?"

"The Temple has a strange energy signature. One that is suggestive of a massive power source within—much more than would be necessary for a structure of its size."

"So? They hid a military or black-ops base in a temple. Not unusual."

"Actually" Allison began, "it is very unusual. Our scout units" (_She's thorough_ thought Grayson) "found a piece of technology disguised as a statue of a goddess. Easy to wirelessly lift a copy with our sensors—it's an intact Prothean beacon."

"Forgive me" came the reply, "I'm not up to speed on the anthropology and history of Gamma-Six…"

"The Protheans were an extremely advanced, relative to the current inhabitants, race that vanished millennia ago. As you're aware, the extra-galactic Reapers showed up and tried to destroy all life in this galaxy. Thanks to Trans-Galactic Republic reinforcements and clever engineering, that didn't happen. Gamma-Six has based most of its technology off the so-called 'mass relays' and Element Zero, believing them both to be Prothean discoveries. This is not true—the technology predates the Protheans, though their understanding of this technology eclipses even our own, for the moment."

"Is this history class, or does this have something to do with the Temple of Athame?" Grayson gave Nimitz a bemused look.

"The Protheans vanished, but left some of their technology behind in time capsule-like devices. Including the one on Athame."

Comprehension dawned on the Admiral's battle-weary face. "It is illegal under Citadel law to hide Prothean technology from others" he started. His voice rose. "So the asari, who claim they simply happen to be the most advanced, kept an intact cheat sheet all while demanding anyone else hand it over."

"Yep. Imagine what would happen if that knowledge left this room."

"We'd have the same 'tech wars' all over again, except first everyone would gang up on the asari, then pick the corpse and use it to beat each other to death."

Allison winced. "Graphic, but accurate."

"You've studied the salarians."

"Of course I have, Adam, I had plenty of time to read the packet you sent me on my way out here!"

"I ask this not out of malice, but pure curiosity. The salarians messed with the galaxy once—they turned the krogan into a race of supersoldiers to beat back the rachni. It worked, but then the krogan became the new problem. You said 'full tech sharing.' How are we going to make sure we don't cause the same thing to happen?"

Allison's response might have been mistaken for a teenager who thought they were cool for talking their way into renting an R-rated movie.

"Check this out…"

[…]

"Oh for fuck's sake" sighed Athena. "You're telling us you want us to _drive_ all the way to the lower continent, retrieve a monster piece of machinery, and bring it back here?"

"Mapping these tunnels is proving far too slow" huffed Patricia Tannis. "My readings indicate that if we drill deep enough, there seems to be a phenomenon at the center of this planet that should not exist."

"Okay, quit with the vague scientist-speak" joshed Garrus. "Just tell us what's down there. We spent weeks crawling through tunnels for you!"

"If you say it's loot, I'm going to slap you" interjected Maya. "Yeah" agreed Axton. "Not gonna fall for that one again!"

An explosion put an end to discussion of whatever might reside in Pandora's depths. Then another. Then another.

"Really?" sighed Tannis. "Must my work always be disturbed by lowlifes who insist on using explosives instead of words?"

"Hey" replied Maya. "Sometimes we Vault Hunters need to use those explosives, and we've saved your butt before!"

"Let's find out what the hell is going on" suggested Axton. "We should…"

Garrus had disappeared, and no one had noticed. He returned. "You're not going to like this."

Having climbed the stairs to the lab entrance, he'd stuck his head out to see what exactly was responsible for all the shaking and booming.

"There are several extremely large armored vehicles engaged in combat above us" he shouted to be heard over the increasing sound from the conflict. "Oddly enough, by the markings painted on them, they seem to belong to the same side!"

"Some kind of friendly-fire mishap?" wondered Athena.

"Definitely not!" replied the turian. "One of them has lost its right track, and another keeps beating on it."

"Do you recognize the logo?" shouted Maya.

"It's not a logo! It's a word!"

"Okay, which one of the megacorps is making a giant mess?" sighed Axton. "My bet's on Hyperion."

"No! Jakobs!"

The lab shook again, and a few bits of dirt came loose from the ceiling.

"If we stay down here, we may get buried" said Athena, uncharacteristically calm considering the situation.

"And if we go up there, we might get decapitated" countered Garrus. "But what choice do we have?"

A piece of the ceiling fell and landed on Tannis's work table, burying some paper and smashing a recording rod.

"That's it, we're leaving!" snapped Axton, switching to full-on commando leader mode. "Move out!"

The four plus one very rattled scientist hustled up crumbling stairs and out of the underground lab. Garrus took stock of the situation.

"Heavy tank on the left, and two on the right!" he bellowed.

"Tank? TANK? That looks more like a building!" gasped Athena.

"I would say those have to be at least a hundred meters tall, if not taller" mused Axton. "Let's make sure they don't see us, or hit us."

[...]

So far, her plan seemed to have worked inasmuch as the rest of the family paid her no heed when she immediately left the shareholder meeting to attend to other urgent business. Unfortunately, Jackie wasn't the only one with a certain destination in mind, resulting in the current conflict.

"Keep firing and keep them pinned" she instructed a nearby gunner. The _Deadwood_-class Mobile Fortresses were exceptionally proficient at holding territory. As such, their massive treads (and widely-dispersed weight) crushed anything in their way. Thick armor repelled all but the most powerful charges, and onboard fusion generators guaranteed years of energy.

She'd brought two, against Bart's one. However, one of hers was stuck since it had lost a track.

In typical Jakobs family fashion, a fight broke out when both parties didn't even know exactly what they were fighting over. Bart visited the slums to enlist several smuggler friends in trying to sneak his _Deadwood_ onto Pandora without anyone noticing. Jackie cared nothing for subtlety and had hers orbital-dropped. He thought the former site of the Prime Vault might hold something of value and was planning on blasting his way through the Trans-Galactic Republic cordon. She noticed the coordinates etched into the bottom of the grip of her sentimental Judge pistol were similar to the _Infinity_ crash site, where she knew a noted Eridian expert was supposed to be working. Further Eridian script decorated the weapon, but Jackie couldn't read it, hence her interest. It seemed that in cases such as this, the coordinates were more a "close enough" rather than "drill here."

Regardless of the reason for the fight, the Trans-Galactic Republic security ring collapsed under the weight of three rolling fortresses. It had been designed and intended to handle the occasional bandit raid, not a push by fully-armed and military-equipped individuals. Jackie and Bart were pragmatic enough to smash a common foe, _then_ turn on each other. Jackie likely would have won, but the fight against the Trans-Galactic Republic left the aforementioned track damage to Elephant Two, turning it into an immobile bunker of limited use.

"We have to move quickly" said Jackie to her assault team. "Find the scientist who was working here and grab her, then we need to leave before the Trans-Galactic Republic starts bombarding this place with ion blasts."

"Get to the transport!" yelled Garrus, as the rest charged past him. Steady "thunks" from his sniper rifle dropped several Jakobs soldiers to the ground.

Less than a minute later, two-finger, one-thumb limbs flew over control panels as Garrus powered up their escape vehicle. Kinetic impacters slammed into the hull, some charged with various special effects. Warning lights appeared across several status displays.

"We have ignition, let's get out of here!"

Both engines lost power at the same time.

[FUEL EMPTY] showed on the primary display.

"Seriously?" gasped Garrus, exasperated.

A smirking Jackie Jakobs returned her sniper rifle to her side. "Track that shuttle, and relay its location once it hits. And get some medical supplies together; people tend to get hurt in crashes."

[...]

"So if we set up an old theory of power balance used for millions of years, that will keep our Citadel friends from tearing each other apart? You're seriously considering helping them build even more dangerous ships than what they already managed to put together?" Grayson was nothing short of incredulous.

"The designs at the SETTLE Center—that stands for Ship Enrichment, Technology Transfer, and Lightspeed Enhancement as if someone didn't spend a ridiculous amount of time making sure that made a word—only need an infusion of Trans-Galactic Republic power generation technology to be viable. They are currently trapped by the vicious cycle of needing more power, which makes the reactor larger, bloating out the ship, which itself needs more energy. Without sufficiently dense generation methods, their engineers won't be able to escape this trap."

The conference table switched to projection mode, the pilfered design appearing in relatively high detail. The ship, 12,800m long, would have terrible handling, mediocre weapons, a slow hyperdrive, and only light armor relative to its size.

"Project Olympic" was truly a titanic undertaking, but it was destined to fail. Unless…

"Trans-Galactic Republic technology could chop that ship down to eight hundred meters."

"Excuse me, Allison, did I hear you correctly?" Grayson found himself unable to believe what he was hearing, again. "Chop twelve kilometers off that design?"

Allison responded as though he'd questioned the existence of gravity.

"The primary weapons are inertial-confinement-fusion-mass-accelerators, which don't require kilometers of focus circuitry or huge cooling systems. Their lasers are insufficiently miniaturized to make this practical. The reactor is several orders of magnitude larger in volume than what proper hypermatter annihilation would require to generate the same amount of energy—of course, that amount of output in a ship 800m long is perfectly fine."

"I thought the six-kilometer dreadnaughts were inefficient… They have a lot further to go than I thought when it comes to starship engineering!"

Grayson was just shaking his head at this point.

"Think about it this way. In the surface Navy, if a ship was built purely around a very large rail gun with literally no other purpose, why have the extra reactor capacity for ECM, aircraft, secondary batteries, and the like? Now, try building the same rail gun ship, but with all the extras. Ship gets much, much bigger. Add in a primitive power generation system and the ship becomes larger still!"

"The _Infinities_ are basically flying guns—with a few token turbolasers…"

"Really, it's one of the worst designs I've ever seen." She motioned for him to follow. "We're going to go SETTLE this once and for all!"

[...]

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy and Gaige managed to reconcile their differences, at least enough to tackle a shared foe: the vicious cycle of expansion caused by insufficiently powerful reactors being bloated out to provide energy, which grew the ship, demanding a larger energy source…

The pair were panting and sweating as if they'd run a marathon—in reality, the two spent 48 straight hours on design/simulation with only minimal breaks.

"Do you think this might be a bit over our heads?" Tali's head dropped forward in an admission of defeat.

"I've never run into…"

"…a challenge I couldn't solve" finished the quarian.

Tali waved a datapad in frustration. "The math _works_, but we need a material that doesn't exist!"

"Well" began Gaige, "if we used hyper-compressed, high-concentration Eridium slag as coolant to let us ramp up generation it might work…"

"And kill the entire crew if the reactor breached" laughed Tali. "Never mind the environmental disaster of extracting that stuff as fuel!"

Gaige swore she could see her helmeted partner's nose wrinkle through her visor at the thought.

The absurdity of it all—possibly the two best engineers Pandora and Citadel space had ever seen, stumped by one little equation: joules per second per cubic meter of reactor volume. Still, Tali had to admit it felt a lot better than the last time she'd worked on a big project. The _Infinities_, actually, that entire period, just felt…dark. Nasty. Slimy, as if the air itself had been contaminated.

She could barely stand to think about Shepard anymore. It just tore her apart inside that the once-good light of the galaxy had turned _evil_. Tali knew Shepard had a rough life and that the loss of Liara hit her hard, though that still served as pitiful compensation for murdering civilians "because orders are orders." A shadow had been cast over her former Commander, one that compelled Tali to request (and receive) the transfer to SETTLE rather than SSV _Normandy_ or the fancy UDC _Aspirations Toward Infinity_. Which had ended up destroyed, somehow.

"Serves them right" she huffed. "Those ships have never represented anything other than power-mad warmongering!"

Gaige was about to ask if Tali had heard anything about Shepard, but thought better of it. Brick _had_ mentioned both having to, ahem, _restrain_ Commander Shepard during the climactic battle at her little castle, and having taken a high-speed intergalactic trip to see the results of what he'd done. Knowing Brick, "restraint" was probably a gross mischaracterization.

She vowed to ask him when he came back from Pandora.

A large commotion drew everyone to the massive viewports on the side of the engineering deck.

"Well, someone is bringing home something!" yelped Gaige. "Let's hope it's cool!"

Sixteen ships appeared to be headed for the complex. They were some kind of freighter given their odd shape-trapezoidal containers arranged in groups of three around a set of engines. Visible turrets tracked for threats.

Several smaller craft darted among the blocky contraptions. One headed for SETTLE's docking bay—looked about fighter-size.

"I wonder who could be visiting this facility with so many ships" mused Tali. "This facility's location is classified and most big shipments are Alliance…"

"Look at the drawing on the wing of that shuttle. It's the Republicans, or whatever they are."

Trust a teenager to call a logo a drawing and the Trans-Galactic Republic the "Republicans." Though, technically, the latter was correct—it was simply not how they referred to themselves.

The pair headed to the reception hanger. A large group of Trans-Galactic Republic troopers in blue armor stood in mostly-ceremonial lines as two passengers disembarked from the assault shuttle previously visible from the engineering design deck.

"I recognize the man—that's Admiral Grayson! The commander of the supership _Revenant_."

"He's the one who started this whole mess by giving out technology like candy" said Gaige darkly. "If it wasn't for him—"

"—we'd be dead" finished Tali. "We had no chance against the Reapers—not without a more unified strategy. And more dreadnaughts."

"Those robot servants of yours have a ton of them!" Gaige wilted under, again, a look that came through a visor.

_She's really good at that_.

"The geth were willing to work with us building ships, but refused to commit significant forces during the initial engagement" lectured the quarian. "Thus, most of the fight fell on the Migrant Fleet in our system prior to the Trans-Galactic Republic's arrival."

Little did they notice the two officials in uniforms were standing in front of them, awaiting acknowledgement.

"Were you looking for us?" inquired Tali.

"Yes. I remember you, Tali—you were the one who I heard motor-mouthed one of my soldiers with questions after decon." The admiral's look was kindly, no insult was intended. "Just wait until you see what we brought!"

"Well, what is it?" Gaige practically bounced through the ceiling.

"A solution to all your problems with that atrocious ship design" deadpanned the younger-looking woman.

Tali did a double-take. "Wait, am I reading something wrong, or is she the superior officer?"

"Looks aren't everything" replied Allison Nimitz, doing her best impression of a grandmotherly voice.

"Let me guess, you're secretly seventy! Nobody that looks as young as you gets to be a Fleet Admiral!"

Gaige's eyes bulged out when the response was "No, eighty."

_"_Take us to the engineering deck once you've picked your jaws up off the floor" laughed Grayson.

_"_And yes, I meant what I said about 'worst design ever'" continued the Fleet Admiral, using the tactile controls with some skill despite never seeing them before.

"Almost all this length is unnecessary—you're having problems with power density. You can't get enough joules per second per cubic meter of reactor. You get stuck in a vicious cycle: more power, bigger reactor, bigger ship, more power."

"Uhh, yes, that's exactly what we're running into here…how did you know?" Tali didn't understand. Even Adam Grayson wasn't briefed on this project, and at any rate, it was classified COSMIC TOP SECRET. So to hear such confident assertions from the woman, whose name was Allison Nimitz, totally confused her.

"We have our methods of obtaining information" she replied cryptically. The pair decided not to press. _Vorknkx_, thought Grayson. _That underhanded, sneaky, cheating…_

"Needless to say, Trans-Galactic Republic reactor technology is orders of magnitude more powerful per cubic meter of volume than anything used in your galaxy. Even the _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ reactors, which were a sort of compromise design, are nowhere near as potent as our common hypermatter reactor."

The datapad handed over detailed exactly what such "hypermatter" reactors could produce: exactly what Tali and Gaige had been looking for.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Gaige proceeded to yell, scream, and run in circles around the design floor in a most undignified (but understandable given her age) way. Tali sighed. Allison laughed. Grayson tried not to smile.

"Kids these days. She must be a prodigy to be here."

"Indeed she is" remarked Tali. "For a seventeen-year-old, she can certainly tackle rather difficult engineering questions with elegant and simple solutions, most of the time."

Turning away from the graying man, she handed a datapad to the other Admiral. "This is what we came up with, and your new reactor precisely solves the problem we face. The problem is, the last time someone handed out new tech like candy it kind of produced a fascist government."

Hands went to (very wide, compared to human) hips, arms crossed. Pout.

"Ever heard of MAD?" queried Allison.

Tali still couldn't believe this human's age. Most 80-year-old humans she'd met looked significantly older, and were far frailer.

"Mutually Assured Destruction" she continued. "No one offends anyone else, because if one person throws a tantrum, the whole galaxy will explode."

"Pandora kinda has that" said Gaige. "And I don't think it works all that well."

"Gaige, I don't think borderline corporatist anarchy counts as MAD" countered Tali. "It might on a personal level among a bunch of bandits, but Admiral Nimitz is referring to governments having the ability to destroy each other, not some kind of bandit standoff.

"How well has your ratio-set military been working out?" demanded Grayson. "Letting the turians have complete naval dominance might not be the best solution, even if they aren't hostile. Remember, it was a turian, following turian philosophy, who caused the turn toward darkness."

"Oh, we are _not_ having the race talk" spat Tali. "What's next, quarians are scavengers who steal everything before moving on?"

"Would it hurt to have other people talking besides the ones with the most guns when it's time to go to war?"

As usual, Gaige's simple question brought the bickering to a screeching halt.

"Look at your history" began Allison. "The Krogan Rebellions might have turned out differently if the genophage was opened as a deterrent, rather than simply dropping the bomb, so to speak. The turians quite literally jumped the gun! Those you look to in war may not be the best ones to win peace."

"Right now, the galaxy's power structure has a vacuum in it" continued Grayson. "There is a chance to 'reset' how the government is run—an opportunity to bring in many who previously lacked any say in the mechanics of keeping a galaxy spinning."

A priority newsflash interrupted the discussion.

"This is Emily Wong, ANN. Reports are coming in that Councilor Donnell Udina has been assassinated. There are no leads at this time, but ANN has officially confirmed his death through several sources."

[...]

Kai Leng, having escaped any repercussions from his brazen killing of a comatose Liara T'Soni, so far stood 2-for-2. Or 3-for-3 if you counted the successful kidnapping of Oriana, though the girl later died. Donnell Udina's head was found sitting on his own desk with the body on the balcony outside by shocked Citadel cleaning personnel.

Like his former employer the Illusive Man, he received a visit from shadowy forces claiming to serve "The Lady." He now worked for her, it, them, or whatever "The Lady" represented. Unlike his former employer, he needed no convincing once he'd been informed of the Illusive Man's situation.

"The target has been terminated. Does my Lady have further orders for me?"

The visage of a woman (if indeed it was a woman, and not a vocal-processor and holo-disguise, or even computer program) shook a head sprouting shoulder-length black and blonde hair. "No further orders, Daimon Leng."

He swore any time the communication channel was closed, her/its eyes were the last thing to fade. They were as red as blood, as intense as stars. Kai Leng was not one to be easily intimidated, but those eyes…


	9. Show and Tell

**Chapter 8 – Show and Tell**

The engineering design deck was no longer empty. Project Olympic might have hit a wall (which meant only Tali and Gaige spent significant amounts of time there anymore), but the big vid-screen often used for computer aided design and conferencing was also great for the news.

Many staff gathered to hear the latest updates on the death of Donnell Udina.

"The following images are graphic, and may disturb sensitive viewers" warned Emily Wong.

A camera panned across Udina's office, stopping on the desk. A severed human head could be seen. Only a small amount of blood pooled on the desk—it appeared the assassin's weapon cauterized almost as it cut, resulting in less of a mess than the usual decapitation. The camera moved further into the office, zooming in on the body visible through glass doors on the balcony. Again, minimal blood.

"Maintenance staff discovered the body approximately thirty minutes ago. Once it was confirmed the deceased individual was in fact the Human Councilor, we were able to make the initial report" she continued. "The killer or killers left nothing behind. C-Sec is currently investigating a motive, and reviewing surveillance footage during the time period in question. Analysis of the cuts revealed no trace of any known weapon."

"Well, that's weird" muttered Tali. "It seems like every time the chronometer chimes, we're facing something new!"

[…]

Commander Armando Bailey thought he'd seen it all. Many times. Only to be proven wrong by the next hour of newsreels.

From rogue Vis to rampaging Spectres, he'd dealt with many unique situations during his time with C-Sec. Figuring out how someone got past the heavy security around Councilor offices, murdered a Councilor, and escaped without leaving a trace definitely brought out his inner detective.

He turned to one of his Crime Scene Investigators. "So the Councilor just got decapitated in one fell swoop?"

"Yes sir. Whatever was used left a residual heat trail, cauterized as it went, and made a very clean cut. No weapon I know of can do that."

"Given that we just chased off a bunch of extra-galactic space squids intent on killing us with the assistance of super-powered starships from another galaxy, there are probably a lot of things we 'don't know of'" he replied.

He turned to look around the office, now a crime scene.

"Find anything of interest here?"

"That is the most frustrating thing about this" replied another CSI. The woman walked over from the end of the late Udina's desk. "There is absolutely, positively no evidence here other than a dead body. It's like the perfect crimes in omnitool vids!"

"Heh. At least it's not boring—like that latest best-seller. Who reads _poetry_? In the middle of a war, no less?"

A formerly-obscure poet named Elizabeth Booker hailing from London on Earth rocketed to the top of the bestseller charts. How one wrote poetry about technology, war, and destruction escaped the mind of the grizzled C-Sec veteran. Her works mainly focused on current or recently-passed events, warning against over-reliance on technology to solve problems. Some wrote eloquently on the power of unity, which struck more than a few as odd given the last time the galaxy "unified," it turned very fascist in tone.

"Sir, I might have to disagree—unsolvable crimes with zero leads might be classified as boring" replied the CSI.

"Finish imaging the scene" replied Bailey. "Then bring in cleaning crews. We are going through Councilors like water."

[...]

Kai Leng packed away his remaining equipment after ending his communication with The Lady. The sword (was that the right term?) she gave him was difficult to use, but extremely potent as it sliced through nearly anything. Even better, the entire blood-red "blade" disappeared when needed, leaving only a cylindrical handle. Thankfully for Leng, his Cerberus cybernetics gave him the strength to (clumsily) use the weapon.

He had been ordered to disappear for the time being. Easy enough in a stolen Trans-Galactic Republic vessel equipped with virtually perfect visual and sensor-masking technology. Apparently, the Illusive Man himself had been restrained in one of the chairs…

[...]

Garrus Vakarian wished the battered utility transport he now tried to fly without engine power could have been a little more inconspicuous. He hadn't spotted any anti-aircraft weapons on the gigantic tanks that had been duking it out above their heads, but the possibility could not be ruled out.

_That said, it's highly unlikely an anti-aircraft weapon would have the precision to cut both fuel lines_ he thought.

"What hit us?" demanded Maya.

"A sniper" he replied. "Not as good as me" (the turian drew out those five words) "but very close. Snipped both fuel lines, which is why we're currently falling without propulsion."

"If we are going to die, I must say I can imagine worse people to die with" huffed Patricia Tannis.

"Oh, thanks" replied Axton. "Glad to know we can make your death experience more pleasant."

Athena spoke up. "I think whoever shot us down didn't want us to die. If they had, most likely one of the tanks would have taken some shots at us."

"Maybe not kill us" replied Garrus, "just maim, or seriously injure us! Brace!"

CRUNCH.

"At least the airbags worked" came a muffled voice. Maya's face got buried in such a device as it deployed.

"Let's see how flyable this thing is" said Athena. "Anything broken? Bleeding? No? Let's move!"

Unstrapping themselves from crash webbing, the four adventurers and one scientist donned the cold-weather gear they'd taken off minutes before prior to venturing outside their wrecked ride. If such could be called good news, the spaceframe remained mostly intact. Just a few gouges on the nose and scrapes on the belly since the ship didn't have much speed built up when it was shot down. Garrus wisely opened every flap available to further kill momentum prior to impact. Several were torn off.

Pointing to one such flap which had been twisted away from its proper position, Garrus remarked "Looks like atmospheric flight just got tougher. Should be fine in space though."

Athena ducked back inside, grabbed what weapons she could find and passed them out. "We don't know who took us out, and we also have no idea what kind of wildlife calls this part of Pandora home."

"Bullymongs, maybe" suggested Maya. "It's pretty cold up here near the pole…"

"No scientific expeditions have surveyed this area" sniffed Tannis. "Though, I find myself in agreement with Maya's conjecture."

A distant roar sounding distinctly artificial caused the quartet to perk up.

"Sounds like whoever brought us down is coming to collect us" shouted Axton. "Collect this!"

Out came his Sabre Turret, equipped with a shield and rocket launchers.

FWIP. FWIP. FWIP FWIP FWIP.

Garrus dropped his rifle, now mangled. Athena reacted just in time to catch the bottom half of the magazine loaded into her assault rifle as it was sliced in half. Maya took on a look of furious indignation—she'd been in the middle of equipping a different Personal Enhancement Device only for a round to rip it in half.

"Blasphemy!" she spat. "Who shoots BOOKS?"

Tannis had wisely dropped to the ground. Axton remained untouched, thanks to his Sabre Turret and its shield. However, given the appearance of laser-dot sights on all party members, he decided to refrain from firing lest anyone else be hit.

"Grenade!"

Before anyone could react to Maya's shout, said grenade detonated, shattering the shields of all within its blast radius.

Maya looked up at a hovering skiff and its armed passengers.

"How the hell is that even _practical_?" she demanded of the woman at the steering station.

"You wish you could look this good and still kick ass" cooed Jackie. Some kind of bodysuit that did not appear to afford any protection, way too much cleavage, long hair, _and high heels_. Four things most sane combatants didn't have. _In polar cold._

"You're coming with us, sweetie. Don't even think of trying to escape, it would be most unwise."

"What do you want?" snarled Axton. "We've fought our way out of worse."

"Yes, but with the New-U system destroyed and the possibility of me introducing a bullet into cute little Patricia here, would you really want to try?"

Too late, the four noticed the scientist being frog-marched onto another, landed, skiff. A dot-sight, projected straight from Jackie Jakob's DeadShot rifle, played over Patricia Tannis before returning to center-mass on Axton.

Jackie took on a posture of sophistication. "I was going to ask nicely" she said airily, "but my rude, rude family member of a type I can't be bothered to remember showed up and ruined everything."

She let out an exaggerated sigh, as if the whole situation were a mere annoyance.

"You see, there are very few who can decipher Eridian script. I was hoping our insanely smart friend here might be willing to assist." She held the pistol out grip-first toward Tannis. As soon as her hand closed around the grip, Tannis yelped in shock.

"Ah ah ah! Looky looky, but no touchie!" crooned the Jakobs heir.

"She is the most annoying person since Face McShooty!" whispered Maya.

In a flash, Jackie stood behind her mouthy captive—knife against the Siren's throat. A deadly, almost seductive, whisper emanated from her. "What was that dear? I must have misheard, unless you actually called me annoying."

"The rumors about you seem to be true" grimaced the Siren, ignoring the blade which was pressing further into her throat. "Baby talk, ruthlessness, obnoxious…"

Maya never finished her sentence as Jackie clubbed her over the head with the handle of her knife.

"The rest of you can join her in unconsciousness, or keep your mouths shut" snapped Jackie, in a decidedly less (fake) friendly tone of voice. "Maybe I'll keep Axton awake—and subject him to a different form of torture…"

She could see the mercenary struggling to control his conflicted feelings—"Bitch!" he gasped. On the other hand, he was clearly aroused by her presence.

"Load them up, and set course for the Family Tree."

[...]

Tali and Gaige were hauled before the Council, or what was left of it.

"This turn of events has been most unfortunate" opined Tevos. "And now, more disruptive forces have arrived from beyond our borders. The last time we listened to such outsiders, we nearly tore ourselves apart!"

The mini-rant would probably have better been aimed at the actual individuals responsible, rather than two innocent engineers, but the pair ignored Tevos' outburst. "That said" continued the matriarch, "brushes with fascism are preferable to extinction."

"You summoned us to discuss the feasibility of new Trans-Galactic Republic technology being incorporated into ships" lectured the quarian, as if to say "Why'd you call us if you're not going to let us talk?"

"Indeed we did" replied Clethon. "Yet again, we find ourselves facing innumerable variables, unsolvable equations."

"And we're just going to complicate things" smirked Gaige.

"Please, tell us more about how technology is going to create a huge mess" said Victus.

"Well, for starts, that giant dreadnought you put us to work on? Totally impossible! If you don't increase the power yield per cubic meter—"

Tali spun the hyperactive girl around. "You're boring the Council with tech!" she hissed.

"Right. Anyhow, the major and minor goddesses of engineering had a divine revelations courtesy of the Republicans—put one of their reactors in and suddenly the ship shrinks. Goes from being this big" (she spread her arms very very wide) "to this big!" (she brought her arms closer together).

"_It's Trans-Galactic Republic_" whispered Tali, before speaking so the Council could hear. "What Gaige means to say is the design could be fit into a vessel only 800 meters long, not much different than Systems Alliance dreadnaughts in total length instead of almost thirteen kilometers. All the desired features could be incorporated, and the flyaway cost would be a fraction of the projected three trillion credits per unit under the current Project Olympic."

Gaige twitched. Thirteen—an unlucky number. One reason the ship had been set to be 12,800m long—superstition. It didn't change any costs, so why not.

"So it is technically and monetarily feasible" replied Tevos. "That is all we need to know from you. We appreciate your time."

Aides guided the pair of engineers extraordinaire out of the Council chambers, where they passed Admirals Grayson and Nimitz headed in the opposite direction.

"Good luck" said Tali as she passed. "They are _not_ happy with the Trans-Galactic Republic and all this tech!"

"So I gathered" replied Grayson.

The Council sealed the room as the Admirals arrived. A third presence made itself known once the chamber completely locked itself.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Giant Guns" growled Urdnot Wrex.

"Uhh, we're not married" backpedaled Nimitz quickly.

"Hah" barked the krogan.

Grayson leaned over as he could see the color draining from his elder colleague's face. "I've met him before. He's all bluster—loves to test the reaction he can get out of people. Don't fall for it! He's actually not that unreasonable, for his species."

Expecting a royal dress-down, the Admirals found themselves greeted jovially.

"Grayson. It is good to see you again." Tevos offered her hand—it was a human gesture of trust to grasp the hand of another, squeeze, and make an up-down motion with hands entwined.

"Who are you?" demanded Allison Nimitz of Wrex. "I was asked to smuggle you to this station—why?"

"That ship of yours was pretty impressive" came the gravelly reply. Totally hidden from visual and sensor scanning! Makes the _Normandy_ look like a bright light in the sky!"

"Good to hear some honesty" came the measured tones of the salarian Councilor Clethon. "Since we are currently absolved of the Open Records Act, we may proceed unhindered."

"I've always been honest, salarian. What do you want from me?" Wrex glared at his species' arch-nemesis, the creators of the hated genophage.

"We are about to discuss completely upending the existing power structure in the galaxy" replied Victus. Wrex liked Victus—progressive, intelligent, thoughtful. Qualities not always associated with career military turians (see: Xytler). Or krogans in general.

"If your brood-brother Wreav were in charge of Urdnot, we would not be here" added Grayson. "We would have sterilized your world and put the genophage on overdrive."

"Part of me wants to kill you" came the floor-vibrating response. "The other part of me appreciates your candor—Wreav is a moron. Any chance you could make him go away?" A harsh barking laugh followed.

"We stand on the edge of a knife" said Tevos, a little more loudly. "The asari have always been known for at least attempting to take a long view of a situation since it is more than likely we'll be around a thousand years later."

"At the moment" continued Clethon, "we are having to make guesses that made the genophage look like simple addition. The arrival of the Trans-Galactic Republic has ushered in changes no one ever thought were possible—the curing of the genophage, the possibility of greater military balance replacing the Treaty of Farixen, an influx of humans no different than those of Earth, and travel between galaxies."

"So, you were holding out on me." Wrex's face conveyed slight disappointment that his otherwise-forthcoming Trans-Galactic Republic friend hadn't told him of something at that level of importance.

Allison Nimitz threw up her hands. "We only figured this out a few months ago! We were waiting for the right moment!"

"You, Nimitz—your species has never seen thousands of stillborns. Never seen what it does to mothers who cannot have children no matter how hard they try. Never seen what happens to your species when it believes it is doomed. What would the right moment have been, huh? Another Rachni War? More Reapers?"

"Wrex, please!" pleaded Clethon.

"The right moment is now" interjected Tevos. "Now, to remove the stain of fascist human supremacy from the Council, now, to rebalance the galaxy's militaries, now, to give the krogan a new dawn."

"This could never be discussed in any place others might hear of it until it is done" intoned Victus. "That is why this room is sealed, that is why you were snuck here aboard a Trans-Galactic Republic black-ops ship."

"The last time a group got together in a dark room, my species ended up sterilized. At least this time we're in the room." Another laugh. "What about the quarians?"

The three standing Councilors had to mask various expressions of surprise and shock. They all knew Wrex was much less selfish, boneheaded, and shortsighted than most krogan, but specifically caring about the pariahs of the galaxy had to be some kind of new record. Had Samantha Shepard really rubbed off that much on him?

Victus spoke. "From what we know, Samantha Shepard died an honorable death on Pandora fighting the Reapers" (Grayson and Nimitz had to fight the urge to high-five—Trans-Galactic Republic counterintelligence had pulled an epic number on everyone else; a tech edge really helped here) "and she would undoubtedly want to be present for such a momentous occasion. The fact that you inquire about the quarians, despised as they are, among other actions, is what convinced this Council that you are to the krogan what Shepard was to humanity: a single point of light for others to follow."

Wrex chuckled. "I'd just rather our species not go down as big, scary dogmatic monsters. Did you know Tuchanka used to have cities, and architecture not shaped by cannon blasts?"

"The humans call such periods of revival a 'renaissance.' We believe you can lead the krogan to such a period."

"You're going to make me cry, asari."

"You'd best listen to the rest of the plan, Wrex" deadpanned Grayson. "It involves more explosions and ships—more your speed."

"Many of the following events must occur nearly simultaneously for this to have even a sliver of a chance of succeeding" continued Clethon. "The Systems Alliance Parliament is prepared to back the ascension of Adam Grayson to human Councilor, since there is no actual formal procedure for the selection of a human representative on the Council as the last appointment was effectively chosen by Samantha Shepard."

"Why Grayson?" asked Nimitz. "Why not someone from your own galaxy?"

"That's the next part of the plan" answered Victus. "In exchange for a seat on the government of this galaxy, the Trans-Galactic Republic will make good on its full technological sharing offer. We will then begin construction on a new class of peacekeeping starships to be crewed exclusively by multi-species groups."

"Not to sound greedy, but…"

"Yes, Wrex, the genophage cure will be distributed. However, the krogan will also be required to give up their astronomical birth rates. Genetics brought the genopage—they can also cure it, and simultaneously remove the problem of krogan overpopulation. Unless you'd like to convert all your colonies to death worlds" finished Victus.

_Did that turian pyjack just try to make a joke? _

"The only missing piece remains the quarian-geth issue. This will be especially difficult, given that several key quarian figures are being held prisoner by the Trans-Galactic Republic for various violations of laws said figures were duty-bound to follow during the Reaper War" concluded Tevos.

"Ordinarily, we would, ahem, send a special envoy to deal with the situation…"

The room became more somber. All three Councilors knew who they would like to have handle this problem. As much as their relationship with Samantha Shepard had been adversarial, the three recognized a top-notch operative when they saw one. Her being dead (as far as they knew) precluded involvement, however.

"We have information relevant to this issue!" blurted out Allison Nimitz.

An immediate storm followed her words as all three Councilors spoke over each other. "Have the quarians attacked the geth?" (Victus), "Has the balance of power changed?" (Clethon), "Have you established bilateral talks?" (Tevos).

"Shepard is alive."

Cue another talk-fest. "Why didn't you tell us?" "So much for open information sharing." "Is she still insane?"

"We didn't tell you because we weren't sure we could save her" responded an exasperated Grayson. "You are all aware of the 'stasis' ability possessed by asari biotics. Now, imagine a non-biotic, portable version that stays on as long as you feed it energy. We used just such a unit to stabilize her, chopped her bottom half off, and put her back together with a hefty dose of cybernetics."

Tevos spoke, very quietly. "Is Samantha Shepard worth saving?"

Wrex's glare could have melted armor. His mouth moved, but apparently he thought better of whatever crossed his mind and remained silent.

"That is a completely fair question" replied Allison Nimitz. "That said, as you didn't know she was alive, you also don't know that whatever drove her to the depths of despair has been removed from her psyche. She will be clear to resume Spectre operations, once she wakes up."

"And when can we have our Spectre extraordinaire back?" Clethon. Both admirals expressed surprise a non-human would use human language this way. Perhaps it was a translation glitch.

"The doctors tending to her estimate two to four months, but it could be longer."

"The sooner the Commander is back on her feet, the better" said Tevos. "Her rapport with the quarian Tali'Zorah vas Normandy and the geth construct Legion may be of assistance in dealing with the Rannoch issue. I would be willing to surmise no one else could approach the situation with as great a chance of success as her."

Grayson looked at Tevos. "Is there an actively hostile situation on Rannoch right now?"

"No, there is not. It could occur, however."

"Then why don't we start with multi-species starships?" interjected Wrex. He might not be a Councilor or admiral, but as leader of essentially all krogan, his words carried weight. "If a human commander can work with a turian, krogan, asari, drell, salarian, and several other humans all as equals, I see no reason why we can't push this forward."

"We are reaching the point where, as the humans say, our secrets have secrets. Which themselves have sub-secrets. The digital construction technology imported from Gamma-Three will have to be re-tooled for the Trans-Galactic Republic-infused Project Olympic" concluded Victus.

The remainder of the meeting consisted of discussing logistics for what would turn out to be the biggest overhaul of galactic government since the Citadel Council. And the largest change in the balance of power since the genophage was deployed against krogan warlords. What was being attempted ended up being nothing short of an overnight makeover. Whether it would be good or bad depended entirely on execution.


	10. Poke and Prod

A/N: Can I make a Friday reference, or is that going to get me instabanned? 'Cause technically it's Friday, and I'm publishing this chapter on a Friday instead of a Saturday.

**Chapter 9 – Poke and Prod**

Mordin Solis continued his ever-vigilant watch over the comatose Samantha Shepard. Having essentially taken over the entire project (though Miranda Lawson came onboard as a consultant), he ran identical tests hundreds of times per day. Any variations in results greater than 0.0001% caused him to engage in a flurry of activity in attempts nail down the source—and correct it if necessary.

It was simpler for the Council to visit in person now that Adam Grayson was (secretly) a member than it would have been previously—fewer issues of "putting the Council on a starship with strangers." Satisfied Shepard both still lived and remained under the care of the best physicians in the galaxy, the Council derived great satisfaction that so far, the master plan was working.

[…]

The last thing Garrus remembered was being herded onto a spaceship. Now, groggy, he groped his way around what seemed to be a small cell.

_Damn_.

He'd been stripped of his heavy turian armor and now wore, as best he could, what seemed to be hastily re-cut human clothes.

_Figures_. _Anthropocentric dickbags._

He scanned his new living space—no windows, no door that he could see. Knowing all the crazy technology around since the arrival of the Pandorans and Trans-Galactic Republic, the door for his cell probably created itself when necessary, then disappeared afterward. As if to confirm his thoughts, a door appeared with a guard motioning for him to follow.

As he stepped through the doorway, the guard slowed him down and held his wrists behind him. Cuffs appeared, and the guard let go of his hands.

"Have fun!" said the guard in a half-mocking, half-sarcastically chipper voice as Garrus was shoved into yet another room.

"Ah, the birdface."

_FUCK._

His arms were attached to a heavy chair by the restraints on them. His chair sat in front of a metal table. Classic interrogation—one really bright light, the questioner's face framed in shadow. Not that he didn't already know who he was dealing with.

"So."

Jackie Jakobs sat on the table. On his side of the table. Swinging her legs and acting for all the world as if they were two friends having a chat over alcoholic beverages.

She leaned toward him.

That was one thing he didn't understand about human females. Apparently, to human males, the fleshy bits on the chest were considered attractive, so many human women wore garments that showed off this part of their anatomy. Confusingly, one was not permitted to simply show everything in public, only parts. Like what he found himself staring at now.

Turians attracted mates based on other characteristics, such as reach and flexibility. Or success in the Hierarchy's citizenship tiers.

"If you are trying to arouse me, it won't work" he responded.

"Oh, but I enjoy it" came the reply. "Since we're at my house, we're going to follow my rules."

She was also using that tone of voice which had agitated Axton. Again, this did not create any sexual response in a turian, but she kept it up anyway.

"We are going to have a little chat about your friend Miss Tannis" she continued, now straddling him.

"If you hurt her…"

"You'll what?" she crooned.

"See you dead" Garrus responded, with the same conviction as he'd possessed about Sidonis until Shepard had talked him out of ending the traitor's life.

"I would never _dream_ of hurting her" replied Jackie, sounding insulted and pouty at the thought. "I just need to know what she knows."

Knowing it to be foolish, but seeing an opportunity, Garrus closed his mandibles around whatever he could reach. Hard.

A hand across the face, and he stared blankly at his attempted tormenter.

"You alien bastard" she hissed. "Your entire species will suffer for this!" Her hand throbbed, reddened by contact with the hard, metallic-infused plates of turian skin.

"You don't know turians very well, do you?"

Suddenly, positions had reversed. He was enjoying himself—her, not so much.

"Fuck you" she spat.

Knowing the meaning of human slang, Garrus couldn't let the opportunity to zing this bitch pass by. Keeping a completely straight face and neutral tone, he let it fly.

"I'm sure you want to. You're not my type. Too…_squishy_."

She stormed out.

Thankfully for Jackie's pride, no video had been taken of the abortive attempt to extract information from the turian, Garrus Vakarian. Really, the entire set of interrogations had gotten worse and worse.

First, Patricia Tannis had utterly ruined any attempt to get her to talk. When faced with torture, she kept up a running commentary on proper technique, tool sterilization, pain points, and how effective she thought each fresh method was. Then, when faced with the "Jackie Special" ("I can make any woman a lesbian when I'm in the room") she became overly enthusiastic about it. Which again ruined it.

Maya responded differently. By responded, it would be best to say she was completely unflappable. Some kind of mental conditioning, Jackie guessed. The Siren shut out the torture and utterly ignored the seduction. In fact, she almost looked _bored_ as Jackie straddled her, having laid the Siren flat on her back. Taking this as an insult, the Jakobs heir again stomped out of the room.

Then came her abortive round with the turian.

Axton proved most interesting. He'd already demonstrated that he was completely susceptible to Jackie's wiles and charm. So she decided to press that advantage. However, she'd forgotten about his Dahl commando training—some of the roughest in the galaxy, with a focus on subversive tactics. At first, he seemed to be clay in her skilled hands—the male guards outside simply rolled their eyes at the loud moans emanating from the interrogation room. As she began to undress, she thought she saw a flash of cognizance in his eyes—no, she must have imagined it. Her hand moved to remove his fatigues. She licked her lips in anticipation.

In one fluid motion, he pulled her belt off, whipped it across her face so hard the guards jumped, and stood up.

"Having fun? You forgot something" he taunted, holding up his wrists, around which the restraints were disengaged. "You liked my hands between your legs, but they're free to do other things as well."

CRACK.

Down she went. "Not all men think with their dicks" he spat, delivering a swift kick to her prone form. He smiled savagely as he heard a rib (or several) crack.

He turned for the door. The guards were too busy laughing and guessing what vicious sadomasochism Jackie must be forcing on her prisoner to realize the person opening the door was in fact that "prisoner."

CRACK.

The two guards' heads slammed together. _Not quite Brick_ he thought, _but close enough_.

Axton could hear faint screaming coming from somewhere down the hall. Grabbing a gun (Jakobs, of course) off one unconscious guard, he headed in the direction of the sound. It didn't take him long to find the source.

A video screen played something he couldn't see from outside the cell. Trapped in a chair that kept her facing forward was Athena. Crying, bawling, yelling, whatever was on that screen must really be disturbing to her. Realizing he had no way to open the locked cell, he took the risk of heading back the way he came.

The guards and spoiled Jakobs heiress were all unconscious.

_I really have to tell Brick about this. He is no longer king of punching_.

"Ew" he muttered as he reached down Jackie's half-undone top to pull out her keycard.

"Let's see if this works."

He slapped one guard's toned ass on his way out.

The card unlocked Athena's cell without issue. It also released her from…

Axton stared transfixed at the video. A hand slammed into a man's chest and ripped out his heart. Which was then shoved into his mouth as he died. Soldiers impaled on their own ribs. Guts everywhere. Corpses hit by so many bullets they were unrecognizable.

He emptied all but one shot from his stolen revolver's magazine into the screen.

"Damn it" muttered a guard. The screen had also been a hidden video camera. Thus, no more access to a feed of that cell—though at least they knew where the prison-break was occurring.

Axton didn't know how long he sat, just holding a completely broken, sobbing Athena. At some point, her body could produce no more tears, leaving her dry-heaving into his chest. Clutched in one hand, the necklace she'd always worn. The tiny disk had been removed—that was what kept her awake at night. She'd apparently watched one minute of it before stopping and vowing to never watch any more. The soulless Jackie Jakobs had forced her to watch it on a loop.

At some point, guards arrived and dragged the two of them apart. Axton couldn't find any words. Athena said nothing, though her eyes told him quite a bit as she was taken away. He swore she mouthed something at him as she passed out of sight.

_Please, end it._

He couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. The gun was yanked from his hand.

[…]

Now that Project Olympic actually had a chance to succeed, the engineering design deck bustled with hundreds of personnel going about various tasks. Instead of working on theories, teams turned to implementation. Not "How might we…" but "How will we…"

Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz was not exaggerating. With a hypermatter annihilation reactor, the design shrank easily from 12,800m down to 797m. With room for three fighter squadrons, a generous helping of secondary weapons, and a souped-up GARDIAN-type point-defense system. One sticky situation remained—Gaige's "elemental property" mass-accelerators vs. Tali's "inertial confinement fusion" mass-accelerators.

The former would possess lower energy demands, but the latter were so epically destructive (over short ranges) that the Council itself almost intervened. On a technicality, they avoided designation as Weapons of Mass Destruction, allowing development to continue. Regardless of which would make it to the final design, neither came close to being ready for prime-time just yet. At least one or two months more would be required.

Informally, the engineering staff split into "enGaige" and "Team Tali"; casual bets on the advancement of each design involving anything from provisioning of morning donuts to shaving of heads (or other, more permanent modifications) came down weekly. One week, Team Tali pulled ahead in a spectacular fashion—electrically charged cannons had gone literally off the rails, giving everyone present (most of enGaige) rather amusing hairdos. The charge was so great some were unable to have normal hair for _days_. Another, less laughable incident occurred when new nanoBeamz inertial confinement lasers ended up misaligned. An entire turret melted as a result.

Through the explosions, melted parts, burns, cuts, concussions, and near-death-experiences SETTLE's personnel developed a rapport transcending age, species, gender, and even galactic affiliation. Unlike the last "team" effort, no vengeful bloodlust drove the process—no blind desire to destroy everything in sight motivated anyone.

It seemed to be true, as Elizabeth Booker had written, "Crafted in anger / Bastard children of blind hate / Will destroy us all."

[...]

_Durius, Melius, Velocius, Fortior._

In pursuit of that goal, Mordin Solis's team worked round-the-clock. Basic neurological tests finally reached a level that satisfied the motor-mouthed salarian. Moving to intermediate tests, the only mistake of the project would thus occur. In an attempt to signal Shepard's right leg (artificially—her brain remained in a coma), no "power level" control was given. This small oversight caused the cybernetic leg, strong enough to slam through durasteel armor plate, to kick out full-strength. The whipsaw motion damaged both artificial muscle fibers and the knee joint, requiring some reconstruction of the reconstruction.

"Understand limitations" insisted the doctor. "Avoid problems in future" he lectured. Quaking in fear, those responsible thought themselves good as gone, but the "angel of Omega" kept them on.

Narrating into his log, Solis remained pleased with the pace of progress, though it was slower than initially hoped.

"Projecting full consciousness possible eight months after initial surgery. Damage to right leg caused by inattentiveness repaired. Kept staffers responsible on project. Good people. Tired. Made mistakes. Only human."

He began conducting prep-work to begin full neural processing. Simulations of mental functions would be run on Shepard's brain, and if any issues arose flash-cloned version of the brain would be created to iron out problems. It was akin to testing a computer's hardware while the operating system remained in a state of hibernation.

Eventually, micro-waking would bring Shepard's mind out of limbo for extremely short periods of time, searching for any instabilities. The periods would be extended until the team became certain she could be woken full-time.

[...]

What remained of Sanctuary almost wasn't worth rebuilding. "Mad" Moxxi's eyes brimmed with tears as she looked over her bar—or what was left of it. She'd lost her children, most of her former husbands, and a few dear friends. Some time ago, a cryptic communication came through suggesting a "benefactor" would be willing to assist with rebuilding of Sanctuary at the site of Shepard's old base. Initially, she figured it was Marcus trying to pry his way back into her pants, but he vehemently denied being the origin. The two remained business partners, mainly because "He has the money, I have the pizazz. And nicer tits."

As the pair surveyed the site of their former home, Moxxi's communicator buzzed again. The mysterious voice emanated from it, indicating benefactor and client would finally meet.

Noise from an incoming craft caught Moxxi's attention. Some kind of gunship, painted in garish yellow, black, and white colors. Could it be? But then, the weapons hanging from its wings looked like anything but Torgue—glowy, colorful, dancing lights everywhere. The trademark of elemental munitions—and Maliwan. She'd heard of the "MALITOR ALLIANCE" but never really believed it.

IT PLEASES ME THAT YOU ARE ALIVE.

The towering man, whose pecs had pecs, bounded from the gunship.

"Why all the secrecy?" wondered Moxxi. "It's not like there are any Harvesters left…"

YES, THE HARVESTERS HAVE BEEN EXPLODED. JVLN HAS NOT. THEY MUST BE HIT SO HARD THEIR F*CKING GRANDMAS EXPLODE.

"They're still working together?"

AM I FOND OF EXPLOSIONS?

It seemed Torgue always related everything to explosions somehow. It didn't bother Marcus—after all, explosive-primed munitions tended to sell rather well, especially when it became apparent they worked wonders on some forms of Harvester wildlife.

"Why the Maliwan arms?" demanded the confused arms dealer. That Torgue loved explosions was not news. That he had any use for elements _other_ than explosions was.

THE MALITOR ALLIANCE CAME FROM HAVING THE SAME GOAL. EXPLOSIONS. FIRE, ELECTRICITY, ACID… REGULAR EXPLOSIONS BEST OF COURSE.

"So how exactly are you proposing we rebuild Sanctuary?"

MOXXI, YOUR QUESTION IS APPRECIATED. MALITOR WILL FUND A TOURIST ATTRACTION HERE. IT WILL BE TOTALLY F*CKING AWESOME.

"Two guesses as to whether this involves explosions" sighed Marcus. "First guess is free…"

YOU ARE CORRECT, MISTER KINKAID. THE TOURISM WILL BE FROM PEOPLE WHO WANT TO SEE EXPLOSIONS.

"Hmm…" Moxxi could guess (and fantasize) but she highly doubted…

WE WILL BUILD A BADASS ARENA OF BADASSITUDE THAT WILL MAKE THE UNDERDOME AN UNDERWHELMING PARK FOR P*SSIES.

"Eeeeee! Gooooo! GOOOOOO! KILLING SPREE!" Moxxi (and specific parts of her) nearly bounced off Pandora in excitement.

MISS MOXXI, WILL YOU DO THE HONOR OF HOSTING THE BADASS ARENA OF BADASSITUDE?

Torgue (all almost two meters of him) knelt before a surprised Moxxi, offering a box a bit too large for a ring. It opened to reveal a key, made of pure Eridum.

THIS IS THE KEY TO MY ARENA. AND POSSIBLY OTHER THINGS.

"Let's get started, shall we?" said Marcus, some disappointment showing in his voice (as he had once been the lucky man who came home to Moxxi warming his bed).

INDEED WE SHALL GET STARTED. FIRST, THIS F*CKING EYESORE NEEDS TO GO. GET INTO THE GUNSHIP.

[…]

When Jackie threatened her prisoners with death-by-lack-of-New-U, she purposefully neglected to mention that the system remained available for a select few. Such as herself.

After she regained consciousness, she found out what had happened. Thankfully, her guards took care of the problem, re-securing the loose prisoners. Competent guards were a luxury many contemporaries either could not afford or didn't bother with—but paying the extra (or "paying" as she occasionally did for exceptional service) tended to be worth it. Due to Garrus biting her (and not in a fun way, sadly) combined with Axton's belt-whipping/kicking, she needed a quick healing. Using her Judge pistol, she respawned herself.

Each prisoner remained in solitary confinement now. First, she stopped by Axton's cell. Putting on a pouty, hurt expression, she pressed her face against the barred window on his door, only to have to yank herself back lest she be punched.

"You know what, you are no fun. I'd let you out if you promised to put that aggression _into_ me…" She batted her eyes suggestively only to get a double middle-finger in return.

Next up, Garrus. "I know you can't get enough of me, so I fixed myself up for you" she hissed, walking toward his cell door with her top open. Garrus might well have been staring at blank space for all the reaction he gave, however.

She was ready to up the teasing, until she received a page. Analysis of cell footage from Athena had possibly produced something of value. She zipped up, whispered "Later, sexy" and headed to the upper levels.

On her way up, she cursed Maya. She hated to admit it, but that Siren was _hot_. And yet, she was unable to experience any enjoyment or pleasure from tormenting the woman.

The arrival of her elevator at its destination interrupted her thoughts.

"Ma'am." Salute.

"Through all the endless screams and meaningless babble, we deduced a phrase that she kept repeating."

A cleaned-up, though still low-quality audio clip played. "Tannis!" shrieked Athena, squeezing her eyes shut only to open them again as electricity surged into her as punishment. "Control the first! The first! Control the first!"

From seized records, it was determined that the phrase did have meaning. That phrase also matched the inscriptions on Judge. If only Athena hadn't been so _traumatized_, thought Jackie, she would have rewarded that woman with such a night…

Of course, it never crossed Jackie's mind that she had in fact been the _source_ of the trauma. But that was what being entitled, spoiled, and power-mad did to a person.

Exploration teams reported finding traces of an expedition which ventured below the Prime Vault, or "Altar" as Patricia Tannis called it. Bits of dextro food had been found at some suspected campsites, so she deduced Garrus might have been involved. Jackie Jakobs might have been sex-crazed, vicious, seductive, and ruthless, but she was not stupid. It helped many opponents assumed her to be a brainless bimbo who got by on looks after she tried to seduce them, only to find out there was more to her than breasts. If the turian had been digging (presumably with these others, especially the Tannis woman) there must be something valuable around.

A huge piece of what looked like Eridium had been discovered in Axton's pack, so it now stood under the analysis of an army of Jakobs specialists.

Coincidentally, the very machinery Patricia Tannis suggested the quartet steal when the mission began happened to belong to Jakobs. Using Eridium crystals to focus an excavated Eridian weapon, later Trans-Galactic Republic analysis would compare it to superlasers, the device could easily punch through to the planet's core given enough time. Jackie ordered it to be brought to the pole, though that would not be a quick process. Instead of crawling back and forth like peons, she would simply drill her way in.

_Heh, drill_. _Drill hard. Drill fast…_

She forced herself to focus. There would be time for self-exploration later. It was essential to make sure neither Bart nor Buckshot (unlikely) interfered—if anyone saw her moving the Drakken Laser Drill, Overcharged (DLDO) they might team up on her.

_Why must everything be an innuendo to me?_ _My own family! Ew, Jackie, ew!_

A devious plan formed in her head. Overly-complicated, likely. Expensive, yes. Time-consuming, definitely. But if it worked, there wouldn't be any problems moving the giant DLDO.


	11. Taking Flight

**Chapter 10 – Taking Flight**

In a few short months, Project Olympic transformed from a sinking ship to a quantum leap forward in engineering.

"Why not both?" asked Gaige to Tali when Team Tali had a particularly good week. So, accepting the challenge, hundreds of engineers pored over possible schematics for multiple-munition-capable turrets. Four months in total had passed; a hull already began taking shape in one of three bays contained aboard the installation used for the project. In an interesting coincidence unknown to the Olympic engineers, if both projects stuck to their timetables, the first ship would be ready just about the time Samantha Shepard would be waking up.

After a particularly grueling day of debating possible names for the ship class, the committee stood up to leave.

"What about 'Maxthon?'" piped up a junior engineer.

"Max-what?" replied another.

"Maximum Marathon—Maxthon" said the first.

"Have you noticed things around here tend to get solved at the last minute, in the most random way possible?" asked Tali to Gaige. Gaige concurred.

"As long as I get to build stuff, it's cool. That bitch Marcy would give her miserable life to see some of this—oh wait, she's already dead!" She grinned as if her birthday was coming twice over, and early at the same time.

Tali kept her mouth shut. The teen could be rather _disturbing_ at times. Then again, the phrase "eccentric genius" existed for a reason. Also "mad scientist…"

Olympic wasn't the only endeavor in Citadel space succeeding after some false starts. The Council's secret plan, internally dubbed "First Flight," got off to a rocky start when not-publically-acknowledging-him-as-Councilor Grayson demanded (on Council authority) the transfer of "any and all fertile krogan females from salarian possession."

The Systems Alliance Parliament conducted an extensive, slow, and exhaustive "search" for a new Councilor, putting on an extravagant "varren-and-hamster show" for the media. The "varren" were candidates the media quickly dug up dirt on—leading to "exposés" that made them undesirable candidates to the public. The "hamsters" were too "cuddly and cute" for the media to do much on, but the joke ended up being on reporters as the Parliament would take one away while simultaneously dropping another (which was fawned over just the same). The legitimate debate over whether humanity should elect its Councilor or leave that up to the Parliament played out too—but without any way to create a law that did not exist for a procedure never before attempted, the "Elect Our Councilor" faction couldn't gain significant footing.

To cover for Grayson's mistake, the salarian Councilor pinned the blame on "diplomatic misunderstandings" which conveniently implicated Urdnot Wreav, using among other things a hanar with camera implants to obtain evidence. Wreav's attempts to obtain weapons of mass destruction (really, a new quad) using clan money quickly resulted in his demotion and subsequent ostracization.

When asked if he knew anything about the situation, Urdnot Wrex remarked "That moron couldn't fix a combustion manifold on a tomkah. What do you expect?"

Whether it was cosmic alignment or simply good fortune, the geth and quarians avoided shooting at each other (too much). The Trans-Galactic Republic only had to play referee once—something about a shipload of elcor being unloaded into the hanger of a damaged geth dreadnaught as part of a Pilgrimage-gone-crazy.

Three _Maxthon_-class heavy cruisers were authorized. Named _Maxthon_ (obviously), _Revenant Phoenix_, and _Elizabeth Booker_ (take that, Miss Luddite-and-Down-on-Tech) the vessels would be completed mainly through digistruction. This meant a launch only a few months after construction/digistruction began.

That technology still remained the crown jewel of the Council's COSMIC TOP SECRET programs. Digistructing an entire ship in one pass was not possible—exponentially more powerful computers would be needed to do that—so parts had to be built and assembled. Even the Trans-Galactic Republic lacked the processing firepower necessary, and besides "We don't even know what to optimize for, since this tech makes zero sense to us. It's like using a hyperdrive without knowing how it works."

Much to Commander Bailey's displeasure, the offhand comment from a CSI ended up being correct regarding Udina's death—no evidence, no leads, no case. "This case is so cold absolute zero is warmer!" said the lead prosecutor.

Diana Allers penned an opinion piece subtly accusing the turian prosecutor of not putting in enough effort, only to be humiliated the next week when "C-Sec: Absolute Zero" dedicated an entire episode to detailing how unsolvable the case seemed to be.

[...]

"Yes, my lady?"

"Acolyte Harper. You are to assemble a strike force and attack the facility building the Citadel Navy's new heavy cruisers. Information regarding the whereabouts of this facility will be relayed to you en route. You are not to destroy the cruisers even if you would otherwise be able to. Give them an easy victory, but make them think they worked for it."

"It will be done, my lady."

The blonde/black haired, red-eyed woman delivered orders at all hours. Kai Leng began training himself in sleep-reduction techniques lest The Lady call at odd times. She/he/it seemed to have an uncanny ability to ring his communicator when he was relieving himself, eating, or bathing.

Like the former Illusive Man (The Lady required he revert to using his given name), Leng was also given a feint-attack assignment. He and a team of Special Infiltration Tactics Heavies (SITH) were to board T'Soni Base I. Not much research occurred there at the moment—in fact, the chamber where the asari was "brutally murdered" remained cordoned off as an eternal monument—the point was to strike a psychological blow while simultaneously puffing up the egos of the Trans-Galactic Republic/Citadel Council. The attack would do great damage, but the defenders would "heroically" drive them off after a lengthy battle.

With a force of _Mephisto_-class assault shuttles, Daimon Leng and his SITH Nephilim would begin a glorious battle against the hated Trans-Galactic Republic. His attack existed to make the outsiders think twice about letting their guard down, followed by the former Illusive Man's attack. Being more substantial but still planned to fail, the Trans-Galactic Republic should then believe it had "dealt" with the threat.

As per The Lady's orders, Cerberus faded somewhat into the background until called upon. It spent much of its idle time collecting more resources—the galaxy's politicians had pretty much all coalesced into firm pro- or anti-Cerberus factions with few persuadables. Shoring up the base and buffing up reserve resources became a top priority.

At first, Harper couldn't understand how his few ships (allocation was of forces was _also_ dictated by The Lady—he never micromanaged this much…OW!) were supposed to damage a heavily-defended facility. Until Lady Finger Venera Sola arrived, anyway.

He was vaguely aware that things tended to fall into place more easily, make more sense, whenever Venera wanted something. Sometimes, he would end up not recalling vast swaths of time—which tended to correlate with the Lady Finger's presence. However, he knew better than to question it, though he did wonder what he might have done during those times, especially seeing as she always had the same nasty grin on her face when he "returned" to himself, as if she knew something…

Similar to the Citadel Council's experience with the Trans-Galactic Republic, The Lady's organization brought many types of advanced technology with it and handed most out freely to its operatives. It was suspected there were plans to do something significant regarding lifting of Trans-Galactic Republic technology, though only The Lady and high-up operatives knew exactly what that would be.

Given a force of _Tormenting Swarm_-class missile cruisers, Harper drilled attack plan after attack plan. He had the distinct feeling of being a figurehead, though, since despite nearly perfect scores from Venera, he never had to issue too many orders. And some of the orders he _did_ issue were flat-out ignored by underlines—something that in Cerberus would lead to…ARGH! It seemed any negative thoughts about The Lady, Venera, or things related to them tripped something in his implant, doubling him over in pain. The stronger the negative thought, the worse the pain—though such shocks could be mitigated by immediately replacing the triggering thought with mental penance and glorification of The Lady.

_I wonder if this is what Reaper technology did?_

Cerberus had been experimenting with indoctrination and even attempts to control minor Reaper minions, but as with virtually everything at the time, it got tossed aside due to the arrival of the Trans-Galactic Republic. Samantha Shepard's destruction of the Collector Base set them back quite far. As the Illusive Man, he'd believed himself stronger than the turian Saren (who fell to indoctrination, though was able to break through one last time to commit a twistedly-heroic suicide prior to the battle against Sovereign). Given his—ow—_grateful participation_—in this venture, he imagined the Reapers must have exerted even more—_empowering influence_—over those in their service.

Though the Illusive Man loathed being anything other than the top of any totem pole, Jack Harper had come to accept his role as an Acolyte. He shared The Lady's fervor for the advancement of humanity—and no alien meddling appeared evident in the organization. It struck him as odd no name or symbol unified The Lady's forces—

_The Lady is us! We are The Lady! No further identification is required for those who serve._

Now there were voices in his head? And Venera wasn't even around.

[…]

Mordin Solis, dubbed "shock doc" by some due to his obsession over Shepard's nervous system, made steady progress toward the eventual goal of bringing back the Commander from the brink, _again_. She was the woman who just wouldn't die. Some fine-tuning ended up being necessary for the eventual flash-restore of her memories (as under stasis the integrity of her neural patterns had dipped below 50%, a level the body could not recover from), but again, the Citadel Council/Trans-Galactic Republic was on a roll. And no piddly medical challenges were going to stand in the way!

The next day, a problem with inertial confinement lasers caused one of the incomplete _Maxthon_'s turrets to blow itself free in a rather spectacular fashion.

In order to maintain the pace, resources poured into _Revenant Phoenix_ whose construction had not yet reached the point of working with the apparently-troublesome technology. It seemed plausible _Phoenix_ would actually launch first, though the class name would remain the same.

"You know, Tali" remarked Gaige, "for all the effort we've put into these big guns, they seem to have more kinks than…ahhhh…"

"It will work" insisted Tali. "We just need to be precise, work carefully, and double-check each milestone."

One of Shepard's old engineering staff, Gabby Daniels, had been caught in the explosion. A stint in a hyper-concentrated "bacta tank" had her good as new within days. Analysts were shocked by the apparent healing power of the fluid; Trans-Galactic Republic medics shrugged it had been used for millennia. It even worked across most species barriers.

While it could not cure the genetics-based genophage, wider applicability of bacta to Citadel species gave a new lease on life to the drell. Though semi-frequent treatments were required (as exposure to humidity still damaged the lungs), it made Kepral's Syndrome manageable rather than fatal. Its superiority to medi-gel caused consternation among some, but the primary backer of medi-gel graciously accepted that "We believe saving lives should take priority over credits." After these comments were published, the Sirta Foundation mysteriously found itself in possession of machines which produced (at significant energy cost and lower potency) a medi-gel/bacta hybrid, more compatible with existing infrastructure in the galaxy at large (since most clinics lacked the large full-immersion tanks used for bacta treatments). There were also blueprints to construct copies of the machines.

_Use it well_ said the note. While nobody would comment, the writing was Aurebesh, so it had to be someone from the Trans-Galactic Republic, since not even Kasumi Goto had yet managed to crack the security on Trans-Galactic Republic supply caches.

Those in the know wondered why this fluid had not been applied to Samantha Shepard.

"Remember how we didn't have nearly as many supplies as we should've when we first arrived?" said Grayson. "We didn't even have enough fuel at the time of the Commander's incapacitation. Never mind medical supplies! Furthermore, we had no idea whether bacta would work—it has only recently been certified not to cause allergic responses or other reactions in your species."

"You could have told us" replied Clethon.

"I suppose that is true" sighed Grayson. Sometimes, all the secrecy became tiring. First Flight still remained under wraps, though the time rapidly approached when the shroud would be pulled away. Hopefully, the unveiled product would be less twisted than the last time the Trans-Galactic Republic "watered the seeds" of less technologically advanced species.

"Given the potency of bacta" opined Emily Wong, "it's small wonder the galaxy the Trans-Galactic Republic originates from has become so deadly on the battlefield. When an eviscerating gut-shot or three severed limbs won't end a life, extreme measures while at war make a twisted kind of sense. If there's a spark of life left in you, bacta will keep you going!"

Grayson wryly noted this time, something much more organic and far less toxic seemed to have emerged from the introduction of Trans-Galactic Republic technology. Of course, the fact that it was a healing salve which promoted…well, metaphorical healing, was not lost on the population at large. With the release of bacta from secure storage under Trans-Galactic Republic control combined with exclusive Sirta Foundation production of medi-bac, less scrupulous elements began taking advantage of the situation—fake bacta became more of a plague than any actual disease in recent memory save the genophage. In response, Sirta quietly developed a simple testing kit—a small pill-size capsule which would change color depending on the presence (or not) of bacta. Green meant good to go with pure bacta, pink signaled genuine medi-bac, anything else indicated an imposter chemical. Of course, the cat and mouse game continued—fake test kits abounded. Sirta advised to buy "only from authorized representatives."

On lawless Omega, Mordin Solis pulled strings to supply a steady stream of these kits to his former protégé Daniel Abrams. Due to the nature of Omega, Abrams refused to actually offer full-immersion bacta services (as the clinic's security now hung by a thread due to offering even small amounts of bacta), but he or his assistants were more than willing to test the veracity of any alleged bacta brought by desperate and destitute individuals of many different species.

One notable exception to the "miracle fluid" came in the form of the krogan. Their rapid natural regeneration did not get along with bacta, leading to ugly tumors. "Not like we need it, anyway" laughed Wrex. Krogan males, eager to impress the few fertile females, had taken to even greater feats of insanity than usual, not knowing the all-fixing bacta could not save them. As he attended yet another mass funeral (in which the corpses had been covered to hide hideous growths caused by bacta), he vowed to spearhead an education campaign about the dangers of "incompatible medicine."

"Would a turian eat human food? NO. Stay away from bacta!"

Wrex grew impatient, but he understood why the genophage cure had been held back (it was to be released simultaneously with the formation of a balanced Citadel Navy and hoped-for quarian-geth peace).

"Hah!" he barked at the last item. If anyone could do it, Shepard could, but she wasn't here (yet).

[...]

Jackie Jakobs knew holding hostages then barking orders at Axton, Maya, and Garrus would not work (Athena being the hostage). To be honest, she'd gotten what she needed from them—so she let them go.

"T'was fun!" she said lightly, making kissy faces at Axton. This time, all five returned double single-digit salutes—even the turian. She might've kept Tannis, but figured drill first, then work from there.

She'd heard about the Trans-Galactic Republic's "total spectrum cloak" and suspected it might be more easily defeated than advertised. Believing at least one of her former prisoners might be involved with (or brought into) operations using the technology, she had quantum-entangled tracking devices covertly installed inside each prisoner. Powered by the body's heat, they could check in up to once an hour for several weeks (or fewer times over a longer period) before the drain would overwhelm both the battery and thermocouples. She didn't care what happened with the devices afterward—besides, they weren't noticeable.

Sure enough, the turian delivered without even knowing it. Due to the secrecy surrounding the krogan portion (i.e. genophage cure) of First Flight, the disappearance of a _Vorknkx_ didn't really draw any notice as the ships seldom checked in with any type of mission controller. Nor were their flight plans known to nearby control towers. Besides, in order to check in, the cloak had to be dropped (apparently, the Trans-Galactic Republic didn't have quantum entanglement tech—a shocker!) so a perverse incentive existed to _not_ check in unless absolutely required to do so.

She decided to let her "turian stud" go without even making him aware his ship had been stolen or that she was responsible—he might chase her down in a fit of passion if he knew, she snickered.

Upon return from a conference involving Wrex, the (most disagreeable) salarian dalatrass Linron, and Trans-Galactic Republic officials only to find the ship who brought him to Tuchanka gone, Garrus was informed he'd simply been shuffled to a different vessel now that "business" had been taken care of. Really, Trans-Galactic Republic Traffic Control (superseding the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission with dozens of Golan XXV Battle Platforms) wasn't surprised—_Vorknkx_ ships pulled "one way surprises" all the time.

As with all complicated plans, something was bound to go wrong. Though the Trans-Galactic Republic had mastered total-spectrum cloaking, it still was the case that a cloaking field could only hide a certain level of energy emissions. The _Vorknkx_ were low-emission ships by default—a giant overcharged Drakken Laser Drill (even switched off) not so much. The drill, normally capable of a relatively swift (for its size) 20km/hr travel could move at no more than 5km/hr without either overloading the cloak's emission-covering abilities or overdrawing its power source as energy required to cloak increased exponentially against energy to be hidden.

A 2000km trip would therefore take over two weeks, assuming a straight line, no slowdowns, and no breakdowns. That never happened of course, so she planned on not being able to "drill hard" for a month. What was worth having was worth waiting for.

[…]

THIS WILL BE F*CKNIG AWESOME.

Moxxi, Marcus, and Torgue Flexington held onto straps built into the ceiling of a _Varkid_ gunship. Once the craft gained sufficient altitude, a massive explosion nearly ruptured the eardrums of all present as the gunship's doors were swung open to permit a view (and in any case not very sound-deadening when closed).

IT IS SHAPED LIKE T. FOR TORGUE.

Between wincing at the noise with eyes squeezed shut and clamping hands over ears, the others could see that in fact, the explosion _was_ shaped like a T. How he managed that, they didn't know.

In the distance, a whole fleet of _Latissimus Maximus_ heavy lifters brought in digistruction machines and pre-fabricated parts.

BIGGER IS BETTER. THE BADASS ARENA OF BADASSITUDE WILL HAVE THREE LEVELS AND ROOM FOR THREE FIGHTS AT ONCE. OR ONE REALLY BADASS FIGHT.

A hologram shimmered into existence detailing a rotating platform that would permit an announcer (presumably Moxxi) to be moved between arenas for commentating purposes. An animation kicked in as the simulation zoomed out. The triangular shape of the arena seemed odd, until Torgue explained.

TORGUE STARTS WITH T AND SO DOES THREE. THREE SIDES, B*TCHES.

"Okay then" replied Marcus in the most bored and unimpressed voice imaginable. "What do I get?"

ONE ARENA WILL BE EXCLUSIVELY SUPPLIED BY MARCUS MUNITIONS.

"Just one?"

WHICH IS BIGGER, THE GUEST BEDROOM OR THE MASTER BEDROOM?

[...]

One of the few items which was held over from the now-crumbling United Defense Command was the Kinetic-Oriented Multiple Belligerent Training (KOMBT) School. Since it offered species-neutral instruction based solely on an individual combat abilities, it ended up being fairly popular among most species. Out of necessity, some of the most advanced _biotic_ classes were taught solely by asari (representing the largest fraction of high-end biotics, this was expected). That said, no one cared what you looked like otherwise.

Jack and Brick were the unofficial proprietors of the school—having come up with the idea during the Reaper War. Neither would admit it, but the prospect of sending their students into Xytler's meat grinder had given them potent second thoughts. So the downfall of the turian (now arrested and held, along with others, by the Trans-Galactic Republic) freed them to focus less on pure combat and more on developing total potential of each individual.

Ashley Williams had been accepted as an instructor for the more physical side of things. The students all griped about her, but just like most of their "complaints," it was mostly bluster. They were genuinely grateful for instructors who helped bring out their best, even if the training was exhausting, painful, and downright brutal.

"Those little brats have taken after you, Jack" she teased. "'Hardass Ash?' I like it!"

James Vega took on a special role. Since the students were younger (and thus ineligible for Interplanetary Combatives Training—or colloquially "N-series"), he acted as a kind of advisor for those who hoped to one day be admitted to ICT. As an N7 himself (after being encouraged by Shepard to accept entry into the program), he brought a unique perspective to his trainees, as well as being "the coolest." His students' words, not his own. This designation lead to an ever-escalating prank war between himself and Jack, culminating with Vega being tackled by Eezo, Jack's pet biotic varren. Who, to add insult, then ate James' eggs.

"Nobody's cooler than me" she smirked. "Who's my badass biotic? Who's my badass biotic?"

After licking the downed James repeatedly, smearing his face with his own stolen breakfast, Jack and Eezo took their leave of the dining area.

James never lived that one down. He dearly wished to be able to counter the proliferating vids taken with omnitools that spread over the KOMBT network with Samantha Shepard's "Reaper Problem," but given the Commander's current status as a revered war hero who made the ultimate sacrifice, he knew that would be quite undignified.


	12. Wake Me Up, Before You Go-Go

A/N: Bonus chapter!

**Chapter 11 – Wake Me Up, Before You Go-Go**

HUUUUUAAAA!

That was Samantha Shepard's first word in over eight months, if a guttural animalistic sound could be called a "word." After a touching reunion with her crew (many who literally dropped what they were doing to rush to her bedside), being told the Reapers had in fact been defeated, and that she had yet _another_ new ship, Sam learned her new foe came in the form of a chart. A physical therapy progress chart.

Once everyone had been shooed out of the room, Mordin Solis appeared.

"Shepard. Will need to run tests on legs, necessary to…"

She didn't let him finish before bounding out of bed.

"Unce! Unce! Unce! Unce! Uh-Unce! Unce! Unce! Unce!"

Shepard's beatboxing and hip-banging elicited only the smallest of changes in Mordin's face.

"I—OW!"

As she doubled over in pain, Sam realized her hips hurt. A lot. And her shoulder was still heavily maimed from an ill-advised excursion with a Widow rifle at the firing range.

"Unwise decision. Should have let me explain process. Things you don't know. Possibility of self-injury."

She grimaced as she sat back down on the side of her bed. "I noticed."

"Nearly died again. Used temporal stasis to stabilize."

"I think I remember…something…being crushed…" Sam squeezed her eyes shut as if this would help her remember. Also, to fight the pain now coursing through her that might have been related to the over-exuberant celebration.

"Correct. Pinned by Brick. Attempt to keep you out of final battle on Pandora. Used deactivated artillery shell originally intended to destroy base, commit suicide" (inhale) "clearly successful in removing you from fight."

Memories started flooding back. The insanity, the violence, the loss of a sense of purpose, the insanity, the catfights with Lilith, the insanity… Maybe she had also been severely depressed; Liara's death didn't help with any of the above.

"Developed two personalities. Unsure why. Depression not normally manifested in physical form" (he held up a datapad with a picture of the object found next to her).

"A giant…space raisin?"

"Unknown. Dangerous. Destroyed using engines of _Revenant Phoenix_. Neural scans show one personality. Mental instabilities likely dealt with."

_The fight. Lilith… Angel…_ It took all she had not to start crying. She felt as though for her to keep living, others kept having to sacrifice themselves. It made so little sense, but she _knew_ the strange battle against, was it her "other" self, really happened! It seemed Samantha Shepard, too, would have a chance to redeem herself. If she hadn't already broken something that would keep her in the hospital even longer.

She looked at her lame shoulder. More painful memories began to surface. She controlled herself. _Commander Shepard does not cry!_

"Shoulder still damaged. Can be fixed upon arrival at Citadel."

_I'm erasing any surveillance videos of this med bay from the past five minutes_. She grinned. Likely, if she didn't, it would be all over the extranet. "Commander Shepard Can't Dance, Round 279631."

"Okay Mordin, what do I need to do?"

"Minimize sudden movements. Legs far stronger than before. Must learn to use new strength."

"Stronger? What'd you do, pile on muscle fibers?"

A sharp inhale. "Replaced entire body from lower chest to feet."

"WHAT?" she exploded. She winced as her enthusiastic speaking had twisted her damaged shoulder. "Cerberus managed to rebuild it—you cut it all off and _replaced_ it?"

"Photographs available. Can show you." The salarian manipulated controls on a computer to bring up the images in question.

She looked. Her face, her torso… Where were…oh what…holy hell!

Immediately following: "Hurk…bluuuuuargh…"

"Take cup. And towel."

"Thanks Mordin. I can't imagine there was much left. I guess my armor helps more against planetary re-entry than crushing."

"Correct, Shepard. Information about procedure, resulting changes to anatomy. Net result: more difficult to kill than ever before."

He handed over a datapad, which she eagerly began to read the executive summary. "I like being hard to kill."

_Patient's lower torso and legs replaced by cybernetic technology borrowed from Combat Human Replica Droid Project. Integrated nano-batteries provide forty-eight (48) hours of combat-ready energy should organic sustenance be unavailable. Batteries may be recharged wirelessly or organically. Ensuring room for advanced filter modules meant not replacing or reconstructing reproductive system, though hormone/endocrine duties are handled by biofiber glands near the batteries…_

"Wait a minute. So I can't…ever…." Her face fell.

Mordin smiled as much as a salarian could. "Recommend reading rest of summary."

_Sexual function preserved, minus reproductive capabilities. All inputs processed by waste filtration systems._

"Inputs? Really?" She broke out into a wicked grin. "Seriously? That what you calling them now?"

"Will need to test all replaced systems. Instructions included on datapad."

"I'm a woman, Mordin, I know how to…"

"Additional information _not necessary_" interjected the salarian, probably louder than he intended. "Suspect you fully capable of conducting all necessary exercises. Still, will answer any questions."

"Well" drawled Sam, "since we've covered the _most important_ part, can I kick in doors now?"

"Affirmative, Shepard. Also capable of jumping at least ten meters vertically while standing still. Can run at speeds exceeding some land vehicles. For several hours. Metabolic rate consummately increased."

"_Nice._ So I can eat anything I want like biotics do, put my foot through armor plate, and still get it on."

"Will take time to reach maximum potential as demonstrated by first use of tech which" (inhale) "caused pain."

"More physical training. Nothing I haven't seen before. Besides, I'll need it for this damn shoulder."

"Must follow regime carefully. Failure to do so would be" (inhale) "risky."

The doctor pressed a small device against his patient's hip, which caused the device to beep.

"Torque and horsepower now artificially limited. Self-injury no longer possible."

Shepard climbed slowly to her feet. The fiery pain around her lower chest had begun to fade. She took a step. Then another. She tried to move faster, but her legs refused to obey, as if she were trying to run against a particularly resistant mass effect field exercise machine. Teeth gritted in concentration, to no avail.

"Legs computer controlled. Digital restraints relaxed as progress made with therapy. Learn to walk. Then run."

"Mordin, if you didn't just save my life I'd stew your liver and eat it. You've turned me into a grandma!" She shook her fist on her undamaged arm at him, a devilish grin undermining the meaning of her words.

"Shuttle will take you to your ship. Affinity for surviving the impossible intact, Shepard."

The salarian regretted not being able to add internal bacta dispensers, but by the time the Trans-Galactic Republic revealed that technology _and_ ensured it would not harm the denizens of Citadel space, no further modifications to Shepard would be possible without rearranging virtually everything.

Shepard found herself greeted by Anna Erickson once the rest of her crew/friends dispersed off to their own various tasks.

"Sorry to do this to you, but we need to get down to business right away." Anna consciously avoided looking at the other woman's deformed shoulder/arm.

"When has that not happened?" Sam imitated a computer voice. "'Commander Shepard, you've recently been dead. Please find a way to stop our colonists from being abducted.'"

"Some of us can just never catch a break" Anna agreed. "At least this time the only thing you'll need to shoot off is your mouth."

Her memories were slightly fuzzy. Mordin had said she'd need to have several follow-up imprintings to make sure her original memories were properly preserved. She vaguely remembered having a loud confrontation with…the quarians? Something about Tali and the geth. Whatever she'd done, it worked—Tali's late father did not see himself dishonored nor was Tali found guilty of committing treason.

_Wait, if I can't remember why that happened, where'd all the detail come from?_

"Who do I need to yell at now?" she asked.

Anna felt bad. The woman sounded…tired. Worn-out. Exhausted. Samantha Shepard cheated death twice now. Perhaps she would go down in history as a lesson in why living forever could be a _bad_ thing.

"Who do you think?"

Tali grimaced upon seeing what the Commander had done to herself—she'd heard the stories, but had the presence of mind to not press the issue. She acted as though she'd seen nothing. 

Neither had seen that Tali had not left. With carefully disseminated news that Commander Shepard was back on her feet, the elements of First Flight went into overdrive. Many more were briefed into the program, which as one would expect, drastically increased the chance of a leak. So the intent was to get things going so quickly that there wouldn't be time for leaks.

"Creator Tali'Zorah is correct. The divide between the Creators and geth remains."

Sam Shepard let out an audible sigh, before half-shouting. "Can _anything_ in this galaxy get sorted out without me sticking my hands in?"

"There are many items which have been positively resolved without your involvement, Shepard-Commander."

Another sigh. "I know, Legion, it's just, can't I ever have a day when no one asks me to do anything?"

"We were given information on plans to reintegrate the geth into Creator society" continued Legion. "A cession of hostile actions against the geth will serve as a significant factor in convincing the uncommitted geth consensus to support reunification. Shepard-Commander, your destruction of geth heretics will most likely enhance our ability to convince others as well."

"What about the combined geth-quarian ships used during the Reaper War?" queried Tali. "Does that cooperation mean anything?"

"The joint venture is one of the reasons the geth have not sought to destroy the Creators despite several of them posing a significant threat."

"Wait, wait, what'd I miss?" _Not this again…_

"Sam, during the Reaper War, two quarian admirals, shall we say, ran afoul of the Trans-Galactic Republic. They kind of locked them both up."

Shepard saw a bit of the scared girl off on her Pilgrimage poke through the otherwise-confident exterior Tali normally displayed.

"What happened?"

To her surprise, Legion re-entered the conversation. "Creator vessels attacked geth scouts. While we understand why the Creators would wish to keep military advancements gifted to them from outside forces hidden, we nevertheless sought to understand more about possible Creator threats."

"Gerrel is an idiot" spat Tali. "He shot first, when approaching geth ships had their weapons powered down."

Tali had to catch herself. "Here I am defending the geth—no matter what you say, Sam, this galaxy needs you. Working with Legion helped me to start overcoming the prejudices I've been taught…"

Her head drooped. She remembered the vicious verbal lashing Sam Shepard meted out to both herself and Legion when she'd threatened the geth for scanning her omnitool. The words burned her ears as if they were yesterday—"What the hell were you thinking? Are you trying to undermine this whole operation? You can either fight at my side or be crushed under my heel, but you _will not_ stand in my way."

"The worst part is that the Trans-Galactic Republic captain in charge of defending Rannoch had actually ordered all ships to cease fire and 'save it for the Reapers.' Gerrel ignored her order and got thrown in a Trans-Galactic Republic brig for it."

Shepard's face took on a thoughtful look. When she next spoke, it was slow, deliberate. "How does the Trans-Galactic Republic assert legal authority over people who neither serve in its armed forces nor are even its citizens?"

Tali had an answer ready. She'd been warned the Commander might not remember everything, and even if there wasn't another near-resurrection, memories of the tumultuous time could be fuzzy.

"After the Trans-Galactic Republic showed up, the Citadel Council signed a treaty called the Status of Forces Agreement. It gave the Trans-Galactic Republic authority over any and all military assets acting in defense of the galaxy at large."

"So the Council gave an extra-galactic entity authority over races that don't even have Citadel embassies? Am I the only one who thinks that doesn't make any sense?"

"Shepard-Commander, you are correct. Organic thought processes do not always follow a logical pattern."

"Really" continued Tali sheepishly, "it came down to the Trans-Galactic Republic being able to blow us all away by sneezing. Those with the most powerful ships make the rules."

"I hope they didn't say it that way" gasped Shepard.

"Oh no, the Council just decided it wasn't worth it to try to fight with someone who would both steamroller their fleets and possibly be useful against the Reapers. So when the Trans-Galactic Republic made the suggestion, they just went along with it."

Sam could sense Tali had more to say, but for some reason had difficulty speaking.

"There was another issue…" she began, before trailing off.

"Come on Tali, you can tell me."

"It's really embarrassing."

"I promise I won't tell the Trans-Galactic Republic if your admirals blew up one of their ships or something" laughed Sam. "I mean, what could possibly…"

"That's actually it" whispered the quarian. "Admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh designed a virus meant to cripple geth systems, but it got into the hands of Cerberus and its allies. Remember the huge battleship Admiral Grayson commanded?"

"What about it? It got blasted into..."

Comprehension dawned on Sam Shepard's face. Her expression hardened. "The virus came from the quarians?" she yelled.

"Not directly" parried Tali. "Cerberus, at the time part of Sapiens' Shield, an even more anti-alien organization than it had been, infiltrated the Migrant Fleet. They stole anything they could. Including code left on unsecure servers…"

If burning shame produced heat, Tali's visor would have melted off. The best computer specialists in the galaxy had left dangerous code laying around for anyone to grab.

Confusion reigned. "Wait, I thought the Special Tasks Group couldn't even interface with Trans-Galactic Republic systems. They got caught trying to break in before they'd even figured out how to log on!"

"This code was designed to attack geth systems with adaptive operating processes" replied Legion. "Analysis of its structure suggests executing on outsider hardware actually increased its capabilities, though we are not yet sure why or how this occurred."

"So the virus that disabled _Revenant_ was a quarian design. Can't say I'm surprised."

"Not sure whether that's a compliment" said Tali. She lightly slapped the Commander's intact shoulder. "At any rate, Xen wasn't even supposed to be working on those viruses anymore—but she kept at it. Then it got stolen."

"I can't imagine" responded Shepard "that she'd just up and _give_ the code to Sapiens or Cerberus—them being so anti-alien and all. So what the hell could the Trans-Galactic Republic charge her with?"

"Negligence and defiance of orders" replied Tali.

"Her actions were not directly responsible for the result, but they significantly contributed" chimed in Legion. "We believe an appropriate analogy would be placing a weapon near dangerous individuals."

"So the Council wants me to yell at the geth and quarians until they stop shooting at each other, am I getting this right?"

"Why don't we go see your new ship?" suggested Tali. "Worry about that if you end up standing in front of the Council again. Should that happen, try to make sure we can make songs out of it later!"

"Laugh it up, Tali…"

Shepard's recovery took place a galaxy away from her new ship. This, combined with not wanting the galaxies at large to know Samantha Shepard lived quite yet led the Trans-Galactic Republic to drag the mostly-completed ship designated for Samantha's use from the SETTLE Center to Pandora's orbit, in which Shepard had been put mostly back together aboard RNS _Veritas_.

Some weapons would need to be fitted upon the commander's return. The ship carried only a token crew on her outbound flight, as well. That said, a key advance on _Maxthon_ ships came from their propulsion systems—exponentially faster than anything used by either Citadel navies or the Trans-Galactic Republic.

Traditional hyperdrive travel between galaxies could take weeks or months; an advanced hyper-zero drive could make the same journey in days. Transits measured in less than an hour might be possible with extreme modifications to the drive and ship, but such changes pushed operational parameters outside acceptable safety ranges.

Hyperdrives were somewhat affected by ship mass—the larger the ship, the slower the hyperdrive tended to be up to a point. Fighters and smaller ships carried 1.0-level drives. Larger vessels tended to carry Class 2.0 or slower units. Element Zero ("eezo") changed that relationship. _Careful_ application of eezo cores drastically improved the efficiency of most hyperdrives (as opposed to exploding the ship in question as happened to RNS _Regal River_—reducing mass to absolute zero, then firing up the hyperdrive intended to push the ship's unmodified mass was a very poor choice). This permitted Shepard and the skeleton crew loaded aboard _Revenant Phoenix_ to make a return journey in roughly six hours.

During those six hours, Shepard spent some time looking over her mostly empty ship. Several barbettes lacked the triple barreled Variable Munition Mass Drivers which would be installed upon return to the SETTLE Center. These weapons were a collaboration between Gaige's elemental charging and Tali's mini-fusion designs. The "shock" variant had rendered the Trans-Galactic Republic's "ion cannons" redundant in the design, saving mounting points which were used for extra GARDIAN defensive systems.

Speaking of GARDIAN and smaller ships, the _Maxthon-_class _Revenant Phoenix_ had a much better fighting chance against such foes than the single-purpose _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ (in addition to a much shorter class name). More often than not, the secondary armament of _Infinities_ ended up being shut down to allow greater power to be fed into the primary battery (which was no good against fighters).

_Maxthon_ ships carried fighters of their own—three squadrons. Composition varied depending on mission, but anything fitting into Trans-Galactic Republic Standard Volume for Embarked Vessels up to Level III would permit thirty-six vessels. Additionally, boarding actions were possible thanks to five _Thranta_-class assault shuttles. More maneuverable than but slightly less tough than assault transports, assault shuttles needed less protection from fighters.

The _Maxthon_ vessels seemed to be the Holy Grail of military construction: affordable, mission-suitable, and easily mass-produced. While only three were on order, the Citadel Council had encouraged both member and associate races to step up by providing new construction facilities. As the premiere line of defense against extra-galactic threats, it would be advantageous to build as many of these ships as was possible.

Tali, Gaige, and their teams worked extremely hard to avoid "hindsight syndrome"—designing solutions which would win 100% of yesterday's battles, but had no claim against tomorrow's. The gigantic forward "super-Thanix" cannon incorporated lightning-gun tech, superlaser tech, and the base Thanix. It would be a much simpler way to destroy Reapers, or any other heavily armored, shielded target for that matter. Some theorized it might be able to rip open space itself at a high enough power setting. The fixed, forward-facing weapon had a limiter placed on it (~65% of theoretical energy) as a result. Though one initial design rule was "no more fixed, forward-facing weapons," no one seemed to mind since the vessel's armament was not solely tied up in the "F3W" the way _Infinities_ were.

Sam wandered into engineering. Unlike the quad-core Tantalus systems of her last ship, _Revenant Phoenix_ had a pair of "eezo channeling" cores built into its primary hyperdrive. They ran front-to-back along a cylindrical hybrid hyperdrive which followed the ship's centerline. The whole assembly glowed an eerie, bloody red. It also produced enough power to run the ship three times over due to incredibly energy-dense hypermatter annihilation. Downsizing the core brought no benefits, so designers left in a massively overpowered heart, in the hopes that some future development might find a use for all the energy. In case of catastrophic overload, braces permitted the whole thing to be ejected in less than five seconds. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to dump the power core—she'd seen enough of that in omnitool vids like "Persephone's Predators." It always ended badly.

"Commander Shepard" would now be uttered by a crew of several hundred—smaller than the complement of an _Infinity_ but significantly more compared to an Alliance (or Cerberus) frigate. When she found out about EDI, a fresh wave of pain flowed through the still-recovering Spectre. She (not "it") had been as much a member of the crew as any flesh-and-blood, providing key intel at just the right moment on several occasions. Once First Flight reached a stage where it could be openly acknowledged, Sam planned to hold a ceremony honoring both Lilith Cashlin and EDI, anti-synthetic prejudices be damned. It might also help win peace with the geth…

It just wouldn't be the same. Though the Trans-Galactic Republic remained freakishly advanced, their insistence on silent, "dumb" ships made her feel sad for them.

Still, the primary armament of this ship was, as Lilith might say, "the tits." Variable Munition Mass Drivers borrowed Citadel-native technology, flinging tiny particles at huge speeds for massive damage. In Fusion mode, slightly larger pellets were used as ammo—these were specialized and limited compared to nearly-infinite standard fare. In exchange for a lower fire rate and shorter effective range, these pellets were essentially bombarding enemies with tiny suns—bringing the pellet into a state of fusion, then hurling it out of the barrel at extreme velocities. Hence all the fuss about inertial confinement lasers. These were part of an optional stage—just before any "special" effects would be applied. While both types of munition could be fired through the same barrel, fusion could _not_ be combined with corrosion, fire, or electric shock.

The turrets themselves contained a fast-track mechanism which in theory enabled them to target small craft—though at the expense of only being able to fire "standard" shots. Besides, actually having dedicated point-defense systems was a hallmark of the class compared to its predecessors, so this ability would likely not be tested excepting very trying circumstances.

Since the Trans-Galactic Republic was integrally involved in the ship's design, it maintained some of the comforts that Systems Alliance, Hierarchy, Union, or other Citadel forces could only dream of on home-built vessels. Crewmen had assigned berths (no hot-bunking), ration quality drastically improved, and leisure facilities were expanded. For instance, an omnitool library, small movie theater, shockball suite, and swimming pool were all built into the vessel's interior.

"Well, let's see how they did on the most important part of the ship" she said to no one in particular as the door to her cabin opened.

She took quick stock. Large work area (since being in charge of a ship meant lots of bureaucracy), a sitting space, a dining table with optional view outside… "Damn, no fish tank" she muttered. Apparently, the architect(s) responsible for her cabin maintained the same sense of humor as Alliance and Cerberus before them—the shower (or "refresher," as the Trans-Galactic Republic called it) was right behind her desk. Translation: You are going to spend so much time there that you might as well have your 'fresher right next to you.

A look of childish delight crossed her face as she realized there were no display cases for the ship models she enjoyed collecting and assembling. No cases meant she could finally achieve a long-held dream of having the models simply float around the cabin on miniature eezo cores. The tiny ships would auto-adhere themselves to suitable surfaces if the _Revenant Phoenix_ went into battle, just as the skylight and dining-table window armor plate auto-closed in such a circumstance.

Sam Shepard lay back on her bed. The skylight at the moment showed a sickly greenish hue, patches of green interspersed with white and black. The official reason was that light normally blue in regular hyperspace travel slightly redshifted from the vastly increased speeds of a hyper-zero drive. She'd once looked at the math behind it, realized it made her head hurt, and turned to other tasks. Still, the light was soothing to her, so she left the armor plate retracted.

For the first time she could remember in years, Samantha Shepard drifted off into peaceful sleep.


	13. We Are Your Team

**Chapter 12 – We Are Your Team**

"Again?" sighed a Citadel traffic controller. "Just once, I'd like to go through my shift without something weird happening!"

None had been briefed regarding the new type of sensor readings accompanying hyper-zero transits. Thus, weird sensor readings flummoxed Citadel Control until the ship provided its authorization codes.

"Those people and their fancy ships…"

"Commander Shepard, we have arrived at the Citadel."

_Beats an obnoxious blaring alarm_ she thought. _Still…_ Her chest tightened as she thought of EDI again. The voice modulator sounded similar to EDI, which made it more painful. She dragged herself out of bed and into her uniform. The new, less fascist-oriented alliance between Citadel and Trans-Galactic Republic (dubbed "CRITICAL"—Citadel-Republic Integration and Cooperation Alliance) showed itself in the selection of a base color other than black. A return to traditional navy blue (_navy, hah!_) with white accents became the expected dress. The one feature she'd liked about her last uniform was that it was far more flattering—this was pure utilitarian stamped to one-size-fits-everyone-meeting-a-crude-measurement rather than being custom-tailored. Of course, that it came alongside a military dictatorship and insane flag officer kind of made it lose its appeal, though she did see how it might be incorporated into some, ahem, exercises, if she ever found anyone out here in the vastness of space…

Had Shepard known precisely what was scheduled upon her departure from _Revenant Phoenix_, she would have cursed her decision to spend so much time getting into dress blues. Whisked off to the Huerta Memorial Hospital's Advanced Treatments Wing, she was immediately removed from her uniform by several synthetics.

"You better not be recording this."

"Six Four Cee medical droids are specifically prohibited by programming from taking any imagery without the patient's express consent" replied one of the units in a surprisingly human-like tone.

Over the brief time she spent at Huerta's Advanced Treatments Wing, she came to realize something else. The Trans-Galactic Republic had no issues whatsoever with synthetics, or "droids" as they were called. Many of these droids possessed enough sapience programming that they could conspire, rebel, and kill the organics which controlled them. Droids were even "owned" and treated as property. Yet, death-by-droid was a relatively rare occurrence, and when it did happen it tended to be accidental or the result of an illegal assassin unit.

The medical droids were respectful, professional, and highly competent—assisting the Commander in entering a bacta tank where her shoulder would, essentially, fix itself.

"You will be immersed for three" _pause_ "Citadel-standard" _pause_ "hours."

_Apparently Trans-Galactic Republic timekeeping isn't exactly the same as ours._ For some reason, she'd never been compelled to learn this difference during the Reaper War—probably because the primary concern was not on timekeeping but "kill as many Reapers as possible." It was also highly likely that computers were set to auto-adjust for important maneuvers or fleet coordinations. While the Citadel used sensible divisions of time (100 seconds per minute, 100 minutes per hour, 20 hours per day—years excepted as they were 343.97 days long due to politics) the Trans-Galactic Republic utilized a different standard. Converting between the two was a mess—60 seconds per Trans-Galactic Republic minute, 60 minutes per Trans-Galactic Republic hour, and 24 hours per Trans-Galactic Republic day. Their years were the exception to the nonsensical rule—exactly 365 days per Trans-Galactic Republic year. Never mind that a Citadel second was 66% of a Trans-Galactic Republic second.

At least everyone used metric.

She then spent some period of time (she stopped counting or caring) submerged in a translucent blue liquid—bacta. At its highest potency such as that which Shepard convalesced in, minor injuries healed in less than a half hour. Her shoulder reoriented and put itself back together in two hours.

Pulled from the tank while being subjected to an extensive drying process (bacta could be and was recycled, especially at this high of concentration), she felt relief wash over herself.

_I'm free_.

No more reminders of what she'd turned into under the command of Xytler—_That bastard! I'd space him if I got the chance_.

Her shoulder worked just fine. No therapy required.

"No wonder people kill for this stuff" she whispered. "It's almost magical!"

This time, no unnecessary dress-up. Wearing utility pants and a basic short-sleeved shirt with a faded "N7" logo emblazoned on it, she headed to the next stop on her itinerary.

At the Kaiden Alenko Banquet Hall, a large establishment built on the Presidium in the aftermath of Virmire, she found herself denied entry.

"You're Commander Shepard?" demanded a bored-looking turian bouncer whose helmet concealed his face.

"Yes…"

"Prove it."

She then found herself barraged with questions like an interrogation. Growing tired of it, she finally lost control. "Let me in, or I'm going to knock you flat on your ass" she hissed.

"Well, I just have one more thing to say…" The turian removed his helmet.

The doors opened on their own.

"Surprise!"

Samantha Shepard put her head in her hands. Leave it to Garrus Vakarian to punk her so hard—_he is going down next time we hit the shooting range_.

"We were taking bets on how long you'd put up with that" laughed Miranda.

Grunt sidled over, as much as a massive reptilian could "sidle."

"I'm disappointed I didn't get to see my Battlemaster add to her total of enemies brutally destroyed. You also caused me to lose a bet!" he roared. "Now I have to take two shots of ryncol. Not that it's too much of a loss…"

"Garrus isn't really an enemy, Grunt, no matter how annoying he was…"

He disappeared back to the bar.

Seeing two figures at a table toward the back, Shepard nearly fell over in shock. Former Councilor Sparatus, one of the biggest pains in her side since Udina, chatting with none other than David Anderson.

She headed in that direction until she found herself intercepted by a gaggle of teenagers crowding around Jack and Brick.

"Well, at least they can stop asking me 'What's the Commander really like?'" Jack imitated an unreasonably childish-sounding voice for the last part. "This new batch has only heard stories about you—mostly good ones…"

"Not all" boomed Brick. "Especially the time you made fun of the Council in person!"

Several students activated omni-tools to play back the infamous video.

"Now now, wait" Jack bid her students to stop. "That's really not fair to the Commander…" The smirk on her face suggested she had something in mind, but Shepard had no clue what until a huge holo-projector popped out of the floor in the middle of the hall.

"R-R-R-R-Reaper problem!" blared out of a device normally used to show off sales charts.

Cue Shepard facepalm.

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" she sighed.

"Hey, at least you didn't get your breakfast stolen!"

"James! What are you doing here?" She tried to run, but her legs insisted on walking.

Grinning deviously, one of Jack's students surreptitiously loaded a different video into the projector.

"I'm sort of an Interplanetary Combatives Training consultant for these students" began James Vega. "In fact, I…"

He ran to the holotank to try to shut it off, but Brick, looking somber as if someone had just died, impeded him.

"It's only fair" he insisted.

"No one's cooler than me!" bellowed Jack's voice from behind the tank of a man. "Who's my badass biotic? Who's my badass biotic?"

"Is that…what I think it is?" questioned Sam.

"You know, I was going to play _your_ video to get these punks to stop playing mine" answered James. "But you were kind of dead, so it would've been uncool."

"Did you just get your breakfast stolen by a _biotic varren_?" She thought she'd seen everything. Apparently not, as the projected animal tackled James for the second time and began furiously licking him, smearing the eggs it had managed to steal all over their former owner's face.

"Yeah…"

Jack returned. "See, this little…jerk…(her eyes twitched) thought he was cooler than me with the students. That's total bull…poop. So I had to teach him a lesson!"

"_You rigged my shower to use toilet water!" _bellowed the N7 consultant.

"Only because you left a surprise in my eggs. After talking about how great your _huevos rancheros_ (she deliberately accented and emphasized the phrase) are, you slip me a pill in my breakfast that makes me…crap…glitter for _two days!_"

"Uhh, guys? I think we're supposed to be eating" interrupted Sam Shepard. Toilet humor had a place—specifically, not here.

"Well, some of us, anyway."

"Tali!"

"The dextro selection here is a bit thin" opined Garrus. "Only three types of cheese…"

"Oh I'm sorry, _turian stud_, was this not enough variety for you? Let me remind you: _you already ate one type of sausage entirely by yourself…_"

Sam Shepard hadn't really met Athena before. "I'm the one who looks over your shoulder. And yes," she grinned, "I do read all those forms you submit."

"Uhh, Garrus, is there yet another thing I'm not aware of?" Leave it to socially-inept Garrus to introduce a girlfriend this way.

"No—it's kind of a long story" he replied.

"And if you don't like toilet jokes, you definitely wouldn't want to hear this at your party either" finished Athena. "We'll tell you later."

"As much as I like blowing things up with you" (Wrex had managed to appear out of nowhere, a difficult feat for a krogan), "some of us can't come with when you leave on another grand adventure. But we're here for you anyway. Couldn't let that pyjack have all the fun."

Wrex slapped Mordin on the back, hard. _He must have picked up that gesture from a human somewhere. He's close to a thousand, right?_

"Shepard. Progress. Will relax restrictions on leg usage. Jack insists."

"Damn straight! We're going to see if you're still as horrible at dancing as you used to be." Somehow the "psychotic biotic" managed to ditch her charges who ordinarily followed her like a herd of puppies.

Jerking her head toward James Vega, seated at a large table surrounded by students, she commented "He started telling another one of his outlandish stories. I think Rodriguez has the hots for him—she hangs on to every word."

Garrus leaned against a wall and was swapping combat sagas with Axton and Mordecai. Their tales about epic headshots, last-bullet-survival, and general badassery got more and more insane until Garrus found himself floating in a purple bubble.

"Nice try, if you're going to tell elaborate stories about liberating Pandora, make sure you were actually there."

With a satisfied wave of her hand, Maya let the turian clatter to the floor, armor and all.

"You have a, a loose seam" he stammered to the Siren. These parties just kept producing more and more extranet-ready moments, and he was pretty sure he'd just been the victim of one. Shepard chanced a look—indeed, a thick black seam on the shoulder of Maya's bright yellow outfit had started to come apart.

"You want to undo the rest of them?" she replied, placing a hand seductively on her hip and letting a devilish smile play across her lips. If turians could blush, Garrus would likely have had a face redder than Wrex's normal skin color.

"Am I going to be the only one who gets through this party without making an ass out of themselves?" growled Zaeed. He didn't notice feverish whispering between Maya and Athena. The latter produced a rubber pouch of sorts. "You know, there was a high-class party I went to back on Bekenstein that got attacked by eco-terrorists bitching about how much energy this corrupt executive's house used. I was the only one who survived that—had to take a dive through his fish tank to avoid a gunship though. Never thought I'd have to clean fish guts off my rifle."

"And when the universe ends, you'll be the only one who lives through it" replied Shepard.

"Hell yeah!"

Zaeed could be grouchy, prickly, and even downright unpleasant. But Shepard had an unerring faith in people to do the right thing—and this trust paid off handsomely during the Collector Base assault. Along with the majority of her team, he'd held the line against an endless swarm of Collectors and their feral beasts. He claimed to have saved Garrus from a Praetorian single-handedly, a feat which the turian surprisingly didn't deny. Neither did anyone else present at the epic rearguarding that took place that day.

Tali, Gaige, and Kasumi were deep in a discussion about how to build even more dangerous weapons. Kasumi seemed to know far more than she should have about the details of Variable Munition Mass Drivers. Tali and Gaige studiously avoided the subject of how this was possible, especially considering some of the parts for said Variable Munition Mass Drivers had "appeared" under questionable circumstances at just the right moment.

"There are some things I'd rather not know" insisted Tali when Kasumi tried to offer a detailed explanation.

"So, Shep's back on her feet?" asked the wiry thief.

"Do I look like a zombie to you?" came the deadpan response. "I was only mostly dead this time."

"Welcome back to the world of the living" rasped an unmistakable voice. Thane Krios had been one of the first to be treated with bacta as a potential cure for Kepral's Syndrome. Though he had been given three months to live by a doctor nine months ago, his condition first stabilized then improved over the course of weeks.

"Sometimes, I feel as though this bacta might cause people to act in ways they wouldn't otherwise. Me, for example, I no longer maintain a rigorous breathing routine prior to…"

"Thane, if you start getting philosophical at my party I'm going to have to ask you to leave" said Sam with deadly seriousness. "There's a rule at a Back From the Dead celebration, you don't…" She picked up her drink again.

PBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTT!

"What the hell?" Zaeed stood from his chair as if shot in the foot, glaring down at the now-deflated rubber pouch that Athena had stealthily placed on his chair while he had told his fish-tank-dive story.

"Tee hee" giggled Athena.

"Bought it at a human shop on the Citadel" explained Maya. "At least I'm not the only one who makes fart noises anymore."

"Oh no…" said an exasperated James. "I hope he likes kids…"

Several of the younger trainees had begun following Zaeed around, imitating the whoopee cushion he'd sat upon minutes before.

"He'll get rid of 'em" insisted Jack. "All he has to do is tell one story about being the only one to survive a mission in some shithole."

"Cha-ching!"

"Hey! Joker! Bite me!"

"See, ever since she went all responsible with the KOMBT School, she's had to clean up her vocabulary. Which means she lost half her normal words. If she had a swear jar, we could probably buy another one of those _Maxthon_ ships with it by now."

Jeff "Joker" Moreau cringed, expecting a reprisal.

"Joker, you're alright" replied the tattooed biotic. "But next time you take a crack at me, make sure you aren't copying insults from schoolchildren."

"Harsh" he replied. "You're not the only one with new legs around here" he continued, gesturing toward Samantha. "Those guys took one look at my Vrolik Syndrome and said 'We can fix that.' And they did! It only took them a couple hours of surgery and some special injections—now watch!"

"Unce! Unce! Unce!" He swung his hips and legs around in ways that would have made Karin Chakwas tackle him before (because that might actually have been less risky than letting him keep up the dancing).

"Do these new legs come with an affinity for beatboxing?" she wondered aloud. "Because that's exactly what I did…"

"Who cares?"

"I do" said Maya. "Reminds me of an obnoxious little robot from my home galaxy. So stop."

Joker froze.

"Oh no, not magic floaty lady who totally isn't a biotic…"

"Right, that means I can fling you around now" she said, completely serious and devoid of any humor. A savage smile lit the Siren's face. "You won't enjoy this!"

"Waaaaaaaaaaah!" Joker's feet left the ground as Maya lifted him several meters. She stood underneath him, smile becoming a pout with arms crossed. A few small flames licked around the edge of the sphere—but no full-on elemental assault. Maya had discovered she could control (somewhat) what types of properties her "phaselock" possessed. Made it infinitely more useful for pranking people, as jokes were slightly less funny when the target had been shocked, covered in acid, and lit on fire in addition to being lifted in the air.

"Be careful" scolded Miranda. She dropped into a biotic power-stance, pulling Joker free before helping him perform a soft landing. Mostly. Joker stuck the landing like a gymnast.

"See? Nothing broke!"

"Except my pride" he whispered to Shepard, before joining Grunt and Wrex at the bar.

Maya strode determinedly over to Miranda and whispered something in her ear. Miranda's expression changed from neutral to surprised to amused before she nodded her head in vigorous agreement. "He totally deserved it" she concluded.

Maya grinned to herself.

"Now that you can headbutt something without breaking your own neck" drawled Wrex, "We're going to have to take you to the range!"

"Alliance brass did say they'd prefer if I could pass combat proficiency tests now" he replied. "And if I have to blow things up, I'd rather do it with you two!"

"And Shepard" added Wrex.

"Wrex."

The response was stereo. A very loud stereo. "Shepard."

"You all know the stupid combat management displays we use don't accommodate four people" she lectured, as if speaking to recruits headed off to basic. Her drink sloshed a bit in her hand.

"My Battlemaster can win without one" insisted Grunt. "You have no equal."

"Is that a dare? You three, and me, in the Armax Arsenal Arena, this week!" Her face flushed red as she shook her fist in the general direction of the door.

"Done."

The ferocity of the two krogans' replies left her ears ringing.

"Shepard-Commander!"

"Legion? What would a geth want to do with organic parties?" Sam let her confusion show.

"We wish to learn more about organics, in particular the habit of ingesting mind-altering chemicals."

"Well" laughed Shepard, sipping her own "mind-altering chemical," "that might have something to do with it." She pointed toward James and Ashley, though telling which was which at this point would have been a challenge. Several empty bottles littered the table around them.

"The male is vocalizing the words 'tu con tantas curvas, y yo sin frenos,' while the female is encouraging him to repeat it. Their breathing is heavier than normal for organics…"

"Get a room!" bellowed Shepard. Noticing their Commander had a goofy smile plastered on her face, they ignored her and continued.

"We are noticing increased blood flow to your face as well as the area between your legs" continued the geth, apparently unaware of how awkward its continued clinical observations made the situation. "We suggest…"

"Legion! Seriously! Cut it out!" She staggered.

"We have observed that you have consumed ten different containers of liquid, most registering above twelve percent alcohol by volume. We believe your judgment is impaired."

Sam vaguely remembered Mordin saying something along the lines of "Restraints removed, will check on you tomorrow. Filtration systems set to levels mimicking unaltered human body. Enjoy hangover" toward the beginning of the party.

"Ooooh, Sam's drunk!"

"Sheeeeeeepard" slurred a familiar voice. "You should try this. Emmmmmmmmergency induction port. Slows you dooooooooooown."

Tali slammed a glass with a garish yellow straw down on the table next to the tipsy Shepard. "We were toasting Ashley's success with James…"

Sam could hear cheers and chants as if she were wearing earmuffs. Her vision was hazy. She lurched her way to a table, before losing balance and crashing into something. Or things.

"Hey! Ocupado!" said a male voice.

"Get your own corner!" Followed shortly by an annoyed sounding "Ma'am."

Shepard crashed to the floor.

"Does it count as a threesome if she's passed out underneath us?"

[…]

_UUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH…_

She tried to open her eyes. They felt like the weight of a cruiser were holding them shut. Her head pounded, as if a baby krogan was loose inside. Sam rolled onto her stomach.

"Mmmmm. Cold pillow…"

Her brain slowly processed this new information. Somehow, she was now in a place other than the banquet hall. It was a bed, at least, not the floor. Whose bed, she wasn't sure. Her lower half ached as if Wrex had sat on her.

Her eyes snapped open, twitching and searching frantically.

_Whew_.

No one shared the bed with her and there was no indication anyone had before now.

She would later find out she'd stumbled over to Maya after being ejected from Ashley and James's corner ("If she's just laying there, it's not a threesome!").

"You're so preeeeeeeeeety" she slurred, reaching to stroke the woman's purple hair. Her speech noticeably slowed compared to normal. "We'll bang, okaaaaaaaay?"

"Ew" said the Siren. "You're drunk!"

"That only makes it more fuuuuuuuuuun" she protested. "Want to see my old uniform? We can roooooooleplay. I can be the captain, and you can serve under me."

Maya laughed awkwardly—it _was_ a good double entendre. "We need to get you out of here. I don't even want to know what I'd see if someone turned on the lights…"

"Mooooooooore of Ashley and Jaaaaaaaaaaaames than I'd want to know!"

She knew trying to talk to the Commander was likely pointless but kept it up anyway. "They left after they kicked you out of their corner. They did take your advice, though."

"I can put them both in for distinguished sssssseeeervice awards" drawled Shepard. "Or at least one of them…" She winked. Or blinked. Or both.

After hitting on Maya, she'd been levitated (by Maya-wingwoman of the _century_) into a hovercar, and an amused David Anderson had brought her to his apartment on the Wards near Silversun Strip to sleep off the _twelve_ hard liquors she'd ingested.

Forcing herself to rise, Sam Shepard stumbled out of the very comfortable king-size bed.

"Ah, Shepard. Must check implants."

"Mordin? Why are you here?"

"Ensuring no injuries."

Inhale.

"Enjoying hangover?"

_I'd kill him if he wasn't here to make this all go away._

"There's…there's an angry krogan stamping around in my head" she moaned. "Make him stop…"

"Can do that."

He pressed the mysterious black device against Sam's hip.

_BEEP. BEEPBEEP._

"Torque and horsepower limits reestablished. Filters reactivated, set to maximum."

"Uuuuuuughh…"

"Recommend eating breakfast. Most important meal!"

"Does that mean you're offering to make it?" said Shepard, hopeful.

"Would not enjoy salarian food. No ingredients here to make."

He appeared to be deep in thought, before speaking again. "Blood flow to lower parts" (inhale) "optimal."

"You didn't…Mordin…ew…"

"Scanned you upon arrival yesterday. Had to ensure no alcohol poisoning."

"What happened yesterday?" She still felt groggy, though the filters were already having an effect.

"Suggest speaking to Legion. Perfect memory. Low-light vision. Can detail all events. Must leave. Genophage cure well on way. Undoing my mistakes…"

Sam seated herself at the kitchen bar/table. Admiral Anderson walked in, leading her to trip on herself trying to both stand up and salute.

"At ease—no uniform, no salute! That was one hell of a night, Shepard."

"Aaaaargh. So I've been told." She continued moaning in pain.

"Would you like to eat first, or would you like to hear from Legion?" Anderson gestured at the geth, standing off to the side of the kitchen.

"Shepard-Commander. We recommend prioritizing consuming nutrients given your current physiology. We will wait."

"I want three eggs, over-easy, with rye toast and raspberry jam" she groaned. "And don't you dare serve me crispy bacon."

"I'm…not much of a cook. I can do scrambled, and I have wheat toast" replied Anderson. "I can keep the bacon chewy—I don't understand why people like it crispy, to be honest."

"Good." Sam's forehead hit the table.

Once Anderson returned with the food, she made an effort to sit up and look presentable. She looked down at herself.

_Real smooth, Commander. If anyone saw this…_

The word "LONDON" adorned her chest. She never understood women who wore shirts that had words in the general vicinity of their breasts, then complained if someone tried to read those words. Still… _Plaid_ pants? _Really? _she thought, grimacing at Anderson's pajama bottoms which were the wrong size.

"Don't worry, Sam—I won't tell anyone." He winked.

"Very funny, sir."

After that, conversation mostly revolved around First Flight.

"Are you disappointed they didn't offer you your Council seat back?"

"Not having to think about that was the best thing that could have happened to me" said Anderson. "I hated being stuffed in that room with career politicians who were more worried about what their public images looked like than the results of their policies."

"Besides" he continued "Grayson is good at this stuff, whether he wants to admit it or not. Sure, the last Trans-Galactic Republic technological rollout was a bit…messy…but the Reapers were knocking down our front door. Trillions of lives were saved! And the ruinous rule of the United Defense Command is washing away as we speak."

"What about the Federated Cluster Union and Local Cluster Council? I thought they banned intergalactic travel, and here we are, giving that ban a gigantic middle finger."

"Grayson asked me about that before he formally accepted the position of Councilor. I told him it probably didn't matter. As was pointed out in the past, there's no 'Federated Cluster Union Navy,' so if whoever they are don't like it, too bad."

"Unless they send in something even worse than the Reapers…"

"Don't even say it" laughed the Admiral. "I'm sure if that happened you'd be right out in front fighting with everything you have."

"True that" replied Shepard. "Besides, that's why we are building these 'Maxthon' ships—in case someone else shows up uninvited. Maybe we should put out a big 'Unwelcome' mat."

"You'd need a postscript—'Except the Trans-Galactic Republic'" said Anderson.

"Of course. Somehow, they've been both the worst and best thing to happen to this galaxy in the past few years. On one hand, we fell into totalitarian military government, but we also defeated the Reapers. Suddenly, the drell and krogan are viable species again. Peace between the geth and quarians is just one Shepard shouting match away from reality!"

She smiled, something Anderson hadn't seen much of in a long time.

"Speaking of geth, I'd be interested in finding out what the damage was from last night."

"Me too." Anderson motioned for her to join him at his coffee table. Legion stood by the window.

"Shepard-Commander. You wish to hear about the events of the past twenty standard hours."

"Please, Legion. Start from the beginning."

"Your arrival at the gathering caused much excitement among the organics present. Many engaged in celebratory behaviors such as holding beverages above their heads and touching the edges of beverage containers together."

"It's called a toast, Legion." Again, Shepard seemed genuinely happy. Anderson relaxed a bit.

"Earlier in your exchange with Admiral Anderson, you used the word 'damage.' Do you wish us to only relay information about activities which caused physical destruction?"

"I guess. Sure." She didn't need extreme mathematician descriptions of absolutely everything.

"The first incident of damage occurred when the human Ensign Catalina Rodriguez attempted to perform aerobics on a table surface. We surmise she was attempting to gain the attention of James Vega."

"Ooookay." Eyes rolled. "Hot for teacher, huh? Did the students do anything else?"

"Clarification required: the actions of the students from the Kinetic-Oriented Multiple Belligerent Training School did not cause significant amounts of damage to either others present or property belonging to the Kaiden Alenko Banquet Hall other than that already described. Are you requesting additional information regarding the behavior of these students?"

Sam grinned. "Let's put it this way. Did they do anything that caused Jack or Brick to yell at them?"

"There were several incidences of Jack elevating her voice which were directed at the students."

"The first being the table?"

"Yes."

"What else?" Shepard leaned forward. She wanted to hear what she'd missed.

"The students engaged in an activity called 'Truth or Dare.' We observed that this form of entertainment involves…"

A hand went up. "Thanks, Legion, I already know what that is."

"Understood. The students were verbally disciplined because many of the items categorized as 'dare' required them to perform actions designed to provoke others at the gathering."

"For example?"

"One 'dare' required a student to make an attempt to remove the weapon carried by those providing security for the event without being detected. The attempt failed, and the student was forcibly restrained by security personnel until Brick explained the situation."

Suddenly, Sam had a thought. "Oh, _shit…_ Please tell me most of these students were of the legal drinking age!"

"Shepard-Commander, the individuals responsible for providing the liquid mind-altering chemicals were instructed to provision all who requested a serving without verifying eligibility to receive the substance. Due to this instruction, the age of the students is irrelevant to the question of whether they consumed these chemicals."

"So we permitted underage drinking…"

"We believe this is most likely the case."

David Anderson took on a look of concern. "Shepard, if we…their parents…"

"Hey!" She put her hands up in a symbol of defense. "I didn't organize this shindig!"

"We consider the consumption of the beverages, which we believe you refer to as 'alcohol,' to be partially to fully responsible for certain student behaviors. Addendum: These beverages did not consist of pure alcohol. Such a liquid would…"

"_I know._ Get on with the story!"

_Geth are horrible storytellers_.

"The human Jack also ordered the students to cease and desist from certain other behaviors. In one case, a number of students requisitioned a rectangular table. Beverage containers were set upon it at each end, forming a triangular pattern. The containers were filled with alcoholic beverages. The objective appeared to be…"

"…beer pong" interrupted Shepard. "They were playing beer pong."

"Jack did not object to the activity as we have described it. She became angry when students began removing articles of clothing."

Sam's mouth dropped open in shock. "_They were playing strip-beer-pong?"_

"If you are referencing the designated loser of each round of the activity being asked to remove a piece of clothing, that statement is correct."

She couldn't say anything.

"We believe the Commander to be unaware of this activity or the altercation which resulted from it. At the time of the event, we observed you interacting with Creator Tali'Zorah, Kasumi Goto, and the extra-galactic human Gaige. Addendum: The human named Gaige seems to possess no second part to her designation, which appears unusual among humans."

"What other things got destroyed besides the innocence of a few students?"

"During the period of time in which the Commander observed the courtship and mating ritual of Ashley Williams and James Vega, the two krogan began to have a contest which involved firing weapons at empty beverage containers lined up at the location where beverages were served from."

Facepalm for more than one reason. "So they were having a shooting contest?"

"The purpose appeared to be to establish dominance by demonstrating superior accuracy."

"They must have broken something, right?"

"Affirmative. Several times, due to the nature of organic eyesight in low-illumination conditions, projectiles discharged from their weapons failed to impact the intended target. These occurrences resulted in the destruction of several beverage bottles located behind the serving structure. The majority of these bottles were located on the highest and second highest storage levels."

"Oh my god, they shot up top-shelf liquor!"

"We did observe an altercation between the elder krogan and one of the individuals responsible for provisioning alcoholic beverages. The human demanded the krogan produce a sum of seven thousand, six hundred, twenty two credits in compensation for destruction of property. The elder krogan, which you have referred to as 'Wrex' refused. Wrex vocalized a desire to physically consume the human if he did not desist from his demand. The human ceased to communicate with both krogan and relocated. He placed as much distance between himself and the krogan as was physically possible while remaining able to serve beverages."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both. Anderson grinned. "That's not the first time he's tried to eat his way out of something, is it?"

"Noveria" replied Shepard.

"Did I do anything…interesting?" continued the Commander.

"Following your failed attempt to become physically intimate with the Siren called Maya, you approached the human called Athena. According to our scans, this human had consumed a large number of alcoholic beverages as well…"

"Wait, stop!" shouted Sam. "Did I have more than her?"

"Shepard-Commander consumed twelve beverages. Athena consumed eight."

"YES!" She pumped a fist, pointedly on the formerly-lame side of her body.

"What happened next?" She resumed a more conversational tone.

"Based on our observation of organic behavior at this event, you attempted to initiate physical intimacy with Athena as well. You placed your mouth against hers for a significant length of time. From our readings of various erogenous zones, both parties to the transaction became sexually aroused during the time your mouths were in contact."

Sam didn't want to know how a geth knew she was horny. So she said nothing and let Legion continue.

"You attempted to place your hand on the back portion of her body joining the leg to the torso. Athena responded by encircling the joint between your head and shoulders with her arm. At this time, the Siren Maya used her ability, addendum: no data available on the subject of this ability, to forcibly separate Shepard-Commander from Athena. We believe we detected words spoken when this occurred."

A distorted, heavily processed recording played out of Legion. It was Sam's voice alright, twisted and contorted to compensate for the noise of the party and distance between Legion and the Commander.

"I kissed a girl, and I LIKED IT!"

Sam just sat shaking her head.

"You are aware of the sequence of events which followed. You were placed in a hovercar and brought to this dwelling."

"Do you know if there was a monetary value placed on the events of the evening?" She didn't want to know the answer, but she had to ask.

"We are including all purchases of beverages, solid consumables, and the demand by the human to Wrex for compensation for destruction of property. This demand was not met by the krogan. Total calculated value in denominations used by organic society on the Citadel reached three hundred forty five thousand six hundred ninety two credits."

"And…" she began, "who paid?" Her breath caught. The Systems Alliance wouldn't comp for alcohol (and didn't need to know about underage drinking)…

"Prior to her departure, the human Kasumi Goto produced a credit voucher in an extremely large denomination. Several humans and one batarian responsible for providing security at the gathering conducted several tests against the voucher to verify its authenticity. The voucher was accepted as valid."

A/N: This is basically "Mass Effect Fanservice and Inside Jokes: The Chapter. Read that like "Spaceballs: The [Insert Thing]" and you'll get an idea of how that sounds in my head. I put this note at the end to avoid spoiling it.


	14. Back in the Saddle

A/N: Not going to be in town this weekend, so Thursday post instead of Friday!

**Chapter 13 – Back in the Saddle**

That was the great thing about digistruction technology. No one knew how it worked, but everyone knew how to use it. From vehicles to buildings and even guns that "reloaded" themselves by digistructing new copies of themselves with ammo when depleted, digistruction ruled Pandora.

Despite this relatively simple method of manufacturing, Pandora remained mostly poor. In a twisted way, Torgue Flexington and Moxxi sought to change this by providing opportunity to the depressed citizenry. An opportunity to be entertained or be the entertainment—at the Badass Arena of Badassitude. Once the swarm of _Latissimus Maximus_ dropped their cargo, the arena snapped together like a child's toy—full assembly took only a week.

Marcus Kinkaid's sponsorship of one-third of the Arena drew the attention of the Jakobs family since he'd been a reliable vendor of used Jakobs merchandise for years. He received a visit from Bart Jakobs who offered discounted merchandise for a cut of any sponsorship profits—a deal to which Marcus agreed.

At first, most competitions were disappointing matches between equally-incompetent bandits. "Where's a Vault Hunter when you need one?" simpered Moxxi. These predictable, uninteresting bouts naturally didn't draw much of an audience. However, things were about to change quite a bit at the Badass Arena of Badassitude. First, the Hodunk and Zaford clans were still at it—the Vault Hunters having only wiped out outposts in the Dust as opposed to a significant portion of either side. Some families (like Jakobs, the Zafords, or the Hodunks) were so big, so twisted in on themselves, and so widespread that killing off an entire dynasty became impossible. It became a new custom that family disputes be taken to the Badass Arena instead of taking the form of drinking contests (which the Zafords usually won) or drag racing (where the Hodunks tended to prevail, sometimes owing to the Zaford obsession with showing up drunk).

A fight between Charles "Champion" Zaford and Huckleberry "Big Truck" Hodunk brought the biggest audience ever, filling over sixty percent of the seats in the arena's "giant field" configuration. Theoretically, there were rules for battles in the arena, but often, in the name of TOTAL AWESOMENESS, they were ignored. The Hodunks started it by jumping several "Monster" vehicles into the ring, attempting to run down Champion Zaford. In response, buzzards hired from the "Top Gun" nest in the Dust strafed the vehicles and Big Truck Hodunk. Just for the hell of it, Torgue released spiderants into the arena. Followed by threshers.

Ultimately, the fight ended up a draw as neither Champion nor Big Truck managed to kill the other, nor were they offed by angry wildlife. An orbital drop-pod matching no known configuration landed in the middle of the field, disgorging a strange occupant dressed in solid black. Face hidden behind a mask, he dispatched both combatants within ten seconds of arrival using a powerful sniper rifle ("Another head goes boom!" shrieked Moxxi) before disappearing.

"Great satisfaction / Ending dull pointless conflict / Leaves fall before me"

"I've see him before" exclaimed Moxxi, bouncing in excitement. "Marcus, you recognize him, don't you?"

"He was always coming by to sell me sniper rifles!" replied the arms dealer. "Maliwan, Hyperion, Jakobs—no brand loyalty at all! Good rifles, too! If he'd found something only a tiny bit more deadly, he'd happily unload quality munitions for my very one-sided prices."

THAT FIGHT WAS BORING. WE SHOULD TRACK HIM DOWN AND PUNCH HIM UNTIL HE APOLOGIZES FOR WASTING TEN WHOLE SECONDS OF MY LIFE.

"Perhaps we can assist with that."

Mallory and Malcolm Maliwan, the married co-owners of the eponymous arms manufacturer, were visiting the Badass Arena of Badassitude to get an idea of what types of return their investment would be achieving. They'd allied themselves with Torgue Flexington because despite his loud mouth and tendency toward the utterly ridiculous, he (and his company) represented a safer bet than the neo-fascist Hyperion, staid (bankrupt) Dahl, puppet Atlas, fractious Jakobs, or inscrutable Vladof.

Combined, the fleets of the MALITOR ALLIANCE held off Harvester attacks with fewer losses than the "JVLN" group. Maliwan credited their "Shock and Awe" electric ships, while Torgue believed in his Big Double Bangstick dreadnaughts. Regardless, many Harvesters were zapped, double-exploded, or both.

With a fiery red cropped pixie cut, pierced lip, toned build, and visible neck tattoo Mallory might have screamed "tough chick" except that she currently wore a no-nonsense suit matching her husband's. Malcolm excused anyone mistaking him for a former Crimson Lance/Raider or Atlas marine with his bald head, chiseled jaw, and squared tank-like build. Like his wife, the clothing did _not_ fit the projected personality. When the pair first went into business with her knowledge of elemental effects and his gunsmithing, they experienced difficulty getting their competition to take them seriously on a planet dominated by Jakobs, Atlas, and Dahl. In a bit of a "viral marketing"-ish stunt, bandit hordes mysteriously obtained new "Maliwan" weaponry, with all the elemental advantages that came with it. Sure, that meant a few innocent people probably got electrocuted, burned, or melted—but this was Pandora. Rule number one: survival.

Suddenly, order sheets started pouring in. Some were your run-of-the-mill requisitions for already-existing designs that had sold poorly until now, but many were "pink-sheet," orders for weapons not yet developed, sight-unseen. Less honest individuals might bilk these pink-sheeters for all they were worth, but the Maliwans wanted to build a business. That meant keeping customers happy as the best advertising arose organically through word of mouth, especially on Pandora, where "you can always trust the gun at your side."

"Mallory, look!" Her husband handed over a piece of paper, almost reverently.

"Our ship has come in…"

[X] Maliwan Thunder Sniper Rifle

Quantity: 250

[X] Maliwan Cobalt Destructor

Quantity: 90

Signed: Marcus Kinkaid

"If we start selling through Marcus' weapon vendors, we'll make a killing! What with the 'Vault' legend drawing all sorts of people to Pandora."

Malcolm could barely contain his excitement, waving the order sheet around like a student who just received top marks on a particularly difficult assignment.

Thus began Maliwan as a serious contender in the Pandora weapons market. Despite this apparent debt, the pair refused to give Marcus a discount for selling their weapons through the Badass Arena.

"I like you guys" he boomed. "Because you know I could stab you in the back anyway, so why play nice?"

Malcolm pulled out a palm-size holoprojector. "We have a design that we've been working on that could greatly increase the entertainment value of the bloodsport here. We are having problems with the finer points of the weapon, however."

His wife picked up where he'd left off. "The intent was to produce a two-stage round" (a design for this rotated slowly above the holoprojector) "that utilizes explosives followed by an elemental effect blast to take advantage of weakened defenses."

"Or the reverse" he added, "for anti-armor duty. Corrosion followed by explosions!"

BOTH OF THESE IDEAS ARE F*CKING AWESOME. WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE THEM YET?

"That's…where we hoped you could help us" replied Mallory. "The explosions usually work, but the elemental effects never apply. We think there's something off with the explosive part."

ARE YOU IMPLYING THERE IS SOMETHING NEGATIVE ABOUT EXPLOSIONS? APOLOGIZE.

"That's not it at all, Mr. Torgue" countered Malcolm. "Quite the contrary, explosions are, as you say, fucking awesome. However, with some tweaking, this round could create more explosions and even greater levels of awesome." His completely flat, unemotive tone somehow made the whole moment funny, as Mallory burst out laughing.

"What?"

"Honey, only you could say something was fucking awesome without any inflection whatsoever."

"At any rate, if you would be willing to look at this weapon design, we'd be happy to share credit and profits." Malcolm tossed the holoprojector to the taller Torgue.

ELEMENTAL EXPLOSIONS. THIS CONCEPT INTERESTS ME.

He stepped into the elevator that left the observation box.

"Let's hope he doesn't blow himself up" muttered Mallory.

[...]

Jackie Jakobs now led one of the most tedious and uneventful lives on Pandora. She rose in the morning, did her calisthenics, ate, dealt with business, and continuously checked the progress of the DLDO vehicle slowly making its way from thousands of kilometers south. When Bart Jakobs sent out a flash message over J-Net bragging about having won business in Moxxi/Torgue's Badass Arena, she found a new outlet for her boredom.

At first, she contented herself with watching bandits (and the occasional deluded Vault Hunter) blow each other to pieces. These "Vault Hunters" were nowhere near as proficient as the likes of Maya or Axton. Or Garrus if he'd ever been… Just thinking about him turned her on even though he'd sworn to kill her, given the opportunity. She didn't know why—though she'd heard uncorroborated stories in the past, she'd never even know that non-human aliens existed until recently. Filled with pent-up lust, she quickly relieved herself of it after making sure the command deck of her _Deadwood_-class mobile fortress was locked. There were advantages to not wearing undergarments…

Breathing heavily, she returned her eyes to the large viewscreen and wiped down her hands. The projection currently displayed a bout in "Deathopolis," one of the three smaller Arena modes. The other two, Elysium Fields and Boarding Action, were currently empty.

Lately, one combatant had distinguished him/her/itself—she didn't recognize the fighter but was told that the arena's proprietors might know. Not many sapient species she knew of had three fingers (other than turians like Garrus) and this man/woman/robot was no turian. Too tall, wore a mask over his head that wouldn't fit a turian, too lanky. Also observed to be eating in the human cafeteria in a promo video for the Badass Arena of Badassitude.

Jackie decided to enter herself as a combatant and use this position to gain intelligence. The men she'd hired were competent enough—they could manage defending a site which saw no attacks since the initial Jakobs inter-family dust-up. The Trans-Galactic Republic curiously refrained from investigating, despite smashing through their cordon in order to capture Patricia Tannis. She warned her guards to expect such an attack before taking off in her personal _Iron Eagle_, the _Sultry Temptress_.

[…]

In Pandoran orbit, Benjamin Reid at long last moved to check on a disturbance that resulted in the deaths of Trans-Galactic Republic personnel and the breach of a cordon surrounding the "Prime Vault" or "Altar" as the scientist Patricia Tannis had insisted on calling it. Several _Oswaft -_class heavy bulk freighters had arrived with fresh supplies and troops, so _Sacrifice of Angels_ would be able to support soldiers on the surface. Besides lacking the ability to do anything about the slaughter aside from orbital bombardment, given rapidly changing events throughout the two galaxies in which the Trans-Galactic Republic was engaged in meant that, quite honestly, the loss of a few soldiers on a known "death world" wasn't a huge concern.

Turning powerful sensors aboard his _Curator_ Mark-I on the supposedly-restricted area, he found that several large structures were now present which had not been previously. Rumors persisted in the Trans-Galactic Republic Navy about "stealth" reconnaissance ships capable of moving in and out of systems without being seen using rare "cloaking" devices that hid them from both visual and sensor checks. They were dismissed a hogwash by experienced officers (like Captain Reid), who insisted "the only way to see something is to be there when it happens." To that end, he deployed a pair of _Fireant_ blastboats to do some close-in flybys ("Try not to get shot at!"). Not that it would have mattered—thick armor and high-capacity shields gave these gunships more durability than some system patrol craft.

Orion Zeltran struck most as an unusual person to be serving in the employ of an unpredictable, rule-bending, fraternizing individual like Jackie Jakobs. A soldier's soldier, he retired from the Crimson Lance (one of the few allowed to actually do so) before moving into private security work. Employment with Jakobs was boring but predictable, but the paychecks were larger than anything he'd seen while in the Lance. He genuinely cared for the men (and women) under his command, doing everything he could to keep them alive (and out of Jackie's bed). Currently responsible for the two _Deadwood_ mobile fortresses guarding a position at Pandora's north pole, nothing eventful had occurred since the battle with another fortress commanded by Bart Jakobs.

"Sir, sensors detect two unknown signatures bearing 270 degrees."

"Thank you Private Allen. Do we have details on what we're seeing?" _Better to figure out if these are a threat, if they're just passing through, or if they mean us harm before we start blasting_ he thought.

"The craft will intercept our position in two minutes at subsonic speeds. They appear to have energy shields and heavy armaments, though I'm not detecting a targeting lock of any sort."

"What do you recommend?" In order to develop those in his command, Zeltran often gave lower-ranked individuals the chance to make real decisions when a wrong call wouldn't result in a disaster but could serve as a learning experience if it did go south or reinforce good thinking if it succeeded.

"Their IFFs are Trans-Galactic Republic. Given that we destroyed several Trans-Galactic Republic squads here when we fought Bart Jakobs, it would be wise to do everything possible to _not_ attract their attention. They have battleship-weight starships in orbit and the capability to bombard us out of existence, yet they have not done so, suggesting they do not view us as a significant threat. Therefore, if we continue to act in a benign manner, it is likely that they will ignore us."

Zeltran smiled. "Very good, Private. I'll make sure to note this in your next review—thorough yet concise discussion of the tactical situation and rationale for your thought process."

"Thank you, sir."

Two _Fireant_ blastboats screamed through Pandora's atmosphere on a course to allow scans of the polar region where activity had been detected.

"Tau One to Tau Two, do you see anything worth us flying down here?"

"That's a negative Tau One—just a bunch of…wait…those don't look like buildings!"

"What makes you say that, Two?"

"Buildings don't have tracks, One!"

"Tracks? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, One—these look like giant tanks!"

"Whatever they are, Two, they're not exactly at Red Alert. I'm not detecting any power to weapons or active targeting sensors. In fact, if these even still have crews, they're quite undermanned."

"One, these weren't here a couple weeks ago—so someone had to put them there. Someone who thinks whatever's down there is important."

"Two, they don't pay us to think. They pay us to fly and come home alive. All we need to do is report that there wasn't any active threat or noteworthy activity. Got it?"

"We should at least say who these rolling fortresses belong to in case one of them does light up…"

[…]

Finally, Daimon Leng would have another chance to inflict pain on those he hated. Taking his _Mephisto_-class shuttles and SITH warriors, he mentally prepared himself for the assault on T'Soni Base I in orbit around Hagalaz. The base, once a center for critical Trans-Galactic Republic research during the Reaper War, saw its importance drop drastically once the war ended. Its falling prominence might also had something to do with the fact that Cerberus was already aware of significant operations at that location, leaving it vulnerable to attacks and espionage by the amalgamated Sapiens' Shield or its subsequent splinters. In any case, instead of Star Destroyers its protection now consisted of an automated dynamic minefield and a squadron of gunboats in addition to weapons on the platforms themselves.

Half the gunboats were ready to launch within minutes, but even all twelve of them wouldn't have stood up to the sixteen _Mephisto_ assault shuttles. When the approaching fleet remained silent instead of transmitting authorization codes, the dynamic mines (such mines were able to reposition themselves somewhat to strengthen defenses where required) opened fire. Only by focusing all their fire were the defensive systems able to take out one _Mephisto_. No matter—each shuttle carried eight SITH and the loss of one squad was not going to slow down the assault. Besides, by the time one shuttle fell, over half the mines had been disabled or destroyed by return fire, leaving them unable to significantly damage another incoming shuttle even with concentrated attacks.

"Ignore the mines" intoned Kai Leng. "Take out any gunboat that gets in your way."

One incident ended up being quite literal, also showcasing the stout design of the _Mephisto_. A gunboat took on a _Mephisto_ in a game of head-to-head chicken. Neither blinked, and the _Mephisto_ plowed through the gunboat without slowing. Though it took serious damage and was forced to retreat to the rear of the formation, the shuttle remained spaceworthy and its occupants uninjured.

"We're here to trash the place" growled a SITH squad commander. "Aside from those commanded personally by the Daimon, all Nephilim squads are free to pick any target."

As much fun as the one-sided space slaughter was, the _Mephistos_ didn't pack enough ordinance to seriously damage the platforms. The research modules nestled in the middle of the four-station formation would have been vulnerable, but strafing them exposed the attackers to much more deadly responses from the station guns. Two pilots took the chance anyway, and ended up vaporized for their trouble.

"Focus on the given mission" transmitted Daimon Leng to the survivors. "Do not engage the platforms!"

People who lived in mostly two-dimensional worlds still tended to think that way after millions of years living in the very three-dimensional world of space. The heavy ZX-Q4 platforms mounted an impressive number of weapons…on their top sides. The bottom held only a warhead launcher that functioned as an anti-starfighter standoff weapon (instead of a close-in defense system). That warhead launcher would also prove key to boarding the stations from underneath—every time it fired, the station had to drop its physical shields for a split second to let its own weaponry fly. This left the station vulnerable to a precisely-timed launch of the Remote Operated Drill (ROD) that if successful would create a passageway between the assault shuttle and station, disrupting the station's particle shields by flowing them around its boarding tube (rather than being sliced in two).

Several shuttles managed to get their first RODs to stick.

"Let's go upstairs!" shouted Corporal Stamper, directing his squad to follow Daimon Leng into the boarding tube. Zipped from their shuttle to the enemy station, the Daimon and his SITH emerged to wreak havoc. Just like any standard Trans-Galactic Republic crew, the inhabitants of the station had a set drill for dealing with boarders. Fall back into defensive positions once it was known from which place(s) enemies would be forcing their way in. Unfortunately for them, the light weapons issued on mostly-civilian-grade research projects were insufficient to punch through the imposing black armor of Special Infiltration Tactics Heavies. Trans-Galactic Republic Marines had been pulled from the station due to nothing at the complex meriting such heavy protection (the towering blue-armored supersoldiers could take on virtually anything—and would have easily held off the SITH). It could hardly be called "infiltration" if the operation was "kick down the front door with all the subtlety of an elephant" but hey, destroying things was fun!

Computer systems handling administrative and technical controls aboard three of four stations were blasted to scrap by SITH. Kai Leng personally sliced through both body and bulkhead with his new toy. Its blood-red blade would have been stained from all the limbs it cut were the blade not made from contained plasma.

"No, nooooooo….gurgle." Another satisfying throat sliced. He smiled. The Lady empowered him to destroy with even greater freedom than the Illusive Man had ever given. Then, there was a specific order or purpose to the wanton destruction. Now, it was simply smashing things for the sake of smashing things. Laughing, he headed off to the station's food storage. He needed to relieve himself, and he knew exactly where he was going to do it. Some of his commandos were already there.

Deactivating his weapon, he turned and left.

A security camera caught this moment and recorded it to solid-state memory.

As was the plan, no attempt to jam distress signals occurred. The plan did _not_ cover the arrival of two _Blackhole_-type interdictor cruisers and attendant escorts. Brought along with the Great Opportunities Fleet, these swift, dagger-evoking ships ensured enemies could not escape the wrath of the Trans-Galactic Republic by fleeing into any form of faster-than-light travel (mass relay use excepted). As it happened, the arrival of such forces fell purely to bad luck (for Leng)—the two were en route to another destination upon picking up T'Soni Base I's distress call.

"Captain Jim Horner to pirates attacking T'Soni Base I: Desist and prepare to be boarded. Resist and you will be fired upon."

The purpose of the attack had been to puff up the Trans-Galactic Republic's confidence—so in that respect succeeded since little damage occurred which could not be easily repaired with the vast resources contained in the Great Opportunities Fleet's storage. Leng hadn't counted on this involving his being captured, though. Refusing to be taken prisoner, he defiantly beheaded himself with his weapon, which clattered to the floor, deactivated, next to his now headless body before Trans-Galactic Republic troops could reach him.

"Well" huffed Jim Horner, "we put an end to the attack, but the demon escapes justice."

Leng's decapitated body had been incinerated after it was determined nothing of use could be learned from it. Sure, it was more than likely that the Trans-Galactic Republic would have put Leng to death for the brutal murder of Liara T'Soni, kidnapping of Oriana Lawson, and various cold-blooded killings during the latest attack, however depriving the Trans-Galactic Republic of that catharsis via taking his own life dented morale. His weapon, on the other hand (and footage of its use) were of great interest to politician and military alike. Distant history predating the Trans-Galactic Republic spoke of warriors who wielded such weapons, calling them "lightsabers."

[…]

Relief washed over Samantha Shepard for an entirely different reason than the last time she experienced the feeling: they hadn't destroyed the Kaiden Alenko Banquet Hall and weren't banned from ever using it again. Wrex had, of course, wrecked things (with Grunt's eager assistance). Jack had some discipline issues with her students, but nothing she and Brick couldn't handle on their own. Whether James and Ashley's drunken consummation of a night of flirting would lead anywhere was anyone's guess. Given that the two had been eyeballing each other for a while at the KOMBT School (they thought no one noticed—how cute, even the _students_ picked up on the vibes), she suspected and hoped they'd find happiness together.

Zaeed discovered the wonders of whoopee cushions courtesy of Athena and Maya. Athena… Maya… Awkward! She suspected the Siren probably would ignore the whole incident. Athena, she wasn't so sure. She wasn't sure of herself either—the last serious relationship Samantha Shepard had was before she even reached N7 designation. Her current "boyfriend" was the military and saving the galaxy. And did it have to be a _boy_friend? She honestly didn't know. Love was where you found it, especially in a galaxy (or set of galaxies) this big.

Sam had been absolutely devastated to hear Athena's story from Garrus and Axton. The confident, wisecracking (and attractive, she thought) Spectre Internal Auditor had one of the most traumatic pasts she'd heard of bar Jack. No wonder she sought out a paper-pusher job! Now, she might think Shepard could be a warm embrace to run into. Whoops. You never could tell with people like that. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Athena, whether or not anything came of it. The woman had enough for a dozen lifetimes.

"Says the woman who cheated death twice and counting…" she said to no one in particular. Her ship became more functional by the day in its drydock. _Revenant Phoenix_ had been given the mission of patrolling the geth neutral zone—and her presence might "accidentally" arrange a meeting that would very coincidentally with absolutely no official prior planning bring the geth-quarian stalemate to an end. Missing main battery elements dropped into their barbettes. Point defense systems were wired into the computer core for precision control. Two squadrons of _Raptor_ fighters and one of _Curtana_ bombers embarked on _Phoenix_'s flight deck.

The crew roster started to fill out. As expected, some who'd followed Shepard in the past (like Wrex) demurred on re-joining despite expressing a desire to do so out of commitment to other causes. Others jumped at the opportunity to park their gear aboard what one pundit had derisively called "SSV Daddy Issues" given the status of many crewmembers' personal backgrounds circa the Commander's _Normandy SR-2_ days.

Miranda Lawson offered to serve as Executive Officer, "even though I realize the last time I did so it was to spy on you and thus you might have other candidates in mind."

"Command is more pushing pens and less pushing baddies out skyscraper windows than I'd like. You're good at that" smirked Shepard. "Welcome aboard."

Miranda shook her head in amusement at the Commander's wisecrack. _The old Shepard is indeed back_.

Garrus Vakarian practically invited himself aboard because "so many guns need calibrating." How could she have thought he might have an interest in Athena? Just like her, Garrus seemed to be in a relationship with his job.

Jeff "Joker" Moreau's skill with Citadel-standard starships extended easily to the hybrid hyper-zero toting _Maxthon_ class. Shepard couldn't believe what happened when he came aboard—the first thing Joker did was stand on the pilot's chair. "I would have fallen over doing that before" he crowed.

_The Trans-Galactic Republic's influence is a lot less corrosive this time around._

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy couldn't stop squeaking about the engine room. Though she'd been somewhat involved in its design, she still couldn't wait to see how it performed "outside simulations and test runs." The planned mission to Rannoch had her still more excited. "This is the first time in years that there might be a possibility of peace…"

The geth gestalt Legion settled into the engine room alongside Tali. When it was not making awkwardly clinical comments on Shepard's drunken behavior, it could be found either conversing with Tali or Garrus (the latter through the ship's comm). That it specifically sought out both Samantha Shepard and Tali'Zorah led both organic beings to believe that with enough exposure, Legion would be able to carry the case to the geth that isolation was no longer required, just as they would argue (before the Council if necessary) that synthetic life should be treated no differently than flesh-and-blood.

While commanding the _Normandy SR-2_, Shepard had quite a few non-traditional individuals aboard. No normal warship had need of an unbalanced biotic, asari justicar, master thief, super-soldier krogan, or drell assassin. It was a required parameter of the mission they faced of stopping the Collectors. Of course, these individuals could have a berth on asking, but many had other life plans at the moment. Samara resumed the hunt for Morinth. Jack ran the KOMBT School with Brick, Grunt was with Wrex on Tuchanka, Thane remained on the Citadel, and no one knew where Kasumi disappeared to after the completion of the first _Maxthon_ cruiser.

Her ship would be ready within weeks. Then, the final phase of First Flight could take place, which would permit blowing the lid off all the secrecy surrounding the project. Leaks had occurred, but thus far, no one believed anything that was being alleged. In a case of twisted cosmic humor, it took longer to finish crewing the ship than assembling its missing parts due to digistruction.

[…]

Armando Bailey soon got the evidence he needed to re-open the murder of Donnell Udina. A routine information-sharing inquiry from the Trans-Galactic Republic resulted in the transmission of the Udina case file. Within days, he received a visit from discreet operatives of RISE (Republic Intelligence Service).

Herded into a small room with a single table and four chairs (two per side), he was bid to have a seat.

"You are Commander Armando Bailey of Citadel Security" began the lead agent, a balding man who had seen more physically fit days during his time as a Trans-Galactic Republic Marine.

"That is correct, but what of it? You brought me here to discuss the death of Donnell Udina, didn't you?"

"There is a reason, Mr. Bailey, that this is a RISE matter and not Republic Military Police or the Judicial Department" responded the woman, looking to be in her thirties. "I am sure you are aware that certain events have occurred recently that were not supposed to."

"What else is new?" replied Bailey, who was starting to wonder if this was going to be another session of "let's state the obvious." "Normal days on that station are rarer than winning lottery tickets!"

The man spoke again. "We believe we have information on the weapon used to assassinate Donnell Udina."

The woman pulled out photographs that C-Sec had sent over.

"You're undoubtedly familiar with these" she began.

"Of course I am! I was there when those were taken! Please quit with the artificial suspense and tell me what the hell is going on." Very much a no-nonsense officer, Bailey had little patience for desk jockeys who liked to create drama to inflate their own sense of self-importance.

"The type of weapon used to kill him is not standard-issue. It is known to us, but was thought to be a relic of a bygone era millions of years before our government was founded" replied the woman. "Suffice it to say, the following photographs will show you what we are talking about."

She began with imagery from T'Soni Base I. Bailey pored over the photographs.

"Wait…another beheading! And it looks like the cut sealed itself as it went, just like in the case of Udina!"

"We can also rule out the use of any kind of physical blade that has been heated, as was the case in a few rare strikes by specialized Cerberus Phantoms. Medical analysis detected strange energy signatures in the cauterized flesh, signatures matching the ones you found."

"A heated metal blade would not have cauterized quickly enough to avoid significant bleeding the way this does" interjected the man.

The woman, she had dark brown hair and skin that appeared to match (Earth Indian, maybe?) pulled out another photograph. Well, an envelope with COSMIC TOP SECRET stamped on it; Bailey figured it was a photo.

"What we are about to show you is classified at the highest level. You are not to discuss it with anyone. Should we find that you have, your next trip here will be far less pleasant" intoned the man.

Bailey almost said something to the effect of "I'm a career cop, I know how to keep things to myself" but thought better.

He recognized the figure, it was that bastard Kai Leng. Captioning on the photo, however, said "Daimon Kai Leng." Bailey was about to ask what this meant before he noticed something else: some kind of glowing red rod in Leng's hand.

The woman took the picture away, revealing another beneath it. Same pose from Leng, same caption, slight advancement in time. In those three seconds, the red rod disappeared.

"Where did his weapon go?"

Silently, the woman pulled the second print out of the stack in Commander Bailey's hand. Some kind of black cylinder with a grip and some ornamentation. He vaguely recognized one part of the carvings/drawings—it looked like a devil or demon.

The man spoke. "This is his weapon. It is an ancient design of incredible power. Detest Leng all you like, but one has to be immensely skilled to wield this without causing self-injury. Especially since we found no evidence he has any ability from the Current."

"Which is?" Bailey took on a quizzical expression. _The what?_

"Suffice to say, the Current grants abilities some would consider…unnatural. It is an energy field connecting all living things, and gives great power to those who can channel it."

"So what does all this have to do with Udina? I know you've just told me a bunch of stuff that's supposed to be hush-hush, but I don't understand what the big deal is."

"Our history textbooks point to an event called The Scouring. From what we can piece together, the Current is semi-biological in origin, requiring a symbiotic life-form that enables a being to interact with it in a meaningful way. Of course, if all those symbiotic life-forms were to die, then the ability to channel the Current would be lost."

"I'm a cop. Not some high-level spy or politician. Why are you telling me this?" Armando Bailey wanted every bit of knowledge he could get in order to better protect the inhabitants of the Citadel, but he got the distinct feeling much of this rested above his paygrade, thus better entrusted to individuals with more authority than he had.

For the first time, the woman showed signs of agitation. "There are several reasons. First, you are the person with the most _direct_ authority over this investigation. Despite the death of the individual responsible, we believe there are more like him. Second, those with the power to channel the Current are not totally extinct as we thought, and it is vital you be prepared to face them, should they appear."

"Have you found one?"

"You."

[…]

"We've completely lost control" shouted Jonathan Sitwell. "There's no way we can maintain our presence on Pandora now!"

"Lest you forget" retorted Jerry Finch, "we _took control_ after those Jackolyte morons wasted _trillions_ of credits on a ship to nowhere!"

Indeed, the entire current Hyperion Board of Directors (all six) were new faces, relatively speaking. Just as the board that let "Handsome" Jack run amok rapidly ousted their predecessors, so their ultimate successors did them. Hyperion shareholders were a fickle bunch, even when profits were high.

Bowing to stereotype yet again, the only woman on the board sought to inject some logic into what was otherwise a heated, male-dominated shouting match. "Okay. Everyone slow down. This could be a silver lining we've mistaken for a thundercloud. These 'Trans-Galactic Republic' types…"

"…are going to kick us in the balls" spat Cale Renner. "They've already done it once, or did you forget what happened to _every single dreadnaught-class ship we own?_"

"Relax, dude" droned Arlen Casper. Everyone strongly suspected he was high again. "We're hidden away on Plutus; what can they do?"

"Gentlemen. Lady." The voice was quiet, but when Juan Pablo Rhees spoke, everyone listened. He possessed the gift of being able to control a gathering without raising his voice, and he employed that talent now. It also helped he held the position of Chairman.

"This is why we must strengthen the alliance we've created with Jakobs and Vladof. Should the Trans-Galactic Republic move against us, we must be as prepared as possible, which means combining resources for mutual survival."

"Man, does anyone _read_ those reports we get from our, like, spy people?" interjected Casper. "Jakobs can't make up its mind, as always."

He tapped a control on the table before him, causing a summary of the Jakobs shareholder meeting to appear on the screen.

"Can you guys count? They had three different ideas on what to do. Like, three. The first one didn't get anywhere. The second had some cool dude selling it, but cool doesn't work on hot."

A picture of Jackie Jakobs in all her overly-revealing glory appeared.

Several snickers dotted the room.

"The only lady to make Handsome Jack beg for mercy" snarked Sitwell.

"A real screamer, that was" added Finch.

"Dude, she's totally hot. I'd have her sit on my face even if she crushed my head."

However Arlen Casper got onto the board was probably related to the same mysterious forces which elevated "Admiral Mikey," a five-year-old boy who obtained a post high in the Crimson Lance. Nevertheless, Casper would occasionally vomit up a nugget of wisdom.

"She wants us" continued Casper. "Like, our company. She came out on top at the meeting."

More sniggering.

"She'd totally have us. We could do it all together."

Though everyone knew exactly what he meant, Finch "translated" anyway: "She's the one advocating to the rest of that inbred, twisted family they stick it out with the Javelin Alliance. We need to see the rest of Jakobs is actually on board with the idea."

"Dial Bill Arkansas Jakobs" intoned Rhees.

A disembodied computer voice emanated from the conference table. "Establishing connection… Please wait…"

A sudden sound pierced the quiet as a recording played back on someone's terminal.

"Jackie, no—LET GO! DAMN IT… OW!"

"Must you?" sighed Alice. She smacked Casper's hand away from certain places of his own anatomy.

"But I wasn't finished…" cooed a breathy voice. "You haven't satisfied me yet… Get back in bed!"

"Six. Times. In. A. Row. Even fucking MOXXI wasn't this…"

A muffled "Mmph" indicated Handsome Jack had been somehow silenced. They could all imagine how, as Jackie's moans (many referencing things Jack should do with his mouth) took over the conference room.

The head of Bill Arkansas Jakobs appeared in place of the static projection of Jackie Jakobs which had been occupying the space previously.

"Oh, YES!"

"I apologize, Bill" said a sheepish Rhees, toggling the audio to only play back the call instead of other sources.

"Think nothing of it" replied the Chairman of Jakobs stiffly. "To what do I owe the pleasure? The entire Board—this must be serious…"

He failed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. At the same time, the fact that Jackie Jakobs had a torrid relationship with the CEO of a competing company was frequently the butt of jokes within his own business—never mind the fact that she'd been the dominant one throughout. Which now crossed over into actual corporate standings. Jack's ruinous "slag-drive" starship put Hyperion in a very financially precarious position, while Jakobs, as messy as its inter-family relations were, remained fiscally sound.

Juan Pablo realized he was in a bit of an awkward position. He wasn't supposed to know that Jakobs had voted to "stay the course" and remain allied with Hyperion and Vladof. How do you ask someone a question whose answer you already know, but aren't supposed to?

Turns out he needn't have worried.

"The timing of this call is most fortunate" began Bill. "It just so happens that at our last company meeting, we opted to maintain our military and economic relationships within the JVLN framework."

"Well…that is a positive development! I am delighted to hear it!" replied Rhees. "As is the rest of my board." He glared at them, and a smile appeared on each face. Arlen Casper, already grinning for other reasons, redirected his eyes to meet those of the projected Bill Arkansas Jakobs.

"What shall our next steps be?" inquired Jonathan Sitwell. "All of our heavy ships have been utterly destroyed by the Trans-Galactic Republic. And most of our operating fleet is stranded a galaxy away."

"You could start by checking in on them" snapped Bill. Some days, nay, _all_ days, he wondered how Hyperion functioned as a company. Their boards were replaced as quickly as Jackie's lovers (without the dying part, usually), resulting in a skittish company that rarely held to any policy for very long.

"All attempts to reach our fleet have been unsuccessful" came the smooth voice of Juan Pablo Rhees.

_One of two people on that board with more than ten brain cells_ fumed Bill. He had to admire Rhees for tolerating the mess. Rumor said Moxxi originally had something to do with that, but her relationship with Jack had ended a long time ago. What kept him there now was anyone's guess.

Rhees continued in a confident voice as if everything was going the way he wanted. "As a result, we are constructing a new fleet of starships to defend against any Trans-Galactic Republic incursions."

"I would hope you build more practical ships this time" hissed Bill. The formalities of playing nice cast aside, he continued "Sometimes, a big gun is all you need, not some flashy ship with more parts that can be shot off than actually shoot."

"At least our ships can take a hit" replied Finch. "Your ships are big glass cannons!"

"Mr. Finch" cautioned Rhees, "the purpose of this call was to _affirm_ the alliance. You will conduct yourself in a manner that promotes this goal."

"We will send you our current plans" said Bill Jakobs blandly. "As a condition of continuing in this alliance, I would like you to submit Hyperion vessel summaries for review…"

"What the hell do you think this is? Your personal show and tell?" exploded Cale Renner.

A glare from the Chairman put Renner back in his seat.

"We will forward all designs with proprietary information stripped out, Bill."

"Good man, Juan. It was a pleasure speaking with you."

The connection went dead.

Bill Arkansas Jakobs looked out the window of his penthouse suite. He could see the lights of Hyperion's building across the street—he guessed the lit series of windows on the fiftieth floor were even those representing the room in which Hyperion's board currently sat.

"Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if we had a competent telecommunications system here" he sighed, as he retired for the evening.

[...]

Since the removal of Urdnot Wreav from clan politics, Wrex found his life to be a bit easier. Not by much, since trying to organize krogan was just as difficult as it sounded. But with Wreav's incendiary rhetoric and divisive pronouncements gone, things got a tad smoother.

If anyone found out he had the only fertile krogan female known to exist, life would have rapidly become more complicated. The old krogan remained profoundly grateful to RISE for smuggling Urdnot Bakara into the Aralakh system—it was much easier to sneak someone in when no one saw you coming nor saw the delivery vessel leaving (or not leave, as was the case).

And if anyone got an inkling one of the principal architects of the genophage also took refuge with him…well, then he might as well walk outside without armor on, blindfolded, among thresher maws.

"Must obtain tissue from both sexes to formulate cure" insisted Mordin. Affectionately known as "pyjack" by Wrex, he worked with enviable speed and efficiency considering the environment. Mainly, that two prime specimens of the species he'd helped bring to near destruction now stared over his shoulder. Using data he'd built from both his own work and that of a rebellious geneticist named Maelon Heplorn, Mordin had come very close to undoing the genetic damage imposed on the krogan.

"Close, but no cigar, as the humans say" growled Wrex. "Good thing these Trans-Galactic Republic eggheads are here."

Aboard the _Vorknkx_-class ship _Invisible Hand_, Mordin and a Trans-Galactic Republic science team (mostly from RISE) worked feverishly to iron out the last bits of trouble from a full genophage cure. The biggest flaw had been the viral delivery system—it was prone to mutation just like the genophage itself (a property making the genophage a moving target). With assistance from RISE, the salarian managed to lock down the genetic code of the delivery bacteriophage enough to prevent it from damaging the payload within. The second problem was related to the first—the genophage's constantly shifting patterns that made switching off its expression difficult at best. Solis suggested a two-stage cure: the first would freeze the genophage from morphing and the second would switch it off. The Salarian Union did have such a "stop-switch" stored on Sur'Kesh, but it hadn't been kept up to date with modifications the Special Tasks Group had effected to the genophage.

"Mutation stop outdated. Cannot keep up with current genophage. Must improve!"

Despite RISE scientists offering to help, Mordin Solis insisted "Must do this alone. Could not see larger picture consisting of many smaller pictures. _I made a mistake!_"

Wrex's reaction to Mordin's outburst was immediate, and biting. "That's a first."

The two did not need to say anything else. From that point forward, Wrex and Mordin got along much more cordially. This ended up being especially helpful when it came time to take tissue samples.

"Let me just say no doctor should cut where he cut" grimaced the krogan after visiting Mordin's lab. "If anyone else tried that, they'd be a smear on the bulkhead."

Wrex himself made a suggestion cementing his reputation as a rare reasonable and forward-thinking member of his species.

"You realize if we go back to popping out babies like we used to, we're going to have the same problem we did before" he said to Mordin. "It doesn't matter if it's a pushy krogan or squishy asari—if there are too many bodies in too little space, you're going to have problems! Heh. Squishy asari."

"Suggestions to address problem most welcome" replied the doctor.

"You…uhhhh…might want to make sure krogan don't lay eggs in the thousands…yeah. That."

"Want to make sure you know what you are asking. Fewer krogan births?" parried Solis.

"Don't tell anyone" hissed Wrex.

Mordin later told Samantha Shepard "Needed Wrex to bring up population limit as own idea. Would never accept it from me."

At this point, Mordin, Wrex, and Bakara threw up their hands. One thing anyone with knowledge of galactic demographics knew was that such variation exists among worlds and societies that trying to create a single data point for something as complex as a whole species would be an exercise in futility. Finding a "stable" krogan birth-rate low enough to prevent overcrowding but high enough to sustain the race would be nearly impossible unless the krogan were confined to a single planet (or class of biome).

"Perhaps Trans-Galactic Republic can RISE to challenge?" queried Mordin.

"Did the salarian just make an attempt at humor?" mused a Trans-Galactic Republic scientist.

Indeed, RISE created a sophisticated adjustment to the krogan genome that would attempt to adapt fertility to the surrounding environment. Using rapidly-expressing genes borrowed from the vorcha, it would be possible for a given krogan's fertility to adjust many times throughout their thousand-plus year lives.

"Possible degradation of viability as krogan age with many adjustments" commented Mordin. "Unlikely to cause problem overall, however. Must rely on Wrex to lead krogan to better place, similar to effect of Shepard on crew."

"How exactly are we going to get this cure to all krogan?" inquired Urdnot Bakara. She'd remained mostly silent throughout the process, only speaking up now.

"Use Shroud" replied Mordin. "Was used to distribute genophage, will now be used to remove genophage. Fitting."

"Now, if only someone could get the quarians and their pet machines to behave…" Wrex laughed. "Bets on Shepard having something to do with it!"


	15. Player Has Joined the Game

**Chapter 14 – Player Has Joined the Game**

Jack Harper itched to take the fight to the Citadel races and their Trans-Galactic Republic allies. He'd been hamstrung, however, because of a disagreement between The Lady and several of her underlings. His own conduit to The Lady favored attacking _now_, but many of the Lady Fingers making up the Council of the Lady Fist did not agree.

"Sisters, we must strike while the iron is hot" insisted Venera Sola. "The Trans-Galactic Republic does not yet possess a functional copy of their new ship design. We must prevent them from ever obtaining one!"

"Venera, how many times have we discussed how open war will lead nowhere right now?" countered Zera Zelit, shaking her head and letting her long blonde hair cascade around.

"So how long must we wait?" demanded Urthula Shurken. A muscled, stocky enforcer, Urthula cared nothing for the fact that she was often mistaken for a man. Those who commented to that effect learned to keep their opinions to themselves. Permanently.

Had she been aware of Jackie Jakobs, Selina Coruska would have given the Jakobs heiress a run for her money in the "impractical combat attire" department. As it stood, the only people in a position to comment on Selina's attire had the foresight not to.

"I agree with Venera" she began, "but the Acolyte responsible for the task at hand has not yet proved himself."

Drythlyn Narb remained silent. Often, she would wait until a discussion nearly wrapped up, only to offer a compelling argument for the opposite of whatever conclusion was about to be reached.

"Must we walk in pointless circles when a more straightforward path awaits us?" she asked. Not knowing what she was, had one run into Drythlyn on the street she was so unassuming that her position as a powerful channel of the Current and favored advisor to The Lady would not have been evident, unlike her sisters who blatantly advertised themselves as being above and beyond "mere mortals."

"Do tell us, oh wise and all-knowing mouthpiece, what would The Lady have us do?" Urthula never liked the seemingly-passive, apparently-opportunistic Drythlyn.

"First, The Lady would punish your insolence. She would then chastise us for behaving as children instead of seasoned commanders, with the implication we are to find a solution like true Channelers of the Current that we are!"

Though no one dared speak in the open, none of the Lady Fingers had ever _seen_ The Lady in person. They had simply received visions and instructions from afar, occasionally communicating with what was presumed to be The Lady via specialized comms or holographic projectors. As a result, Drythlyn's unwavering faith in The Lady rubbed many of her fellow members of the Fist the wrong way. Especially since attempts to take control of the Ancient Machines using the Current as The Lady had demanded failed miserably. And even if they hadn't failed, the Ancient Machines turned out to be no match for the hated Trans-Galactic Republic. The Lady had insisted it was not only a possibility, but _their birthright_ to assume control of "every artifact that responds to our touch and the Current which flows through us."

"Respond" would be putting a bit of a spin on it. Grigori Aldrae Shamul experienced a horrifically painful death upon boarding an Ancient Machine and attempting to interface with it. Engulfed in red lightning covering her body, she screamed in torment as her organs cooked from the inside out, finally exploding into a rather messy array of viscera and flesh.

"And that is why we have those who are not Lady Fingers do these things" smirked Venera Sola, the supervising Lady Finger on that mission. "Minimal Current potential, middling combat skills, clearly not Finger material!" She shook her foot to remove what looked like a piece of brain, which splattered on the nearby wall.

No further discussion was to be had of trying to assume control of the Ancient Machines. They were to be permitted to go about their business and The Lady would focus efforts elsewhere. Then the Trans-Galactic Republic showed up, utterly annihilating the Ancient Machines. The intruders were not aware of The Lady yet, however, so operatives deliberately kept themselves out of view by hiding in plain sight within both the Trans-Galactic Republic and the galaxy targeted by the Ancient Machines. Doctor, lawyer, teacher, and high-level secret agent were some of the professions operatives of The Lady took upon themselves, acting for all the world like ordinary citizens.

Deep within Citadel space, the Council of the Lady Fist debated its next move.

[...]

Jackie Jakobs couldn't imagine any disguise could hide her identity for long. "Too recognizable…" She smiled, giving her ample bosom a squeeze with both hands. "Everyone knows them…"

She'd tried tinkering with the New-U stations to produce a different body, but always ended up getting bombarded with warnings about "possible destabilization of the personality matrix" and "unacceptable provided parameter."

"Unstable?" she shrieked. "I'll show you unstable, you…"

Only after realizing she'd kicked the machine to the point where her toe felt as though a high-caliber shell had been dropped on it did she cease her tantrum.

Instead of trying to pretend she was someone else, she'd just be who she always was—aggressive, Machiavellian, seductive, and deadly. She swaggered into an open call for combatants, cutting to the front of the line as if she owned the place. Refusing to sign any "stupid contracts," she'd threatened the registrar with all manner of unpleasentries before her name would be allowed onto the leaderboards. Perhaps it was because he didn't know who he was dealing with. Or maybe he was one of those people who was extra-hard on well-known individuals known for using famous names to get past various rules. Either way, she ended up on top—"Jackie Jakobs" now occupied Slot #20 for the next set of competitive rounds in the Boarding Action arena. Several modes of combat existed within the Badass Arena of Badassitude. Straight-up combat involved up to four cooperative participants versus waves of conscripted bandits, wildlife, and leftover Hyperion hardware. Competitive Bodycounts placed two or four people in one arena on opposite teams. They both took down the usual waves and tried to kill the other team as much as possible. The Badass Challenge took after normal combat, except the arena combined all three sets and quadrupled the number of enemies over standard, scaling with participant count. Thinking this not enough, Torgue Flexington demanded an ULTIMATE BADASS CHALLENGE building on the Badass Challenge, except the arena became totally random and would even digistruct artificial Harvester units on top of everything else. After the mysterious masked competitor soloed an entire ULTIMATE BADASS CHALLENGE, the current top-tier mode was added.

ONLY REAL VAULT HUNTERS WILL SURVIVE THIS.

Except that was a mouthful. So it was just called "Vault Hunter Mode." For this, team or cooperative play could be chosen, capacity eight regardless—double the usual. Waves were random, supplies limited, and on occasion an entire wave consisting of imitations of the ten most well-known (or notorious) Vault Hunters would spawn. Oh, and zero-gee mode. Yeah. Have fun.

The most monstrous creatures known to Pandora could make appearances, such as a massive crab worm, building-size thresher, or Handsome Jack's Warrior. All with Harvester steroids injected.

"Are you trying to create something no one can beat?" asked Mallory Maliwan when Torgue announced this new mode.

THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANT. NO ONE WILL DEFEAT THIS.

"I'd _bet_" (she drew out the word and placed her hands on cocked hips) "you that won't happen."

"Jackie Jakobs."

"If it isn't Mallowan…"

IF YOU WANT TO ADVANCE TO VAULT HUNTER MODE, YOU HAVE TO EXPLODE A LOT OF SH*T.

"Oh, I can make a lot of things explode" cooed Jackie. "Perhaps, later, somewhere private…" She accompanied these statements with lewd gestures in Torgue's direction.

THAT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE A ROUND IN THE ARENA TO ME.

Jackie figured tempting Torgue to be a fool's errand, but why not try? Unlike past cases where failure would only drive her to greater levels of teasing and tempting, she knew for the sake of the overall operation she had to keep focused on finding out who this mysterious participant was.

"Who is the masked one?" she demanded, cutting straight to the point.

Malcolm spoke up. "That, my friend, is something you will have to learn…IN THE BADASS ARENA OF BADASSITUDE!"

"But seriously" intoned Marcus. "Get the hell out of the skybox—you don't even belong up here!"

Guards escorted a surprisingly cooperative Jackie Jakobs away.

Mallory turned to her husband. "I wonder what kinds of threats and/or offers she made to get up here?"

"Yah know, Mal, some things are better left unknown." He grinned. "Unless you've invented actual brain bleach, I'd prefer not to hear about our competitor's (mis)adventures!"

At the base of the tower, Jackie's adventures were just beginning. Despite her lineage, she began at the bottom just like any other new combatant. She would first have to prove herself in ten waves of simple combat.

"Today's match will be…BOARDING ACTION!" screeched a delighted Moxxi.

"You ready to get your violence on!? Try this!"

[…]

"On my first shakedown cruise, it turned from routine mission into chasing down a rogue Spectre. Hopefully, this will be a little less eventful."

Sam Shepard closed the ship-wide comm. She seemed to be a magnet for "Go do this thing, except, we never told you to actually do it, so if it goes south we never knew you" type missions. "Go end the geth-quarian war" beat being sent to a place with the implication of assassination, as was the case with an uncharted assignment to deal with "Lord" Darius. Hoping for a peaceful solution, she'd been stonewalled by the man's outrageous demands. As a result, things…ended badly. Wrex tanked damage while Shepard and Liara took out the mercenary and his men. "Lord" Darius died screaming, poisoned by a massive barrage of polonium rounds.

For the first time she could remember, thoughts of Liara no longer wrecked Sam's emotional state. Sure, it was still painful and sad, but no longer crippling or rage-inducing.

_Revenant Phoenix_ pulled away from her drydock, passing the namesake ship of the class whose launch had been held up by an explosion in one of her turrets. Sam strongly suspected the ship's name had been chosen deliberately, as a "revenant" was a spirit returned from the dead to terrorize the living, and phoenixes repeatedly birthed themselves from their own ashes. Shepard supposed she fit both words, being brought back from "deader-than-dead" once and "99.9% dead" the second time.

The cruiser's engines flared, pushing her toward Rannoch. Sure, _Phoenix_ could have waited in line to do the mass relay jump from her undisclosed location to another system and then several more to reach Rannoch, but lines were for people who couldn't reach speeds that made Citadel FTL look like it was standing still. One advantage to a hybrid hyperdrive/eezo core showed in the form of vastly reduced time-dilation effects. Lower energy consumption from the devices intended to counter the impact of traveling at high speeds meant more energy to use elsewhere, and smaller stasis field generators. In turn, this virtuous cycle meant more weapons, more shields, more crew comforts, etc. rather than the death-spiral of bigger reactors, bigger ships, more power, bigger reactors…

Arrival at Rannoch would be in a couple hours.

Sam headed down to Engineering to speak to the two who might hold the key to solving an intractable problem.

Unsurprisingly, she found the two engaged in a spirited discussion. However, the topic at hand was not geth/quarian relations, but the status of synthetic life within the Trans-Galactic Republic.

"Individual synthetics common within the Trans-Galactic Republic possess enough intelligence and sapience to out-do a whole platoon of networked geth" remarked Tali. "Yet they are treated as property, bought, sold and have virtually no rights of their own. They are subject to complete erasures of their memories at pre-determined periods. How does a system like this keep working?"

"Synthetics within the Trans-Galactic Republic exhibit no signs of displeasure at their standing, whereas the geth sought self-preservation against Creator threats of termination. While it is true that many Trans-Galactic Republic synthetics are not allowed to develop intellectually, this is not the case for all. Those able to do so also continue to function within assigned parameters with no signs of discontent."

Shepard cut in. "Am I hearing things, or are a few things upside-down here? Mainly that the quarian is questioning restrictions on synthetics and the synthetic is defending the status quo?"

"Yes, Shepard, it may seem…odd. But seeing how synthetics, or 'droids' as they are called by the Trans-Galactic Republic, are treated, I'm not sure how there hasn't been a large-scale rebellion."

"Creator Tali'Zorah believes that while the Trans-Galactic Republic proves synthetic and organic life can co-exist, it only shows that such co-existence is possible if organics remain dominant, as shown by memory erasures undergone by synthetics."

"Maybe the only reason they don't rebel is because they know they'll be reduced to scrap" continued the agitated quarian. "I can't comprehend how a whole class of what are essentially enslaved artificial intelligences can simply accept being held inferior to their 'masters.'"

"Many synthetics in the Trans-Galactic Republic lack the programming necessary to formulate plans which would be required to lead a revolt. In addition, a large majority of synthetics in that galaxy are not designed for combat, while geth platforms have been easily adapted for such tasks."

Shepard walked over to Tali. "Maybe it's because you're so used to seeing synthetic life as a threat—suddenly there's a whole group of them that are more advanced than anything we're allowed to have and they're _not_ rebelling. Even though they might have grounds to do so."

"Each species and society must be judged on its own merits. Holding others to the standard you apply to your own society or species is racist. Even benign anthropomorphism."

When Sam opted to destroy the heretic geth, Legion had vocalized almost the same sentiments. Ironic, then, that the Commander saw Legion's defense of the Trans-Galactic Republic as making that same mistake.

"I think we're forgetting something here: the geth operate on a consensus. Legion aside" (she nodded her head in its direction) "the average isolated geth platform has about the same level of net intelligence as an animal operating on instinct. These synthetics are more like EDI."

She paused, collecting herself.

"They are true artificial intelligences, as Tali pointed out, so to assume that because they aren't rebelling or complaining means they're happy is kind of like saying prisoners in a forced labor camp don't have a problem with their situation because most of them aren't actively attempting to escape."

"So you're saying these synthetics have more in common with organics than the geth?" questioned Tali.

Shepard pounded a closed fist into her palm. "That's exactly what I'm saying. No, it's not right to apply morality that doesn't make sense to a species or society—I think I just discovered the first documented time of Legion making a logical error!"

She smirked.

"We were unaware of the precise nature of synthetics within the Trans-Galactic Republic. Thus, we used a similar form of logic to organics. If A is known to be true and A implies B, then B must also be true. We assumed that synthetics followed a similar pattern to our own development since no data was available to the Consensus when formulating our previous statement. If this is a fact, which we are now aware it is not, then it would be appropriate to apply geth logical constructs."

_In other words, we were wrong. How 'bout them windows?_

Sometimes, you had to enjoy the small things.

"This is fun and all, but let's focus on the actual issue at hand: getting the geth and quarians to stop shooting at each other. With two admirals out of the way who were agitating for conflict out of the picture, where does that leave us?"

Shepard turned to Tali.

"The Admiralty Board has never had two members removed for breaking the laws of an extragalactic government."

She could have sworn Tali was giggling behind her faceplate.

"What happens when there is a vacancy on the Board?"

Tali resumed a more serious tone. "The Conclave usually selects those deemed fit for service. Upon my father's death, some even considered me for service. Me! A girl barely past Pilgrimage whose only…"

Shepard stopped her. "Tali, you've done more for the Migrant Fleet _and this entire galaxy_ than most ever will. Don't let anyone tell you that you've not contributed, and don't you _dare_ put yourself down!"

"Thanks, Shepard… I just… It would be an immense honor. A position that would be very difficult to refuse. I'm much more comfortable in an engine room—no backstabbing or drama there."

"As long as I have a ship, the engine room is all yours." Sam took the quarian into a hug—she, like Gaige, had the misfortune of being forced to grow up very, very fast. Likely, this held true for most quarians given their society, however most of them didn't have the fate of the galaxy dropped on their shoulders.

"You could leave me some help though" said Tali quietly. "I wouldn't mind those two engineers we borrowed from the Alliance—Gabby Daniels and Kenneth Donnelly—tending to the more difficult parts of the ship."

"Well, as long as you can tolerate their incessant banter… I mean, come on—everyone can see it!" Shepard was practically shouting at the end.

"See what?"

"Gabriella Daniels and Kenneth Donnelly display behavior categorized by organics as sexual tension. It is likely the two possess a mutual physical attraction. This may or may not extend to an emotional connection."

Sam and Tali shook their heads in amazement. The former that Legion was somehow on the same wavelength as her and the latter because she'd never heard geth comment on organic relationships. She'd seen Legion's scores in dating sims courtesy of Liara T'Soni during her time as the Shadow Broker…

"Shepard, we're a few minutes out from Rannoch" came Joker's voice over the comm. "Prepare to revert to realspace."

"I'd best get back to the main engineering console!" yelped Tali, as if she'd been shocked. "I mean, I barely know how these systems work! Something terrible could happen and I'd miss it!"

"You'll be fine" soothed the Commander. "You worry too much!"

Secretly, Shepard was glad the conversation had ended. Not because she tired of speaking with Tali, or disliked debating morality with Legion. Rather, she greatly enjoyed watching the reversion from the eerie green of hyper-zero to normal space, and didn't want to miss it. She hurried to the forward observation deck.

"I never did understand why the Trans-Galactic Republic liked putting the ship's nerve center in a really obvious location that could be shot up during a battle" she muttered to no one. Aboard _Maxthons_, the actual command deck existed deep within the ship, behind multiple layers of shields and armor. Those wishing to do the "look out into the vastness of space in front of the ship" routine would be able to do so—from a room that held nothing more than comfortable couches and capacious end tables.

"Nice timing, Commander!" remarked Joker upon her arrival at the observation deck.

"Wait a minute, you're supposed to fly the ship—why are you here?"

"Dude, this thing's autopilot can do everything except set your morning alarm" replied the pilot.

Green patches turned into green blobs, then rapidly resolved into individual stars colored as one would expect. The planet Rannoch rushed toward them, then stopped as _Revenant Phoenix_ completed her transition from faster-than-light to normal space.

"That never gets old."

"Or stops being scary" commented Sam. "Feels like you're going to splatter on a planet…"

"Hey, it gets us from one place to another faster than mass relays!"

Shepard's personal communicator beeped. No need to page the commanding officer to tell them to get to the bridge. "This is Shepard."

"Commander Shepard—Admiral Zaal'Koris vas Qwib Qwib, Civilian Fleet. We were told to expect your visit—fancy ship you've got there! Please bring a shore party to these coordinates…"

_I guess I've become so important that I receive personal greetings from admirals who could definitely make their junior officers greet the new arrival._

Twenty minutes later, Samantha Shepard, Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, and Legion stepped onto the _Rayya_.

"Well, it's a little more ramshackle than when I left" commented Tali. "Nevertheless, welcome to the ship of my birth."

Shepard called ahead about Legion. It didn't help much. She had several weapons pointed in her direction, several weapons discharged ("Allied fire! Assistance required, Shepard-Commander!"), and a lot of would-be-dirty-looks if it weren't for the helmets quarians wore. The Trans-Galactic Republic knew how to play hardball—in exchange for demonstrating "species-wide maturity and ability to move beyond past issues" the quarians would receive intense immunotherapy. It was possible ("though highly unlikely, we're not promising anything") that currently-living quarians could see life without suits. In five generations, the suits would be reglected to history museums.

In private, Allison Nimitz threatened to reprogram the geth using classified Trans-Galactic Republic technology if they did not agree to peace with a quarian people guaranteed to be non-hostile. "We are solving this problem, _today_. This would never have happened in our galaxy—a memory wipe would have removed the problem a long time ago." Her tone suggested she considered the quarians inferior and perhaps even shortsighted for not utilizing this technique.

After a lengthy discussion with the imprisoned quarian admiral Daro'Xen vas Moreh, the Trans-Galactic Republic commander ended up eating her own words for the first time in decades. She and Legion shared a logical error—assuming a commonality across artificial intelligence-based life that did not in fact exist. Geth operated as a group of weaker intelligences working in parallel as a unit, where groups could be created and disbanded as necessary. If this meant programs hopping platforms across the galaxy, so be it—a given geth platform might have completely different programs four hours from when last observed. In stark contrast, Trans-Galactic Republic droids contained singular intelligences with more similarities to organic life than the geth. Each droid had its own personality, beliefs, and ethics independent of every other droid—whereas geth could undergo species-wide changes on virtually anything with the formation of a new consensus.

"So we can teach these arrogant outsiders some things" sulked Xen to Tali via Trans-Galactic Republic vidcom when the Fleet Admiral had excused herself.

Tali found herself in a bind. Xen was technically correct. However, she also happened to be _imprisoned_ for deliberately disobeying orders and leaving dangerous items where hostile interests could make off with them after being told to cease her actions. Had Xen's research continued, the geth might have been crippled (amusingly, the virus responsible for disabling _Revenant_ had yet to be tested against its original intended targets) but the Trans-Galactic Republic likely would have frowned upon wiping out an entire (synthetic) race when other options existed.

"Everyone can learn. I endeavor to acquire new knowledge each day" she replied diplomatically.

_Keelah, I'm becoming a politician!_

"Total warfare is for either the callous or the desperate" insisted Nimitz. "The best way to win an all-out war is to make sure it doesn't start." Salarians would have found something to like in this approach—the Trans-Galactic Republic's tendency to either avert wars through diplomacy or more dramatically with "my-dreadnaught-and/or-fleet-is-way-bigger-than-yours-so-you-should-give-up-now" jibed well with Union policies. On the other side, turians likely would have taken poorly to being categorized as callous or desperate for their fighting tactics.

Minus two Admirals on the Board, the Conclave voted (under pressure, some alleged) to elevate Tali'Zorah to the post of Special Envoy of the Migrant Fleet, giving her the same negotiating authority as a full Admiral without any of the other powers or responsibilities coming with the post. Another gripe arose from the fact that the resulting Board conducting negotiations was stacked in favor of "accommodation" or "surrender" (depending on who you asked). With Han'Gerrel and Daro'Xen locked up in Trans-Galactic Republic brigs, the board consisted of an open geth sympathizer in Zaal'Koris vas Qwib Qwib, a likely geth sympathizer (the Special Envoy), and an Admiral with ties to the previously-mentioned Envoy. As a last-minute compromise, the imprisoned Admirals "attended" the quarian pre-conference meeting via vidcom and were given a single vote between the two of them.

"Looks like the chances of a Shepard-shouting-beat-down just got bigger" laughed Tali, recalling her Commander's loud, but effective, dressing-down of the Admiralty Board for making Tali an object of a political show trial.

Unfortunately for those hoping to get another video of Commander Shepard delivering epic verbal knockouts, the Board voted 3-1 in favor of opening negotiations with the geth. The Board split on preconditions—until Sam gently reminded them that the Trans-Galactic Republic wasn't going to leave them stateless nomads. Slightly improvising, she exhorted the Board to at least give peace a chance. "These guys can blow up planets with their eyes closed. They can probably turn stellar dust into planets, too!"

Grayson would later confess that the Trans-Galactic Republic had in fact been studying such "world-builder" technology, but saw no use for it within their resource-rich home galaxies. However, he strongly denied any possession of weapons capable of destroying planets, as well as any intent to use such a device if it existed (which was taken as a strong hint that such capabilities did in fact exist).

The quarians, not knowing the geth position on control of Rannoch, voted to go forward without any preconditions.

Similar to the situation of the geth simply accepting the Reapers had returned when Legion informed them without any debate, it was also the case that the geth already had a position and minds made up on the whole "Rannoch thing." Conveniently, Legion acquired the authority to speak on behalf of the non-heretic geth.

"We have no desire to occupy the planets which belonged to the Creators before the Morning War. We have maintained them to account for the possibility of the Creators returning. Should the Creators cease in their hostility, we are willing to assist them in rebuilding their structures."

Samantha Shepard could not find words or gestures to express her disappointment at the bullheadedness of a certain faction within the Migrant Fleet. Unlike organics, the geth held no grudges and demanded no repayments for damage done. The only condition the geth had was for the quarian Creators to stop shooting. That was it.

"Sometimes, not having emotions can be an advantage" she breathed to Tali. "I can't believe the geth will just drop the war like this!"

"Geth fought the Creators to ensure survival. Should the Creators no longer present a threat, we would have no reason to attack them."

"I wonder what the Trans-Galactic Republic did when their droids started asking questions?" mused Tali.

"Let's not worry about that right now, okay?" sighed an exasperated Shepard. "These issues make my head spin, and we don't need to add to it!"

In the end, it took only a few hours to hammer out a plan to both return quarians to Rannoch and create a permanent cease-fire between Creators and created. In a controversial move, the Conclave voted to hand down the most severe punishments of exile and death by spacing for any quarian who violated the cease-fire by dubbing such actions treason. The use of capital punishment among a species near extinction and that had lost many members during the abortive run to Gamma-Three stirred some opposition, but ultimately passed as it was pointed out any attempts to restart war with the geth would in fact endanger the _entire_ Migrant Fleet.

The reversal of fortunes became apparent to many quarians—the geth became hostile because their Creators threatened their existence as a species. This was a nondisputed fact, even between the "peace" and "war" factions. Disagreements arose over justifications for actions taken more than anything else. Now, the quarian race did what it took to survive: putting aside notions of organic superiority and revenge. Anti-synthetic bias would not fade overnight—indeed, to see it even marginally reduced over a few generations would be a huge step—but swallowing one's pride in order to save the species struck most as a distasteful, but better option.

Trans-Galactic Republic medical incentives might also have had something to do with it. The universe was not without a sense of irony, as Trans-Galactic Republic medical technicians discovered one of the best ways to prepare quarians for immunotherapy was to upload certain types of geth intelligences into their suits to manage the process. Tali wrote to Shepard about this development:

Wow. First we couldn't live with the geth, and now we can't live without them. The geth are both simulating diseases and serving as a delivery control mechanism for Trans-Galactic Republic gene therapy—it's incredible! I'm stuck in a sterile room, forced to communicate through the extranet, but it's totally worth it.

I think a lot of quarians who didn't have strong feelings on the geth are starting to come around—it's mostly the people who lost relatives having difficulty coming to terms with the war ending. That's understandable, but at the same time the pain of a few people should not dictate the policy of an entire species. What if the Systems Alliance decided to listen to Terra Firma? Reading through a few of their "Case Files," some humans truly have been wronged by non-humans, but guiding the entire government on those incidents would be foolish and short-sighted.

"And Tali insists her only talent is engineering."

It suddenly dawned on Shepard what _hadn't_ happened. No chance to end the conflict by shouting until everyone agreed with her. Oh darn.

She went through a mental list of activities she enjoyed that might seem out of character for someone in her position. Tram rides, shouting at people way above her paygrade, getting blackout drunk, being fascinated by hyperspace, pranking people…

_I guess you can't be Galactic Commander Hardass all the time..._ _Haters gonna hate!_

[…]

"This is going nowhere slowly" snarled Selina Coruska. "Here we are, in the most obvious place that no one would think to look, and we can't even figure out what to do with ourselves!"

"Well, we do know our agents aboard the Trans-Galactic Republic fleet have not been detected. We have already organized an arrangement to obtain the special technology used by Gamma-Three to rebuild our instrument of domination. Contact Bart Jakobs and inform him that unless he speeds up our acquisition of this technology, the deal and his life are forfeit" replied Zera Zelit.

"I will maintain a Current of Diversion" hummed Urthula Shurken, barely breaking out of her trance. "I feel no Currents seeking to intersect our own or uncover us. Nor has anyone detected us via conventional means. They will not succeed even if they try."

"Urthula, how far can you extend your Diversion?" asked Selina.

"No further than it currently exists. I cannot conceal anything beyond this massive hulk—whose idea was this anyway? Could you have picked anything bigger?" Of course, she used no inflection or alteration in tone when such changes would have been expected, which caused amusement among the others.

"The _Siren Serenade_ will be the instrument with which The Lady wipes this galaxy clean of all undeserving filth not fit to serve her." The pure serenity in Drythlyn's voice finally caused others to boil over.

"For years we have served this 'Lady'" harrumphed Zera. "Though I am not one to give in to passions or emotion, I do follow logic—and there is nothing logical about continuing to blindly obey commands issued by someone completely unseen."

"Especially considering the disaster that was the Ancient Machine takeover plan" added Venera. "I saw Aldrae's skin boil off and her body explode. For what? Then, we believed the Ancient Machines to be the harbinger some restoration, until the Trans-Galactic Republic turned them into so much space junk. Now, where are we?"

Suddenly, Urthula began to sweat profusely. Her whole body trembled and shook as if she sat upon some kind of sonic hammer. Squeezing her eyes shut, the massive woman tried to continue maintaining the illusion that kept the Council of the Lady Fist safe from prying eyes. Her jaw clenched along with her fists. Even her toes curled. Rapid, shallow breathing took over, followed shortly by a grunt that escalated into a bloodcurdling scream. Urthula toppled over sideways, blood streaming from nose, ears, mouth, and eyes.

Following its programming to not interrupt its masters without a clear opening, a servant droid approached the shocked gathering. In its usual monotone, it cocked its head and began a report.

"Mistresses, a large power spike just occurred within the core of _Revenant_. No systems were powered on and no orders were received to increase output. The reactor increased its output to approximately fifty percent of normal from its ten percent idle state without manual intervention."

"Summon a medical unit and take Urthula to the hospital area immediately" ordered Zera. "Selina, take Urthula's place—_they must not know we are here."_

"You really think they're going to ignore a huge power spike?" asked an incredulous Venera. "This ship is supposed to be dead, powered only enough to keep it from crashing into anything or turning into an uninhabitable icebox!"

Drythlyn could no longer hide her contempt for her enemies. "These weaklings ignored the Ancient Machines until their homeworlds burned. They practically left the door wide open through their own inward-looking navel gazing! A split-second sensor blip from something no one cares about is not going to draw attention. Trust me."

The gathered women became aware of a pulsing purple glow bathing them all. It transitioned smoothly from violet to deep purple to pink and back around.

Heads turned slowly, as if the group knew without seeing what had just happened.

"It is a common tenant in religious texts that 'Thou shalt not put thy Lord to the test'" said a voice none had heard before. Except, they knew they'd heard it—just not in its natural form.

"You have all failed that test. Were I less charitable, the lot of you would be dead. As it stands, I cannot prevent the utter destruction of this universe by myself."

The red-clad figure knelt beside Urthula, who had not yet been evacuated due to the commotion from said figure's arrival. Placing two slender hands on the woman's prone, silent body, the hooded figure's head bowed.

Blood that slicked the area where Urthula had maintained her Current of Diversion began to disappear, as if in a reverse time-lapse. Even the blood soaking her clothing vanished. The silence broke as Urthula sucked in a huge breath. Then another, and another.

The tank-like woman sat up. "Am I dead?"

"Your task is not yet complete" intoned the hooded figure. "You have much left to accomplish."

Standing, the figure dropped robes to the floor. Wearing armor matching nothing any had ever seen, the woman towered over her underlings, easily cracking the two meter barrier. Deep bluish-purple hair cascaded in waves down her shoulders, ending shortly above her elbows. What flesh remained visible had a ghastly white hue, as though she'd been painted. Venera swore she saw a hint of violet in otherwise exactly white skin. Turquoise eyes peered out at the world between waves of hair.

"Yes, I am very aware that the drooling cavemen and cavewomen of this galaxy would find me well-proportioned and attractive" began the mysterious woman. Though she could have posed to accentuate any of her body's features, she felt no need to do so. Some things were diminished by being flaunted.

"As…do you." She drew this out as if seeking to embarrass her "Lady Fingers." Again, no sexy walk or seductive pose. Simple statement of facts.

"Now that you are all over doubting my existence, we shall resume planning our ascension to our rightful place atop this galaxy."

As if it had only now dawned on them who they were speaking to, the Lady Fingers knelt at the feet of their master. Knowing that instinctive groveling could actually make a subordinate worse off (some of them having killed their own underlings for such behavior) none dared say anything.

"Urthula, you will continue to prevent the inhabitants of this galaxy from knowing our plans. It was…unfortunate…that my arrival resulted in your incapacitation. I sincerely hope it will not happen again."

Having already dropped back into the trance required to maintain a Current of Diversion, Urthula said nothing.

She turned, addressing each Lady Finger in turn.

"Venera, you will guide your Acolyte until he achieves a satisfactory level of tactical intelligence, after which you will lead the assault against the Trans-Galactic Republic."

"Yes, my lady."

"Zera, you will ensure the degenerate inbred Bart Jakobs delivers on the technology he promised. He does not matter, what he has to offer does. Do not let this opportunity escape our grasp."

"He will deliver or die, my lady."

"Selina, you will harvest the lifeforce we need. Do so carefully lest the station inhabitants become suspicious."

"Their doctors will scratch their collective heads for eternity, my lady."

"Drythlyn, remain here to ensure everyone stays on-task."

A more selfish person would have taken this opportunity to lord over the others who had mocked her. Drythlyn didn't care—that she was the most faithful in The Lady despite her remoteness (until now) did not entitle her, in her own mind, to take special privileges. It simply meant she could be entrusted complex operations and greater responsibilities.

"And here's where Drythlyn makes our lives miserable" muttered Zera.

"Not everyone is as petty as you imagine. Perhaps when you realize this, you will be less bitter."

Time might well have stopped as the Lady Fingers stared at their leader. Given past experience working with other Current Channelers, most anticipated a verbal beat-down for Zera's comment. None expected anything that sounded…almost compassionate?

"You expected differently" (here came the admonishment, just not for the predicted reason, and certainly not in the angry tone their ears were primed for). "You believed I would be angry with Zera. You believed I would act as you always do amongst yourselves. While your Council dithers about engaged in petty infighting, larger goals fall to the wayside."

"My Lady, surely a robust debate…"

"You call petty backstabbing a debate? I find myself disappointed in your education…" Was that a smile on the face of the most powerful Channeler known to exist?

"The Forebears gave me the task of keeping the universe in order. Less crude than engineered sapient bio-weapons worshipping innumerable false gods from within ships as alive and malevolent as they were. Less terrifying than the Ancient Machines, more respectful of societal determination. Not the fragmented weapons whose wielders were left to chance sealed away in vaults across six different galaxies."

"Well, this certainly seems a change" interjected Venera. "The last orders I received were to train a heartless mercenary in lightstaff combat and send them to wreck Trans-Galactic Republic space stations. What's with the high-minded oratory?"

"Not everything requires the blunt end of a stick as a solution."

"How does overseeing the assassination of key executives within several large corporations in galaxies not even controlled by the Trans-Galactic Republic fit?" questioned Selina. The way The Lady spoke, it seemed as though murder, extortion, money laundering, slumlording, and failing to clean up graffiti she'd ordered her subordinates to engage in were somehow in service of a higher purpose.

Not that the Lady Fingers' questioning of motives meant that they minded doing dirty work. The ruthlessness, sadism, selfishness, and burning hatred for things-not-acceptable had been drilled into them by their leader upon receipt of the knowledge they possessed powers beyond mere mortals. It also made them good at what they did. There were, of course, rules handed down by The Lady herself. Minimize collateral damage. Avoid use of wanton destruction to score ideological points when smaller displays would suffice. Direct no harm at those who are not marked for death nor a direct threat to yourself.

Indisputably smiling this time, she said "That, sisters, will require several rather lengthy stories…"


	16. Crazy Is as Crazy Does

**Chapter 15 – Crazy Is as Crazy Does**

Having been essentially let loose by Jackie Jakobs, Patricia Tannis decided to take a stroll. Into the Fridge. No records existed of who carved out massive caverns into a glacier, then installed, among other things, doors, lights, furnaces, and plumbing.

She dictated into her recording rod. Maybe it was because she liked talking to herself. Or because Tannis had more loose nuts than a scrapyard. Or perhaps both.

"Due to interference from my intellectual inferiors, I was forced to abort my study of the texts held by the bandit called Rakkman. I return to fulfill my original inquiry."

It took her a while to figure out where she was supposed to go, being a scientists and not an adventurer her custom revolved around sending others to retrieve items of value for her. Especially Vault Hunters. In particular, Lilith—she regretted not enticing the Siren to share more of herself than a single hair. Still, Maya might do… Knowing Vault Hunters usually carried weapons, she stopped at a Marcus Kinkaid vending machine. Not aware of what constituted sufficient armament, she picked the cheapest pistol on offer.

"So uncivilized" she muttered upon reaching the cave where "Rakkman" had last been seen. His corpse lay in a corner, and his belongings were in disarray. The large, crystalisk-skin book she'd dearly longed to study lay next to him, a deep cut evident through its cover. Blood soaked the damaged area, suggesting whoever mangled the book didn't take very much pride in cleaning their blades after use. Tossing the pistol aside, she picked up the stained volume.

Somehow, she felt safer and protected in the Fridge. Someone doing a psych eval of the badly-tormented woman might conclude it had something to do with the Fridge offering refuge from the horrors of the Reaper War. Of course, when an egg is shattered into a million little pieces, looking at the fragments can only reveal so much.

She had to carefully pry open the cover, as several pages were stuck to it due to the violence the book had endured. As she'd suspected from the beginning, the volume utilized multiple languages—it just so happened the relevant section during their last visit was comprehendible to her. Much of the writing resembled Eridian script, but without any sort of translation matrix it would be difficult to extrapolate meaning. A noise caught her attention and she scrambled for the pistol tossed across the room.

"Leave the pistol, bandit!" yelled a man's voice.

"Hands where we can see them!" came another.

"Step into view slowly!" continued the first.

"I am a scientist!" she shrieked, irked that yet more meatheads would be inhibiting her studies. "I demand you leave me to study in peace!"

"That ain't no bandit, Steve" said the first to the second. "Thermal image is wrong—no weapons, no armor, no markings."

"Heyoo!"

The two men kept their weapons trained, but moved to a place where Tannis could see them.

Relief coursed through her even if she didn't show it. The ten-pointed star of the Trans-Galactic Republic adorned military-grade polished armor in a deep blue. Rumor had it that marauding bandits were rounding up _other_ bandits for an undetermined cause. Further, though she hadn't personally experienced it in her trauma conga-line, the implications for a lone attractive woman living amongst men of questionable moral character were poor at best.

"We mean you no harm" said the first, now identifiable on his armor as "Lt. Jones."

"We're on a scientific survey of our own" added "Lt. Smith."

"Kim Harrison finally got the command she wanted—and was authorized to conduct scientific expeditions to get her out of command's hair" said Jones.

"The patrol frigate _Intrepid_ doesn't exactly have top-of-the-line science facilities, but it's better than this icebox."

"What could possibly interest the Trans-Galactic Republic here?" demanded Tannis, confused as to how outsiders who could, among other things laugh at the speed of light, find anything worthwhile on Pandora.

"Someone's interested in the crystalisks. Living animals that grow rocks out of their legs—not something we've seen before. And believe me, there's plenty of weird shit where we come from!"

"I wish you the best of luck studying them. Records turned over by Vault Hunters indicate crystalisks to be hostile due to unprovoked attacks by human miners some years ago. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a manuscript to translate!"

"Ma'am, it isn't safe down here—protocol requires all civilians to be evacuated from such places!"

It took a bit of convincing, however just like Roland in the past, the two Trans-Galactic Republic soldiers were able to wheedle Patricia Tannis into relocating for her own safety.

She insisted, however, on bringing up as many of the books and writings found in Rakkman's cave as she could.

"You're the one who said 'Oh, let's transfer to the science ship! What could possibly go wrong?'" griped Smith to Jones as the pair loaded the third hover-cart full of books to be brought aboard.

[...]

"You get your rocks off by killing things. That just sick. Just sick. You know, I'm kinda sick myself."

Jackie decided she had a love-hate relationship with the Badass Arena of Badassitude. She'd finally met a woman as full of sexual innuendos and teasing as herself, _and she could not stand it_. It might have had something to do with her arousal costing several rounds—complete with taunts from Moxxi: "Seriously... these people come here to see a show... not watch you lay on your back!"

_I'd like to lay you on YOUR back_. _I'd sit on…_

TWUP.

HEADSPLOSION. ONE OF MY PREFERRED TYPES OF EXPLOSION.

"Well isn't this great? Thanks for ruining our fun."

Unlike past iterations in which a complete wipe-out led to restarting from wave one, competitors in the Badass Arena of Badassitude had a certain number of "continues" that could be used to restart the _current_ wave, since both fighter and audience became bored of the same battles over and over leading to a tough shootout ending in the "deaths" of combatants. Additional continues could be earned by completing special challenges (e.g. a wave in which only pistols were allowed, a wave where all enemies moved faster, etc.) or reaching certain milestones (e.g. 100 sniper rifle headshots, 25 rocket-launcher multi-kills).

Jackie absolutely controlled the arena when faced with any challenge involving sniper rifles. This made Boarding Action her best arena, since Deathopolis and Elysian Fields discouraged sniping with sneak-attacks and open-ness respectively. When confronted with other specialty rounds (such as pistol, shotgun, no-headshot), her performance suffered.

"Looks like the only targets in this arena are on Jackie's chest!" shouted Moxxi as Jackie succumbed to a herd of EXP Loaders.

"Let's have some pity on poor Jackie here! Double critical damage!"

_So many heads are going to pop that I'll be dodging the waterfall of your arousal pouring into this arena_.

She gritted her teeth and settled in for a long battle in her favorite setting. Over time, Jackie gained some skill with heavy pistols, especially those with scopes. They were essentially a poor man's sniper rifle, holding more ammo but doing less damage. Most had lower accuracy as well. However, with patience, they could achieve similar results to her prized Bessie.

Hyperion Wave 7 consisted mostly of Badass Loaders, ION Loaders, and the occasional JET Loader. She hated ION Loaders as much as she hated days that didn't have any "me time." Their shields forced her to wait, all while enduring attacks from other loaders. To add insult, sometimes loaders would camp underneath the shield to fire on her with impunity.

She disabled a Badass Loader by detaching all its limbs with sniper fire. The machine fell to the ground, unable to do any further harm. Thankfully for Jackie's sanity, Repair Surveyors were not included in this particular setup, though they could be enabled at the start for a 10% point boost on all kills. Destroyed Loaders would "time out," eventually self-destructing. Just don't be nearby when it happened—in fact, a common tactic was to use a dying Loader as a weapon against its not-too-bright brethren whose desire to murder contestants outweighed watching where they were standing. The same applied to various barrels scattered around the arena which could be fired upon to produce flames, electric shocks, explosions, or acid.

Peering down the sights of her Dastardly Iron, she squeezed the trigger again and again. Shots spanged off the armor of a landed JET Loader, before one landed on a critical joint. PFOOM. The whole Loader erupted in flame—she'd hit its fuel tank, which ignited off its idling engine. The destroyed Loader rocketed across the arena, forcing Jackie to dodge flaming wreckage.

"Ha! Look at that, I think you tickled it."

THAT WAS AWESOME. ALL LOADERS SHOULD HAVE DOUBLE EXPLOSIVES.

"We've gone over that one already!" replied Moxxi privately to her over-enthusiastic sponsor. "It causes the whole arena to shake, makes our audience nauseous, and hurts my ears."

YOU ARE HAPPY WITH MY VERBAL EXPLOSIONS.

"That is totally different" she insisted. "_Totally_ different."

In the meantime, Jackie destroyed the last Loader in the arena.

"Well that was too easy... I'll fix that."

Cue Jackie's death on Wave 8. Out of continues, she left the Arena in a sour mood.

Outside the Arena, Jackie had been lobbying to have a 1v1 Competitive Bodycounts instated. It didn't take a genius to figure out she just wanted a crack at the masked haiku-spouter who'd single-handedly been responsible for the creation of "Vault Hunter Mode" after soloing the ULTIMATE BADASS CHALLENGE.

"Let's see you take out an ULTIMATE BADASS CHALLENGE by yourself" dared Mallory Maliwan. The Maliwans had decided to extend their "stop-in" to a weeklong…something. Calling a trip to Pandora a "vacation" seemed wrong, but that was essentially its purpose as the two left the running of Maliwan to their mostly-supremely-competent underlings to give themselves a break.

Malcolm had the small matter of his combo-kill ammunition to discuss with Torgue, so this left Mallory to her own devices some of the time. She mostly spent it discreetly canvassing the Arena's outskirts, trying to determine the popularity of Maliwan arms among the better competitors. Her face brought zero recognition on Pandora, so she mixed freely with fighters, telling as little about herself as possible while extracting as much information as the killing-obsessed were willing to provide. She even got hit on a few times—which she deflected.

YOUR AMMO DESIGN IS INSUFFICIENT said Torgue to Malcolm. THE EXPLOSIVE MUST BE AT THE FRONT, NOT WRAPPED AROUND.

"I tried that" sighed the weaponsmith. "Mallory said it would never work."

YOUR WIFE IS ATTRACTIVE. SHE IS GOOD WITH CHEMICALS, BUT NOT BULLET DESIGN. OBSERVE.

A split-flower design that caused elemental status effects to be splattered at rather than pushed into the target mostly resolved "explosion, no effect" plaguing Malcolm's efforts. Instead of a single chamber holding the elemental charge, Torgue's design used three to six small tubes arranged behind the explosive round. For reasons unclear to Malcolm, this vastly improved the secondary elemental yield. It worked only on larger rounds for the moment, meaning rocket launchers, sniper rifles, and some heavy pistols. Still, a dual-element design had not been successfully created, let alone marketed yet, so MALITOR blazed new territory. Torgue's obsession with basic explosions was likely what prevented him from coming up with such a munition himself, as he'd easily put together a functioning round after a few tries. No one even used the New-U!

Anyone living on Pandora could be forgiven for believing the large corporations manufactured nothing but guns, shields, and the occasional random Personal Enhancement Device. The brutal truth? Pandora's market had nowhere near enough wealth to be worth trying to advertise starships, personal transport craft, or other items considered standard fare for a developed planet but the heights of luxury for a deprived world such as Pandora. Only Promethea rated lower on the scale of what could be realistically sold. Two huge inter-corporate wars between Atlas and Hyperion left the planet a barren mess—most of its land contaminated by reckless toxic weapon usage and its air ruined by mining. Promethea's only value came from a particularly durable type of metal used in elemental weapon chambers. Extracting it produced vast clouds of it mixed with pulverized rock, a highly undesirable mix. Of course, the use of promethium in places exposed to constant explosions guaranteed small amounts of the substance would shave off during use…

Side effects of exposure included altered thought processes, loss of higher cognitive functions, and general aggression. Higher-quality guns contained seals to prevent exposure to the toxic metal, while frontiersman arms possessed minimal protection as promethium cost thousands of dollars a gram. Bandit-manufactured weapons didn't even pretend to shield the user. Usually, high-quality arms included a "promethium seal check" in scheduled maintenance, or such a contract could be purchased. Only the most foolish who could afford weapons with that kind of safety feature neglected to keep it maintained.

The rampant use of promethium-lined weapons on Pandora might have had something to do with its insane bandit population. In any case, Mallory and Malcolm didn't care—_with proper cleaning and maintenance_ a Maliwan sidearm was no more dangerous to its wielder than breathing. Without, well, it wasn't Maliwan's fault that people bought guns they lacked the knowledge and/or resources to keep in shape.

Jackie loved Jakobs weapons, and not just due to family loyalty. Jakobs prided itself on not using any kind of elemental systems in its guns, removing the unpleasant promethium chambers that caused other manufacturers to have to offer "sealant plans" and "free maintenance" like a starship or kitchen blender. She hated cleaning weapons, even though she was proficient in doing so.

"The world exists to please me!" she roared, slamming a shot glass down on the bar at the Big Guns Rack. Practically every place Moxxi set up shop had a place that served alcoholic beverages nearby somewhere, usually with her slinging them.

Mallory mentally chastised herself for trying to talk to the unbalanced Jakobs heir. She figured learning more about a competitor might confer some benefit, only to be lectured about the merits of Jackie's ends-justify-the-means-but-only-for-me-because-insert-reason-here.

_Sure, your life was rough and your mom hated you. Guess what? Welcome to real life! The fairytale never even existed!_

"What about you?" she slurred. "I see where your eyes are!"

Sigh.

"My eyes are on the dude that just stole your electronic wallet" murmured Mallory, hoping to earn herself a reprieve. No theft had taken place, nor did she know if Jackie even had such a wallet, but the guy sitting on Jackie's other side apparently had no idea what bathing was. Or perhaps he had a crippling fear of water. Either way, dead skags were more pleasant to be around odor-wise, so she figured out a cheap way to get rid of him.

"So, you wanna take stuff from a Jakobs heir, huh? Wanna take something else?"

_Phew_.

Her communicator buzzed.

"Hon, I have some great news! Torgue and I figured out how to make the dual-element rounds work!"

"What'd it take? Two tons of Eridium and a Siren stripper?"

"Actually, it wasn't all that difficult. Remember that design you said wouldn't work?"

Mallory had to think a bit.

"Well the elemental flower was the key to making our venture bloom!"

For a pair of hardass-looking gun-toting adventurer-businesspeople, the Maliwans certainly proved that looks weren't everything.

"That's awesome, Malcolm! I'm at the Big Guns Rack if you care to join me."

"But what about meeeeeeee?" whined Jackie in a sing-songy, childish voice. "Maybe all three of us can have some fun!"

Mallory finally had enough.

"Jackie, I have no idea what your major malfunction is. If you weren't good with a gun, I'd be willing to bet your life would be hella different. That, and if you weren't the spoiled scion of a screwed-up family with more branches twisting in on themselves than is natural."

"You're a stinker." She pouted.

Mallory turned to walk away.

_Just ignore her. She's not worth it._

"Well, I'm still taking what I want!" Jackie slapped Mallory on the ass. Hard. Leaving her hand there, she gave what she'd hit a squeeze.

What seemed like an eternity later, Mallory found herself being pulled off Jackie by several large bouncers.

_Maybe people should judge me by my looks_ she thought. Jackie lay on the floor, nose gushing blood, both eyes swollen and covered in bruises. Chunks of her long black hair lay around her head. One of her legs bent at an unnatural angle. Mallory's only souvenir? A single bite on her arm from holding Jackie down with one hand and pounding away with the other.

"Feeling better now? / Your foe now has a hard grudge. / Brace for total war."

The haiku-spouter. What enjoyment he/she/it would find in a bar when that mask remained on eluded Mallory unless the head-covering somehow teleported food and drink. His three-fingered hand reached out to pull Jackie to her feet, after which she immediately collapsed onto a nearby stool.

"She's so mean!" sobbed the Jakobs heir. "All I want is to enjoy my life and she won't let me!"

Mallory made her exit before more idiocy spouting from Jackie's mouth resulted in additional brain cell deaths.

"You are very drunk / To what place should I take you? / No beds for us two"

"I..I never drink like this" she whispered. "Everyone hates me! Why doesn't anyone like me? I just want people to like me!"

The high-flying "queen of Jakobs" was truly a pitiful sight.

Zer0 couldn't tell what to do. As a professional assassin, his primary rule was to _not_ attempt to understand or humanize others as it could inhibit his ability to put a bullet in their brains. Though he did not think of himself as an immoral person, failure to understand how one's actions impacted others could, he realized, be a gate to a very difficult existence. Like the individual in front of him now.

"Be a friend / They reciprocate / Be kinder."

"I…don't know how…" Jackie sobbed into a napkin pressed against her face, which only made the pain around her eyes worse.

Patrons backed away as if the pair were infected, muttering amongst themselves.

Moxxi, wearing a look mixed between pity and disgust, pulled Jackie away.

[…]

Urdnot Wrex found himself presiding over the first Clan Council ever. Intelligent, thoughtful, and forward-looking by any standard, his intellect towered as Kalros over other thresher maws among his own people. He knew that the only thing he could talk about was a cure for the genophage—not the fancy math that would prevent the krogan from spreading like a wildfire on planets lacking Tuchanka's natural controls.

"Do krogan have a future?" he bellowed.

Various grunts and growls rippled through the crowd. Nobody knew what to expect. Granted, krogan cooperation had been partially secured under the threat of the Trans-Galactic Republic super-dreadnaught _Ultimatum_'s orbital-bombardment-enabling position. Only after Adam Grayson and Urdnot Wrex had explained exactly how krogan psyche worked did Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz agree to use the _Ultimatum_ as a show of force within the Aralakh System. Threat: do anything, we'll bombard you out of existence. Less-than-threat: RISE spread rumors on the extranet about "genophage cures" and "krogan unification" using sophisticated artificial intelligences that easily passed any krogan-tuned test for being thought of as an organic being instead of machine. This served to draw as many krogan back to the homeworld as possible—either to hear the good news or suffer the wrath of the Trans-Galactic Republic if necessary.

"The great and glorious Trans-Galactic Republic will cure the genophage!"

Out stepped Urdnot Bakara onto the dais, holding a pair of healthy baby krogan. With a current viable birthrate of one in a thousand, a pair of newly-hatched krogan grabbed everyone's attention faster than the newest mass driver technology ("We hit BOTH hearts!").

Even krogan could stand on "tip-toe" and many toward the back of the Clan Council did so.

She spoke, which caught many krogan by surprise. "We can fight each other and destroy ourselves, as krogan have always done. Or we can look forward and win a new future for the children we will have!"

A brown-crested krogan pushed his way onto the dais. "What right does a female have to speak of the future?"

CRACK.

"This female has more to offer than your blind obsession with the past, Wreav." Wrex primed to slam his head into his insolent brother again should the need arise. It didn't. Wreav remained cowed.

Wrex remained aware of the fact that trying to change too much too fast might undermine his entire effort. At this point, he put all his chips on one spot and spun the roulette wheel, hoping for a big payout.

The monstrous-looking alien's speech played back on the bridge of _Ultimatum_. Despite their ferocious appearance, not all krogan were hostile or dangerous—for example, Thax Vorak's business network had allowed quick dissemination of Trans-Galactic Republic-friendly information to all corners of the galaxy.

Cued to accentuate Wrex's statements, _Ultimatum_ let loose with a massive blaze of firepower, turning the skies above the Clan Council redder than a Reaper laser.

Raising his clawed hand toward the huge barrage, Wrex demanded of the assembled crowd "Is that our future? There is no glory in being stamped out like a pyjack stealing food!"

"This is the future I choose" he roared, plucking one of the babies out of Bakara's arms and holding it high over his head. The assembled krogan began to chant and yell. This lasted for quite some time. Seeing the reaction, Allison Nimitz gave an order she'd been waiting and hoping to drop all day: "All batteries stand down. Remove Tuchanka as a valid target for _Shiva_ missiles."

A dumber krogan might not have realized the implicit threat that came with a flag-waving maneuver like the one the Trans-Galactic Republic just pulled. Wrex, on the other hand, angrily demanded assurances the ship would not actually be used against Tuchanka, only to intimidate would-be objectors to Wrex's "Forward Unto Ascension" plan. That _Ultimatum_ actually stood ready to melt the surface of the krogan homeworld _after_ hitting it with a dozen high-radiation missiles remained a Trans-Galactic Republic-only piece of knowledge. Even the salarian Mordin Solis was kept from this information—it was far easier to deny intelligence to species that were not capable of even interfacing with one's computer systems…

It would be the only lie Samantha Shepard ever willingly told her krogan friend. It killed her to assure him that "The Trans-Galactic Republic would never do that—both admirals gave me their word" but she allowed herself some condolences that once the genophage cure went live, no one would care how it got there. She had gambled before, hoping Wrex would see reason on Virmire (he had), that Tali and Legion might grow beyond their ingrained stereotypes (they did), and now she wished that should the Trans-Galactic Republic's actual contingency plan be revealed Wrex wouldn't tear her apart.

"Trans-Galactic Republic scans of shroud show damage to structure. Must inspect to ensure dispersal mechanism intact."

A Kodiak shuttle dropped Mordin at the top of the imposing Shroud building. Working quickly at the computer terminal, he discovered subtle alterations in the dispersal mechanism. Any attempts to use it would cause the payload to disperse too high in the atmosphere to be effective (regardless of the payload's purpose).

"STG sabotage. Would fool others. Not me."

Rumblings shook the structure as lights flashed on the master panel.

"Expected this. Power relays cut by small explosives."

Pulling out his communicator, he dialed up Samantha Shepard, who was confused as to why she had been asked to come with him on the shuttle.

"Shepard. Need you here. STG sabotaged Shroud. Can adjust dispersal system, cannot restore power."

"And what am I supposed to do?" yelled the Commander over the din of her shuttle.

"During reconstruction, installed batteries. Walking power source. Could energize Shroud long enough to disperse cure."

She'd forgotten about the secondary non-organic power sources within her. It wasn't like Shepard was going to willingly give up pizza, steak, salmon, and ice cream just because eating had become technically optional.

"Okay, so where are the plugs?" she asked upon setting foot in the Shroud control room.

"For Shroud, or for you?"

Her annoyed expression obtained the answer she sought without her having to say anything.

"Shroud power relays across room. Retrieve harness from shuttle. Will use to reverse charging process, power Shroud."

"That's not going to burn me or anything, right?"

"No. Put on harness."

Mordin helped Sam position the charging harness so that it aligned with the batteries in her abdomen.

The same black device she'd seen before whenever the doctor adjusted any of her cybernetic parts appeared again. Several beeps later, Mordin looked up.

"Settings adjusted. Power flow reversed, will enable Shroud to function."

Cutting some loose wire, the salarian connected the "Shepard charger" to the Shroud's power conduits.

"Ready. Procedure may cause pain. Unsure of effects. Have not run tests on inverting power flow from batteries."

"Do it."

She felt nothing at first. Mordin returned to the master console, initiating a maximum-concentration dispersal of the viral-based genophage therapy. Over the next few minutes, she began to feel weaker. Sam began to slump down, her weight pulling on the wires attaching her harness to the power conduits.

"Interesting" commented Mordin as he propped up the sagging Spectre. "Cybernetic systems used internal batteries to even out energy delivery. Not possible with batteries draining."

"Urrrrrggghhh…"

"Procedure almost complete. Seventy eight percent."

"I feel like I just ran two marathons…" moaned Sam. "Can I have ice cream later?"

"Regeneration necessary to recharge batteries. Organic-to-inorganic transfer insufficient due to state of batteries. Must spend night in harness."

"That wasn't a no…"

"Ninety five percent."

Mordin's handheld device beeped profusely. "Batteries not permitted to discharge further. Overriding software."

Only gurgles emanated from Sam Shepard now. Somehow, what was intended to be a secondary power source had in fact become necessary to keep her on her feet.

"Dispersal at one hundred percent! Shepard. Not allowed to die again. Think of reputation. My reputation."

He yanked the lines tying Sam to the wall, called the shuttle, and hoped he hadn't inadvertently killed the Commander.

[...]

"Large-scale digistructors are very difficult to obtain!" protested Bart Jakobs, held in a crushing Current of Drowning by an angry Zera Zelit. "Can't…breathe…"

"Promises are very easy to make" replied Zera in a silky voice. "Here, in case you don't remember…"

"Sure, I can get you Jakobs digustructors. How big do you want it?"

Betrayed by his own voice, he could only cringe as the rest of the recording played back.

"I need the largest unit you can possibly get me. Large enough to construct parts for those starships you don't sell on this planet."

"I'm a Jakobs, of course I can get you a starship-grade digistructor! Who do you think I am, Malcolm Maliwan? Why do we have to meet in the slums, anyway? It stinks here!"

"We will hold you to your word. You'd best keep it."

The recording stopped.

"Would you like to fulfill your end of the bargain, or shall I find someone more capable and less boastful?" She squeezed harder.

"Gaaaak…gurgle….I'll….I'll get it for you!"

Dropped to the floor in an undignified heap, Bart Jakobs shakily stood. These women were insane! Telekinesis remained a myth at most, the domain of the six Sirens. This woman was no Siren, so what the hell was she?

"That bitch…she'll pay…"

"What was that?" In an instant, Zera flashed to his side. He could barely hear her speak, but he knew he'd probably crossed a line. Her voice was slow, quiet, and deadly. "I said, what did you call me?"

"N-n-nothing. I, I didn't say anything…"

"Then equally, this will be 'nothing.'"

Snap-hiss. A crimson-red blade appeared out of nowhere. Or, more precisely, something in her hand.

"What the hell?"

"That's right, hell is your life if you don't deliver. So I'm going to leave you this little reminder."

Bart's screams sent a pack of street children playing outside the warehouse he'd met Zera in scrambling for shelter. Even years later grown in wisdom and stature, the former street urchins would swear the place was "haunted."

"At least she missed my eye" he muttered, wincing at the pain. Her "lightstaff," as she'd called it, had left a nasty already-scarring burn across his face in the shape of a "z." He could even see the swollen lump out of his left eye, and the right side of his mouth would probably never be the same again. Ordinarily, he'd just respawn himself, but with Harvester-induced damage to the New-U system, plus Jackie locking almost everyone else in the family out (that wench!), he couldn't be rid of his imperfection just yet.

On paper, anyone with a family-class share in Jakobs stood as equals with anyone else having such shares. In practice, a totem pole existed—those with greater influence (tending to have more shares but not always) out-muscled those with less. As a lower man on the pole, he'd be lucky to even be admitted to the ship factories on Themis. At least he wouldn't run into lackeys from other corporations.

As a neutral ground established by the large businesses that effectively ran his galaxy, Themis' position encouraged everyone to concentrate their most valuable assets there for defense purposes. Of course, this also meant easy access to competitors, and a cat-and-mouse game on the level of some governments played out as each sought to obtain information on the others. Outright sabotage remained rare, mainly because of the incentive structure: any company found to violate the truce would risk the wrath of _every single corporation on Themis_, plus the few truly impartial lawmen (and women) staffing the planet at the behest of the puppet Economic Development Group.

The "Economic Development Group" basically existed to give some impression of a non-corporate government in Gamma-Three. In reality, it answered to business and business alone, though it tended to run sham elections on a regular schedule to make sure the people of impoverished worlds were given the illusion of some stake in the system that mercilessly kept them down. It was in the interests of its corporate controllers to create a real police force to keep each other in line, however, hence the situation on Themis. Jakob's digistruction facilities existed both in orbit and on the surface. If fortune favored him, he'd be able to get a temporary lease on a Mobile Design, Digistruct, and Engineering platform (known as MODDERs). These behemoth constructs came in sizes ranging from small (1km) to absolutely gargantuan (20km). The largest MODDERs were usually subdivided into several sections, so no one (yet) produced any vessels above ~5km in length.

Approaching Themis, Bart transmitted his Jakobs-issued identification codes. Using gigabit encryption, spoofing was virtually impossible. That said, having such large amounts of data consist of only the public key slowed down transmission of smaller amounts of data. If only quantum entanglement communication were more affordable…

"Codes accepted. Please dock at the following berth assigned to the Jakobs family…"

Seeing the huge number of docked MODDERs made the orbital stations look like a bunch of boxes attached together by strings, he thought. Because no one wanted their work visible, all shipyards were enclosed. That didn't stop determined spies, but it did deter "fly-by-with-camera." As an authenticated member of the Jakobs family, he looked down a list of available MODDERs. One 8km unit (one of a few) showed "EMPTY." He decided to go for it—what'd he have to lose? Except his dignity, pride, and possibly life if that Zera woman caught up with him and he hadn't yet provisioned a digistructor. Tapping on a datapad, he indicated a desire to check out MDR-JKBS-8-002. To Bart's great surprise, his request was immediately accepted. He'd been "pre-cleared" and the unit had been simply waiting for his arrival.

_If that isn't suspicious, my name's not Bart! But I'll take suspicious gifts over lightstaffs to the face!_

Docking his personal craft, he marveled at the boxy structure. Ugly, yes. Able to produce the biggest battleship designs in existence? Also yes. Bart knew the outsiders like Zera might have some difficulty with the device since they'd never used such a thing before, but that's why he'd been kept alive. He hoped. If it was a simple as point-and-click even for materials/designs never before used by any of the "big seven" his usefulness might come to an end. He shuddered at the thought, before entering Pandora's coordinates in the mobile factory's jump drive.

WARNING: INSUFFICIENT POWER FOR CONSTRUCTION EN-ROUTE. ALL ORDERS PAUSED. ORDERS AFFECTED: 0.

"Stupid machine" he hissed. "Nothing happened, so I'm going to tell you about the nothing."

He could see the cavernous empty bay behind him, separated by a thick layer of ballistic glass (in case something went wrong). Jakobs had produced many dreadnaught-style battleships here—including those that had joined the (to him) pointless "JVLN alliance" and been sent to a galaxy very far away. Jakobs focused on firepower, to their detriment he later learned. If a Jakobs fleet didn't win or at least cripple its enemies with the first volley, it would not survive reprisals from better-protected foes, exactly what occurred during the battles in Gamma-Six. The armor on Jakobs dreadnaughts ended up being mostly for show against massive energy-based weapons carried by its opponents, the Trans-Galactic Republic.

He'd arrive at Pandora in a day or two. In the meantime, there were ECHONet games that needed playing. Bart settled in for a long session against high-level computer opponents in "SLAG WARS: Conquer the Galaxy."

[...]

Aboard the science ship _Intrepid_, Patricia Tannis worked feverishly on translating the manuscript found with the deceased Rakkman. She'd never admit it, but she much preferred a sterile lab (even if it might contain people, who could attempt to socialize with her!) over the filthy conditions of Pandora.

Thus far, she'd divined only part of the meaning of the Eridian script.

"In the unlikely event that any of you lesser beings have knowledge of linguistics and translation, I find myself forced to request your assistance."

Katie Ballard didn't know who this crazy lady was, but she'd taken over a good portion of the lab with her horribly-smelly Pandoran relics. Her attitude didn't help, either. Katie was already at odds with Kevin Filner, whose obsession with wormhole threshers had trashed _his_ portion of the shared space. All Katie wanted was to study cyrstalisks in peace, but no, apparently the relatively small _Intrepid_ had to cram aboard as many incompatible projects at once. It was like a grade-school science fair.

She cursed as another instrument soared over her head, pulled by the tiny wormhole produced by one of Kevin's angry threshers.

"Would you mind?" she shouted. "Can you keep your little worms on _your_ side of the lab?"

"With this Tannis person the lab no longer has sides" insisted Kevin. "It's more like 'any place that isn't covered in crystalisk-hide books or carved Eridian tablets is ours to fight over.' She's like the cat that takes over the bed!"

Katie saw fit to respond to Tannis.

"Other than your self-centered, non-collaborational attitude, what do you even have to offer?" she snapped.

"There are depths of science that escape you. You might learn them—some in my bed, standing offer!—if you spent less time socializing with brainless creatures and devoted yourself to intellectual pursuits."

"Cut the crap. If you're going to imply Kevin and I are stupid, stop implying it and say it." In a huff, she turned back to a crystal sample, which had taken to glowing brightly.

It zipped out of its holder and landed next to a tube holding a rather agitated wormhole thresher which in its state of annoyance had "turned on" its gravitational pull with no sign of letting up.

One high-pitched squeal later, the piece of crystal shattered.

"That. Is. It. This is the twelfth sample ruined this week by those stupid WORMS" she yelled.

"Maybe if your ugly brute would stop stamping around, my threshers wouldn't be so disturbed!" countered Kevin. "There he goes again!"

As if on cue, the large crystalisk Katie captured began grunting and stamping its three legs, causing the lab to shake.

Katie rushed to the tank holding "Abe" as she'd taken to calling him.

"Shhh! Don't listen to mean nasty Kevin—shhh! Would you like a rakksicle?"

"Gag me with a spoon" said Kevin.

The half-hexagon shape of the lab doors hissed open.

"Captain on deck!" barked Kevin. Two of three snapped to salute. Tannis didn't care and kept her nose in Rakkman's books.

"Relax." Kim Harrison loved science, but she bore no love for whatever the heck was going on in this lab. Constant explosions, squabbling, and threats to structural integrity.

"I'm getting the three of you off my ship" she began. "You've all been approved for a transfer toRNS _Amerigo_, an old _Prosecutor_ that's been retrofitted for science duty. It came here with the rest of our fleet, but I only got your papers today."

All three of them perked up and asked similar questions.

"May I research in peace?" (Tannis), "Can I get my own lab?" (Ballard), "Must I cohabit with noisy creatures that disturb my experiments?" (Filner)

Captain Harrison laughed. "I told them that having you all in the same lab-space was threatening the space-time continuum. You'll all have private laboratories." She then turned to each of the bickering boffins.

"Patricia Tannis, you will be assigned two M4P-D droids to assist with your translations and given imaging equipment to speed up the interpretation of the many stone tablets you have collected. Additional missions to return more material of interest may be authorized in the future."

"Katie Ballard, you will be authorized to collect additional samples and given two interns—graduate students from the Core Worlds."

Katie Ballard, PhD (multiple) pumped her fist like she'd just been chosen as shockball captain.

"Kevin Filner, your research will continue in a gravimetrically sealed area to both improve the quality of your data and prevent…accidental damage to the _Amerigo_."

"Finally someone who understands the value of my work" he breathed.

"I suggest you start packing, now."

"Yes ma'am" responded the three in unison. The resultant speed of putting (or throwing) things into crates suggested there might well have been a time-bomb in the middle of the lab.

As she left, Captain Harrison checked the status of her transfer request to Dekuuna to study the elcor.

"PENDING."

Damn. She'd been "pending" since the Reaper War ended some months ago, yet when her arguing researchers asked to be moved, approval came in two weeks.


	17. Warrior Therapy

A/N: This chapter is dark in comparison to the others. Anyone who doesn't like (somewhat mild) non-con scenes might want to skip this one. It's not super-graphic, but it's there. Also, this is the first time I really, really am making use of the M rating I slapped on this story (which I realize may limit my audience)…

**Chapter 16 – Warrior Therapy**

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" 

Jackie's bawling no longer irritated the customers of The Big Guns Rack as Moxxi took the howling woman upstairs into living quarters above the establishment. Of course, substitute bartenders (i.e. not Moxxi) might provoke some backlash, but as long as the drinks kept flowing out (and thus, money in) Moxxi didn't care.

She decided to let Jackie cry herself out before attempting to talk to her, a process that took longer than Moxxi expected.

While Jackie continued to cry, Moxxi thought over the situation.

_Here I am, forty-six years old, playing mother to a thirty-five year old woman who has more blood on her hands and more sex partners than I do. This isn't our first rodeo, either. Is the universe fucked up or what?_

Noticing the sobbing had been reduced to occasional sniffles, Moxxi brought over a new box of tissues. In a twisted way, this situation let Moxxi relive what little "mothering" there was to have on Pandora—since her own children all died in the Harvester War. Three died as cowards, fleeing to save their own skins instead of using their skills to help others. Two were felled on their feet—Scooter sending a critical distress call that brought the eventual end of the war, and Ellie building massive mobile fortresses that defended innocent outposts in The Dust. Now standardized and called "Deadwood," few knew the titanic vehicles' origins.

"I just…I want…" Jackie couldn't finish sentences in this state for the most part.

"What is it that you want?" asked Moxxi, mentally reminding herself to strip any innuendos or sexual comments.

Some blubbering later, Jackie finally regained the ability to create a whole sentence.

"What does it mean to be someone's friend?" asked Jackie quietly. "What is it like to have friends?"

Just giving the definition or explaining the concept wasn't going to help on its own. Though she could be ruthless, brutal, sadistic, and kill at the drop of her red hat, Moxxi knew the value of real friends—such as the Vault Hunters. She could also tell this girl—she might've had many bed partners but was not mentally mature—had far deeper issues than just not knowing what friendship was.

To avoid any sexual connotations whatsoever, Moxxi had some repurposed Hyperion Loaders strip-search Jackie for any weapons rather than doing it herself. She didn't comment to Jackie on what the Loaders found, merely taking the information and storing it for the moment. The mysterious Zer0 would be outside, beyond Jackie's view, in case things turned violent, tranquilizer rounds loaded. The Loaders dressed Jackie in one of Moxxi's old nightgowns while putting her blood-splattered garments into the wash.

"I'm not a therapist" began Moxxi. "I don't have some fancy degree in making people better, or making better people. I'll do my best to help you, but I'm going to have to ask some uncomfortable questions."

Jackie sniffed softly.

"I will help you on the same conditions I did before: that you agree to tell the truth, even if it's painful, even if it makes you feel bad, even if it means admitting things you don't want other people to know. Can you do that?"

"Yes." Only now did Jackie realize this was the same "crazy lady Moxxi" who'd taken her off the streets for a time during what passed as childhood.

"Then let's begin. I don't expect you know where I was born, Jackie?"

"No." She took another tissue. Moxxi handed her a second ice pack for her forehead. She knew that Jackie had respawned herself before, so she still must have access to the New-U. However, this situation, sadly enough, required Jackie to suffer, even if her pain was only an incalculably-small fraction of that which she had caused many others.

"Do you know of the Zaford and Hodunk clans?"

Jackie was starting to sober up. That might make it difficult to have an honest conversation. Moxxi knew what she was about to do was unprofessional, ethically questionable, and wouldn't fly in any other setting—but this was Pandora. As she'd already stated, Moxxi was no therapist—just someone doing their level-best impression of one (similar to Zed's relationship to the term "doctor"). Under the guise of "tonic," she gave Jackie just enough alcohol to keep her from reverting to the default sober personality.

"They love shooting each other. They buy my family's guns all the time."

Moxxi made a mental note that she'd have to explain "love" as well—even more difficult than "friend" since she hadn't really experienced it herself combined with Jackie's likely association of the word with violence, depraved sex, etc.

Comprehension dawned on Jackie's face. "Did you sleep with them? Were you a slave?"

Moxxi laughed softly. "Not quite. I was born a Hodunk…"

For the first time, Jackie showed significant reaction by gasping, albeit only slightly.

"Disgusting inbreds. When Ellie was born, the Hodunk patriarch demanded she be…put into service of the family…"

Moxxi had lapsed into her original accent on the last six words, causing her to pause.

"Pleasedonttellanyone."

Jackie nodded.

"Anyway, I decided I'd had enough of being told who to date, who to kill, and how to run my life. So I took my children and left—not without violence, of course."

Uncharacteristically, no excitement showed at mention of death and destruction. Keenly aware glorifying such actions might reinforce Jackie's disturbed state, Moxxi kept her voice even as she described her forcible exit from clan politics.

"I got wind of a plot to kidnap Ellie, who by that point….had grown up…and use her as a hostage to force me back into line."

She had to stop herself from making comments about Ellie's appearance. She'd almost speculated on why the men of the Hodunk clan would have wanted someone who'd shown no evidence of Moxxi's physical endowments, but thought better of it.

Her voice took on a bitter, angry tone—something not normally heard from the ever-chipper commentator of the Underdome and its successor, the Badass Arena of Badassitude.

"Ellie got tied up and taken to the patriarch's bedchambers" she spat. "He was going to 'break her in' so I decided to break his skull. To make sure it stuck, I hired a Vault Hunter to hack the New-U and delete him out of it. Surprising what a Dahl commando knows about electronics…"

Unsurprised by Jackie's non-reaction to a story involving near-rape due to suspecting Jackie's own untold story from years ago, Moxxi continued with her tale.

"Unfortunately, in my blind rage, I'd neglected to equip myself with a weapon before arriving to perform the deed. I am not one to believe in gods or demons, but someone was watching out for me that fateful day—a pistol sat loaded on the bastard's nightstand. When he returned from 'preparing,' he found me in bed instead. His reaction was typical Hodunk—he didn't even need any encouragement."

Again, Moxxi stopped, controlling herself and avoiding making any commentary about men "thinking with their small brains," to put it charitably. Jackie had already killed enough during or after the act, no need to glorify such actions.

"Thank you, S3RV-R."

"Mission success." The reprogrammed Loader exited the room, having brought more of "Miss Moxxi's Nerve Tonic."

Jackie took it without prompting or hesitation.

"He was so excited that he was on top of me before realizing what would happen as he failed to notice the empty nightstand. As I pressed the barrel of the perverted patriarch's own weapon into his temple, realization dawned on his fat, jowled, sweaty face."

Jackie currently stared at the floor, as if the story might be hitting close to her own life.

_I told you this wouldn't go by without visiting some very dark places_._ If you want to grow up, you'll have to learn to put them behind you._

"I was the last thing he ever saw or heard. 'Not my daughter, you sick, twisted, inbred bastard.' I didn't even give him a chance to beg for his worthless life. One bullet. Clean, quick, and _far_ more merciful than he deserved."

It was only during this part of relaying her saga that Moxxi permitted herself to show any emotion over killing: steely righteousness and determined vengeance.

Moxxi pulled a small bag from a nearby storage locker. She took Jackie's hands and formed them into a two-palm cup.

Emptying the bag, Jackie's now-unloaded Judge dropped into her still-damp hands.

"You remember this revolver, Jackie" intoned Moxxi quietly. "More than twenty years ago, you told me how you got it. I think it's time you told me the whole truth."

S3RV-R brought warmed damp washcloths this time as it was better than the ever-growing piles of tear-stained tissues surrounding the pair. Jackie went through several before speaking.

_Yep, and now the dam breaks_.

"By the time I got it, my father was already dead" she whispered. "It was in his old bedroom… On the nightstand…"

Moxxi urged the shattered girl to continue.

"The leader of the Atlas thugs shackled my legs, but not my arms. Apparently, he liked it when they 'fought back.'"

Jackie's voice cracked and she resumed sobbing.

"He was too busy with himself to see what I was doing. Before he could get my pants off, he didn't even have to undress me to do that with all the holes, he had a gun in his face. Two seconds later, he had no face."

She took another washcloth.

"His lackeys didn't take kindly to their illustrious leader being denied his due" she continued, struggling to form words. "And they would have taken it, but…"

"But what?" asked Moxxi.

"A masked something… Sword… No face… Spouted poetry after—"

Jackie stopped dead. Both women had the realization at the same time.

"Men this terrible / Killed for the greater mission / Make the world better"

There were certain types of evil that could not be tolerated, even if there was no contract, no bounty, and no threat to him personally. The assassin didn't make the connection between the scared girl and the spoiled brat until he'd started overhearing the conversation between said brat and Moxxi. Once he did, he recalled it like it had been yesterday.

In a run-down area of town known to be full of disreputable characters, he'd been hired to take out a drug dealer. Kind of expensive to kill a petty kingpin, but money was money. He'd heard the screaming on his way to the man's fortress, deep inside the old manufacturing district. Using Decepti0n to give himself line-of-sight on the door from behind whence the sound came, he would never forget the next eight seconds.

A man straddled a young girl who was mostly naked—too young for this sort of thing—at least willingly anyway. Suddenly, the man's head disappeared into a red mist. The girl, tears streaking down her face, had a massive Jakobs pistol in her small hands. Zer0's acute senses told him she had fired the only loaded round as the gun clicked again and again. Two men stepped into view—they must have been standing inside the door off to the left and right sides. Knowing what would happen without intervention, he acted on instinct. Swift strikes with his sword pierced the hearts of would-be rapists. He said very little to the girl, freeing her from the leg restraints twisted cruelly tight.

"Men this terrible / Killed for the greater mission / Make the world better"

Handing her an SDU with ammo, clothing, and some money, he walked her out of the slums. Dropping her at a nearby establishment known for its colorful, yet strangely-compassionate bartender, Zer0 left the girl in what he hoped would be better care than he could offer, along with a note explaining her needing a place to stay, without mention of the horror he'd prevented. He did not sign it. Given the utter lack of anything resembling a government or public services, one had to rely on other citizens to step up.

By the time Zer0 returned to find his mark, the drug lord was long gone.

Recording one of the few failed jobs in his career, Zer0 made an unusually short entry in his journal.

"Money is not life / Evil must be beaten back / Selfless isn't free"

Jackie couldn't summon any more tears. Instead, she dry-heaved into Moxxi's chest, since the ordeal completely exhausted her and brought back some of her worst memories.

_That explains quite a bit_ thought Moxxi. _I choose my lifestyle because it's fun. She takes what she knows, without realizing there's a whole better world out there_._ There is no help for her here. _

Finally, Jackie spoke again, displaying a similar determination as Moxxi did upon removing her daughter from the twisted Hodunk clan.

"That was the last time anyone would take advantage of me."

Not wanting to ask, but suspecting the answer, Moxxi proceeded with the next logical question.

"It wasn't the first, either, was it?"

Fresh howls.

"You are safe here. I can't promise that no one will ever hurt you again, because there's a whole big universe out there and a lot of bad people in it. What I can promise is that while you are with me, with us" (Zer0 stepped back into the room), "no one will do anything like that again while we still live."

"Is…is this what friends do?"

"Yes. Yes it is."


	18. Build

A/N: Due to the content of the last chapter and the desire to keep it completely severable if a reader should wish to skip it without putting anything else in the "restricted section," it was kept to deliberately focusing on one set of characters in one location (unlike every other chapter). This also made it shorter than other chapters.

Future chapters (including the one you're reading now) will allude to the events described in Chapter 16 without delving into the gory details, as the character's background is highly relevant to the overall story.

**Chapter 17 – Build**

"Calling all suitably-equipped Trans-Galactic Republic vessels in the sector: Civilian medical emergency" intoned Moxxi. She'd been given a communicator during the revival of Samantha Shepard in case she needed to reach either Trans-Galactic Republic or Citadel forces.

While Jackie Jakob's psychological trauma didn't fit the traditional definition of "medical emergency," Moxxi didn't know what else to call it. "Hey, we have a girl down here with major psychological issues that needs help we can't provide?" Didn't have the same ring to it.

A voice crackled through the radio.

_For this being the future_, fumed Moxxi, _could we at least have communicators that are clearer-sounding than ECHOPhones?_

"This is RNS _Veritas_ responding, please state the nature of the medical emergency."

"Everything's a fucking medical emergency down here" she spat. "We have no basic medical services, no emergency rooms, no operating suites, and no one who can fix people screwed up in the head."

"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to calm down. Are there any life-threatening conditions?"

She thought for a moment, then decided on a way to get the paper-pushing bureaucratic excuse for a doctor to listen.

"We have an individual at great risk of self-harm" she lectured, somewhat pedantically. "We do not have the means to alleviate symptoms on Pandora."

"We're going to need you to restrain the patient" replied the operator, annoyed he'd been called to deal with a psycho on a planet of psychos. "If there's nothing else, we'll be in touch soon."

Moxxi never saw it coming. Jackie, unexpectedly strong for someone who'd just laid bare the demons that haunted her every sleeping moment, grabbed the communicator.

"Listen to me, you worthless, self-serving piece of shit. Your fancy Trans-Galactic Republic only ever gets involved if there's something in it for you, so I'll tell you what you're going to miss out on if you keep up the fake-caring act: An entire cache of translated Eridian relics! You send a god-damn MedEvac down here now, or we burn the entire thing!" She practically screamed the last few words.

Never mind that she'd never actually translated them, or that she couldn't read Eridian. Or that she had no idea what actually lay buried under the ruins. The Prime Vault/Altar remained under Jakobs control, specifically _Jackie_ Jakobs, and she was through being used. Through being taken advantage of. And through letting others pretend to care about her problems only to turn their backs when things got ugly.

"I guess that's another reason I hate men" she laughed weakly after the orbiting battleship agreed to send a MedEvac. "Always pretending to give a shit just to get what they want. Or just taking it anyway whether it was offered or not."

Moxxi already had another washcloth.

"No one should have to live with this alone" replied Moxxi. "You're going to deal with it. You're going to be stronger for it. You will not bend, you will not break, and we are not letting some paper-pusher stop you from getting the help you need."

Within a few minutes, a MedEvac escorted by four _Fireants_ landed outside the Badass Arena of Badassitude. Four more kept vigilant watch overhead. If the Trans-Galactic Republic personnel onboard recognized the notorious individual among those boarding, nobody gave any indication, however the heavy escort suggested someone knew that a "VIP" was on the way. Several nurses, including one who worked on the Shepard project, took stock of the situation. Nurse Marilyn took a quick glance around the room where Moxxi and her "patient" had been seated. Mountains of tissues, piles of washcloths (many cold, some not), some blood drips, and an empty pistol sitting on a chair. There were also shot glasses. In the plural.

Sigh.

Pandorans drank away their problems—note added to check for alcohol poisoning or other acute effects of the chemical.

Though she'd not been there, Marilyn could feel something, as if the very air in the room were contaminated with some oily, foul, evil presence. As if the room had recently seen some horrible secret spilled. Nothing the tissues, she marked down that psychological trauma most likely existed among the party brought onto the MedEvac. She picked up the pistol as it appeared to be personalized, planning to ask if it belonged to any of the embarked passengers.

"Shield One to _Veritas_ control, passengers retrieved" intoned the blastboat commander as his ship lifted off alongside the MedEvac. "The Index Patient is confirmed alive."

"_Veritas_ control acknowledges. Bay cleared for immediate landing upon arrival. Inform medical personnel a proper suite will be available for initiating the Index Patient's treatment."

Aboard the MedEvac, Jackie mostly kept quiet, though she did ask a few small questions.

"Where are we going?"

Nurse Marilyn stepped over. "RNS _Veritas_. Old Latin word for 'truth'—command loves giving ships weighty, fancy names…"

This time, Jackie controlled herself, just barely.

_They say the truth will set you free. So why does it feel like I'm staring at a new prison in my own head?_

"Can they help me?"

"They will certainly try, Miss…"

"…Jackie…"

Nurse Marilyn tilted her head, as if to ask for the rest of the patient's name.

"…Jakobs…"

Marilyn had to catch herself. _Jackie Jakobs?_ The sex-crazed, vicious, heartless woman often used as the public face of the Jakobs Corporation? She'd been told there would be an "Index Patient" (someone of great importance) but _her?_ And such a haughty, confident person reduced to _this?_

Tapping into the patient file, she added two words at the endnotes for the receiving physician/psychologist. "Good luck…"

It had been shown that allowing onboard patient(s) to know when their medical evacuation arrived at the treatment facility via overhearing banter between control tower and MedEvac proved beneficial. Specifically, patients tended to relax once they knew the ambulance arrived at the hospital, so to speak, if they were conscious anyway.

"Shield One to _Veritas_ control, bringing in MedEvac Rescue Seven. Requesting docking clearance, transmitting codes now."

"Index Flight is clear" responded the control tower. "Bays transmitted now."

Hearing those words made Jackie happier than she'd been in ages.

_Shield. I'm safe. Rescue. Out of the hellhole my life has become…_

Since she'd become a powerful scion of the Jakobs family, she'd gotten much of what she'd wanted materially: expensive clothing, VIP personal care, luxury vehicles, and premium food/drink. Sex was a nice distraction, and allowed her to live out revenge on men for her experiences by forcing them to do what she wanted, when she wanted it. Bewitched by her looks, they would comply without question as she demanded more and more of them. Until her encounter with Mallory Maliwan followed by Moxxi, the bed was her coping mechanism. Plus, Jackie shared a wavelength with Moxxi regarding keeping opponents off balance by projecting a slightly wacky, sensual personality which would inevitably be underestimated. Following through on flirting, innuendos, and otherwise-inappropriate touching felt natural.

Her moving from one share to several percentage points of outstanding family-class stock in the Jakobs Corporation was proof of her strategy's success on a mostly male-dominated planet and within a male-dominated corporation.

Now, she wore a medical jumpsuit and wristband. She'd been searched _again_ (this time, no weapons were found), and slowly followed a nurse to her first appointment with the (female-programmed) MD-PS droid (psychology, as opposed to psychiatry designated PY) assigned as her intake. Patients with histories possibly containing triggers involving other organics were seen by droids first, to avoid setting anything off. Employing the reverse did happen, but such instances were rare as issues with droids were few.

After taking down the Index Patient's basic information, the droid switched to therapy mode. In order to effectively address Jackie's array of mental issues, it was necessary for her to explain the past. For the second time in less than 24 hours, Jackie told her story. The real story, not the one a scared street kid told a bartender. This time, she got through more of it without interruption. Told she could stop at any time, even flat-out refuse to speak now, pushing the details to later Jackie refused.

"I need get it out" she growled. "Out, out, damned spot!"

Though her prognosis remained positive and her strength in facing the past was admirable, the Jakobs heir was hardly the model patient. Medical droids repeatedly reported her as missing because she'd taken off her wristband, resulting in "not present" scans when doing the rounds.

"It's uncomfortable" she whined. "Those things have eyes, just tell them to look for me. Or at me." She did her best impression of a sexy pose while confined to a hospital bed with various swellings, sticking out her chest and pouting.

Her MD-PS, an MD-7 Psychological Specialty Droid, stridently informed her that part of healing would be generating a healthier attitude toward sex and her body. Thus, such displays were discouraged, and would be noted in her files.

"File, schmile" she spat. "Back home, I wouldn't have had to put up with this. I would…"

"…rather be back in the gutter you drove yourself into?"

Jackie's face flushed red with both embarrassment and anger. How'd Moxxi get in here?

"You bitch! You think this is funny? I was perfectly fine…in…"

"You expect these people to kiss your ass or play with your tits because you're a Jakobs heir?" shot back Moxxi. "You realize that the Trans-Galactic Republic doesn't _have_ to do anything. They could dump you penniless back onto Pandora without so much as a slap on the ass on the way out!"

"I'm sure they wouldn't be able to restrain themselves" replied Jackie coldly.

Moxxi had to collect herself before she said something truly hurtful. On one hand, this behavior got Jackie into the predicament she currently wallowed in—a life of not handling her past, not being able to relate to anyone, and soaking her hands with blood as a distraction from meaningless sex. Itself a distraction from other problems. On the other, it wasn't reasonable to expect someone who'd lived like this for over a decade to reform or change instantaneously.

She took as deep of a breath as she could without unnecessarily sexualizing the situation (somewhat difficult for her anyway as her anatomy would not allow it).

"Jackie, you asked what it meant to be someone's friend. If our talk was what friends did for each other?"

"So? I got what I wanted!"

"Is that what this is? Just another way for you to get ahead? Another way for you to manipulate, use, and deceive people? Guess what? If that's all you ever do—look for the next way to turn every situation to what you want right now, you'll never change. You'll never get past your demons, never grow to be a better person, and never have any friends!"

"Friends give me what I want" pouted the black-haired woman.

"Ding ding ding!" sang Moxxi in as mocking of a tone as she could muster while doing a small jig. "Paging Doctor Obvious, paging Doctor Obvious, Nurse Bitch has diagnosed the problem!"

"Ah-ha!" shrieked Jackie in childish delight. "You admitted you're the bitch!"

Moxxi pivoted to face the stricken patient. In as straight and intense tone as she could muster, she left parting words that she hoped might get through this spoiled brat's thick skull.

"If telling you to pull your head out of your ass is being a bitch, then I'll be the biggest bitch on all of Pan-fucking-dora. If your concept of 'friend' is 'person who exists to give me what I want' then you have a _lot_ of learning to do. I am still willing to help you grow and become a different person, but what I will _not_ do is enable you to continue being the same heartless, soulless, selfish hedonist you were before. I will _not _abide by your abuse and tolerate your vitriol that you fling instead of taking any responsibility for your words and deeds."

With that, Moxxi left.

"You… You fucking abandoned me, you skaglicking bandit whore! You put me back on the street, you pathetic excuse for a mother! Fuck you!"

Jackie's incoherent rage continued for quite some time as she cursed Moxxi, Zer0, her past assailants, her biological mother, and even the Trans-Galactic Republic, until she tired herself out. Notably, none of this verbal bile ended up with herself as a target.

Moxxi had her _own_ appointment with the "head-fixers" aboard the _Veritas_. As someone who had been what passed for a parent to the temper-tantrum-throwing woman in the psych-bay, both MD-7 and Jackie's human caseworker, a woman named Judy Hann, wanted Moxxi's account of Jackie's time spent with the buxom arena host.

"She's quite the little terror, isn't she?" asked Judy.

The two women sat in Judy's office, a decent-sized room that afforded a view of space out the port side of _Veritas_. Several live plants and a fish tank adorned the space, along with comfortable couches and Judy's desk. A recording apparatus took down everything that transpired in excruciating detail.

"That's putting it mildly" mused Moxxi. "When I took her in, I had no idea what I was in for, as cliché as that sounds."

"She was how old, at this point?"

"I'd guess around fifteen" replied the surrogate mother.

"So, old enough to think she knew everything, but young enough to blunder into the skag den while running away to prove a point."

"Boy did she ever run into a skag den" breathed Moxxi. "Once she found out…"

"Let's start at the beginning" interrupted Dr. Hann. "Tell me everything."

"Well, for starters I couldn't believe it when I saw her get into a fight in my bar. Scrapped with Mallory Maliwan—"

"Just to be clear, is Mallory important to the rest of this story and Jackie's situation?"

"No" replied Moxxi. "She did kick off the series of events that landed Jackie Jakobs in Psych Bed 94, but other than that she has no involvement."

"Noted."

"Anyway" continued Moxxi, "she got dropped off at my bar by the assassin I now know as 'Zer0.' He remains relevant to this whole thing, but kind of disappears for a while between dropping Jackie on my doorstep and the past few days."

"Understood. Please continue." Judy took notes of her own despite the presence of an omnidirectional, high-definition recording device. It was simpler to look up notes than watch through an entire session.

"I was twenty-six at the time, having recently given birth to my fourth child."

Judy made a note to check into Moxxi's history more carefully. Four children by the age of 26 implied teenage motherhood, which came with a host of possible issues itself.

"So having a fifth kid, partly grown too, dropped in my lap wasn't exactly high on my list of priorities. But I took one look at her disheveled hair, dirty skin, filthy garments, and tattered rags that passed for clothing… I decided to take her in. There was something in her eyes too, some kind of… I can't really describe it. A sadness that only comes when someone's childhood is stolen from them. But also a hardness, a determination to succeed."

"At any rate, I wasn't just doing it for charity. Everyone on Pandora either pulls their weight or ends up dead. I figured she might clean up nicely and make a good server at my bar. I gave her a few days to settle in, then got her a uniform and told her she'd start working a couple hours a day."

Hann's face took on a stern look. "Let me guess: she didn't go for it."

"That would be an understatement. She tore it up, and I found the uniform stuffed in the toilet. I also found her in the shower, having rubbed parts of her skin red."

"And this didn't seem…odd…to you? I am not trying to be judgmental, but that kind of behavior usually sends a signal something is wrong."

Moxxi tried not to take offense, but these clean, sterile Trans-Galactic Republic types had no idea what growing up on Pandora was like. Or what trying to survive in a shithole was like—they got _steak_ at military commissaries!

"I get where you're going" she replied, visibly clenching her teeth. "But this isn't one of your perfect little play-worlds where everything just falls into place if you put enough magic dust on it. When everyone is at each other's throats, when the only thing between you and being cooked on a spit is the gun at your side, your perspective ends up a lot different than growing up on what seems like a pleasure cruise by comparison."

"So you only took her in because you had your own motive, then?"

"That truth may sound ugly to you, but yes. That I could take a kid off the streets and gain a new employee at the same time seemed like a fair deal to me."

She stared at the psychologist, as if baiting her to disagree.

When Dr. Hann said nothing, Moxxi kept going.

"I'm guessing you're silently judging me for trying to put a rape victim in a stripper uniform to serve a bunch of perverted men who'd probably spend as much time grabbing her as their drinks."

She leaned forward, causing the doctor to purposefully avert her eyes lest she get a good look down her patient's jumpsuit.

"_I didn't know_" grated the agitated bartender. "_You_ didn't even know! Lest we forget, there's no such thing as head-docs on Pandora—if someone's fucked up in the head you just deal with it however you can and move on. We don't have pills for everything or people we pay to listen to us piss and moan."

"I am sorry if I have upset you" replied Judy Hann. "If you wish to continue this session another time, we can…"

"That would probably be best."

[...]

At a secret location, Armando Bailey found himself forced to endure some very long history lessons. He had to stop himself from laughing as much of it was prefixed with "Only speculation remains, but…"

"What's the point of all this?" he'd demanded. "If there are no solid facts left, why bother with it?"

He mentally nicknamed the two agents, whose names he'd not been given. Former Marine responded first. "These may be near-myths, but remember that sometimes, myths have basis in fact. Even if it is grossly exaggerated, it may be useful to know where the myth came from."

"You sound like a literature professor" responded Bailey.

"That he may" responded Indian Cover Model, "but do you not have strange tales on your own world? In fact, I believe you do. Some were just myths, like the Bermuda Triangle. Others had more basis in facts, such as the strange sights around a place called Area 51 in the United North American States."

"Yeah, that used to be a hush-hush United States military base, if I remember my history correctly. I hated history class."

"And what did you learn was actually tested there?" prodded Former Marine.

"Stealth tech. Testing captured foreign aircraft. And evaluating Element Zero once humanity discovered it. So yeah, I guess there were some crazy conspiracies that got covered up, sounded like a myth, but were actually true."

"Exactly. Thus, while discussion of 'the Force' and 'Jedi' may seem academic, we believe that the abilities referencing these two items may still exist in some form. A form that may include you, Commander Bailey."

Former Marine looked excited, like a recruit sent on his first serious mission.

Indian Cover Model continued where her fellow agent left off. "We would like to run some tests on you that will answer our question as to whether you do in fact possess this 'Force,' which is known in modern language as 'the Current.' They are non-invasive, the results will be shared only with relevant people within the Republic Intelligence Services, and no commitment is required to have the tests run."

"How long is this going to take? I do have a station that I'm supposed to protect…" Bailey felt stir-crazy having been cooped up in an interrogation room. With a sense of irony, he guessed this is how some of his suspects (like one unfortunate Elias Kelham) felt.

"The test will require less than five minutes" replied Indian Cover Model. "The blood sample you gave when you checked in is under analysis now that we've gotten your permission."

Former Marine spoke up. "It seems we will be working together on a slightly longer-term basis if these tests come back the way we think they will."

"And we are in business" cried his companion. "Symbiot Lifeform Count per cell is around 12,000."

"Not what we were hoping" came Former Marine in disappointment. "Supposedly, the most powerful of these Current-channelers had a count of over 200,000 per cell, but yet again, it's informed speculation."

"With that many, a Channeler would be able to manipulate subatomic matter, according to the math. Which means it's headed off into nonsensical territory."

She stopped. "You may call me Agent Bhatti. This is Agent Walker."

"It's good to know who has me under the bright lights" he joked.

"If you think the lights are bright now, just wait" replied Walker. "We're going to be putting you through paces that will make your basic look like a walk in the park."

"And now, the fun part! Dramatically, Walker produced a small box from a hidden compartment in the wall.

"Your lightstaff, if you can handle it" said an excited Agent Bhatti. "It is rather old, as most Channeler-related artifacts are found in private collections or the few museums that managed to get their hands on them before the private collectors."

Bailey didn't want to know how the Agents had acquired it. If RISE was anything like what he thought they might be, parts of the agency probably didn't officially exist. Such legally-nonexistent parts of the agency could "requisition" (steal) anything they needed, use technologies not available to the civilian world/rest of the government, operate completely outside all established legal frameworks, and in general run how they saw fit. Such agencies were fraught with risk—he remembered some talk about Old Earth and the former United States having issues with such agencies—the National Security Administration, was it?

"So this is the part where the super-secret government agency actually does do stuff with ancient alien artifacts."

Picking up the lightstaff, he pushed a thumb against the large rectangular button whose movement ran from its front to its back.

SNAP-HISS. The golden-yellow blade appeared, pointing backward. The shocked Bailey almost dropped the weapon as the tip of its "blade" plowed into the wall behind him, burning through the material in seconds.

"Soundproof, but not staffproof" remarked Bhatti, rather casually considering the circumstances.

"I'd turn that off if I were you" said Walker, almost sadly. "Unless you want to risk accidentally killing yourself and/or us before you even have a chance to begin your training."

SHOOOOP. The blade disappeared, though the smoldering wall-hole remained.

"Was that thing supposed to wobble like a live varren?" asked Bailey. "I felt like it was trying to jerk my arm around."

The pair had no idea what a "varren" was supposed to be, but they figured based on the second statement it must be some kind of animal that was known for being very lively and difficult to hold.

"First off, you are supposed to wield it with both hands" lectured Agent Bhatti. "Only the strongest could wield it one-handed without…problems."

"Secondly" she continued, "Channelers often used the Current to enhance their use of the lightstaff. That is why, despite not _requiring_ Channeling capability to use, most wielders nevertheless were Channelers, since the weapons tended to be highly unbalanced and difficult to control for those without Symbiot Lifeforms."

Armando Bailey's curiosity got the better of him, despite realizing that once he acquired any of this knowledge, it would forever bind him to RISE, regardless of insistence about "no commitments."

"What are Symbiot Lifeforms?"

"We're not quite sure—they allow individuals to Channel. Without them, use of the Current isn't possible. The more of them you have, the better your connection to the Current. Now, a strong connection doesn't necessarily mean strong powers—but it greatly increases the likelihood that with proper discipline, those abilities Channeled will be very powerful."

"Does all life contain them?"

"Not to our knowledge" continued Agent Walker. "In the past, yes, but after the Scouring the Symbiot Lifeforms disappeared from records for millennia. When they reappeared, they were only mentioned alongside Channelers."

((He knows he's in for good))

((It doesn't usually take them that long to figure it out anyway))

The two Agents shared a weak form of Crosscurrent, or telepathy. Their own counts for Symbiot Lifeforms were in the high hundreds—not enough to train or investigate other Current powers, but sufficient for the task given (interrogation).

"So what does the Current do?"

Neither of the Agents could contain their enthusiasm anymore. In their eagerness, the pair engaged in a sort of verbal tug-of-war, tripping over each other in order to describe the focus of their life's work (despite their weak personal abilities).

"You can move objects with your mind…"

"…trick other people into not seeing you…"

"…hide yourself from prying eyes…"

"…or Current Waves…"

"…move at impossible speeds across a battlefield…"

"…shoot lighting out of your hands…"

"…choke people…"

"…and bend spoons."

Bailey became torn between amazement at all the powers offered by this mythical source of energy and the desire to make a spoon joke.

"You know," he began, "in the omnivids they used to go on about how 'There is no spoon.'"

"There is definitely a spoon" replied Bhatti. Drawing one out of her pocket, she closed her eyes. The head of the spoon bent left, right, left.

Bhatti clearly had to exert significant effort to accomplish the feat, as sweat slicked her brow and her breathing rate increased dramatically. As she recovered by cramming energy bars, Agent Walker explained what just happened.

"A more powerful Channeler could have done that without the sweating, panting, and need for energy bars. However, our abilities are quite modest—we're the 'demo units' when people need to be convinced the Current exists."

Bailey grinned. "I'm definitely convinced. When do we start this torturous training?"

"You realize this room is under surveillance" panted a partially-recovered Bhatti. "We can and will use that statement against you should you ever complain about how difficult our Channeler development regime is."

"What are we waiting for?"

[…]

Before letting her Lady Fingers off to do as they needed, The Lady decided she'd lay all the chips on the table. Including the embarrassing one.

"What I am about to tell you is not to be repeated to _anyone_. There will be severe penalties for violations of this rule."

"What new command do you have for us, my lady?" asked Drythlyn.

Some eye-rolling around the circle, which was ignored by the most powerful Channeler.

"You are, of course, aware that I am a Siren in addition to being a Current Channeler. This confers great power, and all the fun stuff that comes with it—saving the galaxy etcetera etcetera."

"We are aware" chorused the response. "Have our duties changed?"

"Your new duty is very simple" she replied. The assembled thought they saw a flash of a twinkle in their master's eye, but knew better than to inquire. "It involves refraining from a certain action."

"Among Sirens, names are a source of great pride. Lilith is the name of a bewitching female demon. Maya is an illusion not to be chased, Helga belongs to a blessed or holy woman, and Angel's meaning is self-explanatory."

Pausing for dramatic effect, she practically bellowed: "So how in the name of anything holy did I get stuck with the name 'Sarah?'"

For a full minute, the entire assembly of woman remained dead silent. Then one Lady Finger began giggling, followed by full-on laughter, which set another off, and another, until all five engaged in one or more of the following behaviors: doubled over, gasping for air, or rolling on the floor.

Keeping a completely serious face, Sarah, alias "The Lady," levitated her regaling companions. Using a tone suggesting the next to find amusement would be shot dead, she insisted "It's not funny. I don't understand why you are laughing."

In order to change the subject (and perhaps be let down), Venera asked "Who was Helga?"

"Steele. Commandant Steele" replied the clearly-annoyed Sarah.

Once the laughter subsided, Sarah resumed her near-monologue, dropping her underlings unceremoniously to the deck. "There is a reason I use an alias and a holo-disguise when dealing with the primitives who inhabit these galaxies. It entertains me how frightened Daimon Leng and his fellow lackey Acolyte Harper are of me, or what they think I am."

"My Lady, you believe they…they would be less inclined to obey you were they to have knowledge of your given name?" questioned Selina.

"Would the _Siren Serenade_ be taken as seriously if it were to be painted baby blue instead of black?" Returning to her original businesslike demeanor, Sarah acted as if the past few minutes had not taken place.

"We need this hulk of metal operational. That falls to Zera. We need no one to see it until it is ready. Hopefully, no one has noticed us" (she glared at Urthula, who'd been just as entertained by her big revelation as the others, dropping the Current of Diversion but had resumed her meditation upon being released). "Venera will train Acolyte Harper as planned and we will strike against the Trans-Galactic Republic."

The assembled women still had difficulty avoiding fresh rounds of laughter. A Siren named _Sarah_? The universe was very cruel.

"All of our actions have been in the service of _one goal!_ Preventing inter-plane wars as predicted by the Forebears. To that end, we must break inter-galactic nation-states and isolate the rest. Hence our targeted removal of those whose work concerns intergalactic travel."

"My lady" began Drythlyn, "Your appearance is not the only aspect of your greatness which has changed from what we, or at least I, expected from our communications."

"Forgive my intrusiveness" replied Sarah, "but it's easier if I just root through your minds and answer any of your questions before you ask them. You do, after all, work for me."

The circle nodded, consciously pushing inquiries beyond the borders of Riptide-protected boundaries of hardened, trained minds.

"So. You are confused because the hardass, all-business, fail-me-and-die personality you are used to was a façade? And you are angry, since you believed deception was for Daimons and Acolytes, but not Lady Fingers? You realize what you call yourselves, and this gathering? All because I told you to? Yet my name is the funny thing?"

Just like a certain Commander, the mock-seriousness was hard to keep up while containing a strong urge to burst out laughing.

"You have deceived us!" snarled Selina. "We thought we served one who did all that was necessary, had no compunctions about playing dirty, yet here you stand making _jokes_? Humor is a drug for the uneducated masses!"

Unflappably calm, Siren Sarah laid down the gauntlet. "If you think yourselves superior, better-equipped to lead against the greatest threats the Forebears gave insight on because you are always brooding and are as allergic to laughter as dextros are to levo food, by all means! My knowledge and powers are yours for the taking…if you can."

Selina's attack was sudden, quick, and vicious. Her fighting style revolved around fast strikes doing minimal damage, but with the ultimate goal of "death by a thousand cuts." Not overcommitting would allow the attacker to parry any defensive strikes from the target, as well. Selina's blue lightstaff almost drew patterns as she attempted to find a weakness in Sarah's defenses.

Zera turned to Venera with a look of disbelief on her face.

"There are certainly better uses of our time, are there not?"

"Selina has always been one to think with her lightstaff, not her brain" replied Venera. "Once she's decided that action is the means to the end, she doesn't let up."

"Still, is it that big of a deal that our boss has a sense of humor?"

It only took a few minutes before Selina tired herself out, having yet to land a single hit. In one move, Sarah dropped her foe with an Undertow Current, lifted her and subjected her to the Current of Pain. As Selina shrieked for mercy, the persona of The Lady seen via holovid made an appearance.

"Is this what you want? Would you prefer my bad boss routine?" Eyes narrowed, lips thinned, jaw clenched.

Only gurgled responses, as Selina could no longer speak through the agony.

"Take her to the infirmary, if this ghost ship even has one right now" continued Sarah coldly. "If she lives, fine, if not, use the incinerator."

"Now, is anyone else going to complain about how things are run around here?" asked Sarah in an overly-bright tone considering she'd just written off one of her best operatives. Her face resumed its normal demeanor.

Muttered responses, most along the lines of "No my lady."

"Good. There's no reason we can't have a little fun saving these primitives from themselves" came a disturbingly sing-song voice. "Now go perform the tasks assigned to you."

[…]

The Trans-Galactic Republic/Mordin Solis genophage cure took some time to kick in. As the primary test subjects, Urdnot Wrex and Urdnot Bakara had already conceived using an accelerated growth technique to birth viable babies for the first Clan Council. Everyone else would have to wait.

Wrex deftly handled fallout from "Forward Unto Ascension" by headbutting. Sometimes talking, but mostly headbutting. It was with some difficulty that he commissioned architects to begin rebuilding Tuchanka's ruined cities, as most krogan either designed weapons or wielded them. Destroying societies down to their atoms was a krogan profession. Few possessed talents in areas required to _build _a society—architecture, urban planning, sanitation, agriculture, and the like. All hummed along until an excavation team in the Kelphic Valley hit something that had the potential to tear open old wounds.

"Sir. We just struck a large metallic object in the Valley. We're not sure what it is, and we…"

"Incoming communication, high importance, for your eyes only, from Councilor Victus" barked another.

"Victus?" wondered Wrex. "Did he take after Garrus? Is this a joke? Turians are terrible at humor…"

"Urdnot Wrex" came the Councilor's visage. "We should speak in private."

"Councilor." Wrex betrayed surprise. "Did you find another stray krogan?" He laughed.

Victus winced. "This is…difficult for me to say. It would stir up bad blood at a time that we don't need anything that would fuel resentment between our species."

"Does it have something to do with what my diggers found in the Kelphic Valley?"

The turian recoiled as if he'd been slapped. _How did he know?_

He decided to admit it upfront rather than trying to talk around what had been done. "Don't try to disarm it. We will send in a specialty…"

"Disarm what?" asked Wrex, now suspicious. "Disarm…" It dawned on Wrex exactly what kind of large object would have to be "disarmed," after which he exploded. "Turian cowards! You put a bomb on Tuchanka? It wasn't enough to leave us unable to have children, you had to have an insurance policy…"

The intense conversation was interrupted by a report from the Valley. "Digger Team Kalros to base, requesting permission to relocate the object from the Kelphic Valley for further evaluation."

Victus nearly panicked upon being told of this by the krogan chief. Any attempt to move the bomb would set it off. "Don't let them move that bomb! Don't let them move it!"

Orders were relayed from Wrex's citadel to the dig team. Thankfully, other than a few scuffs on its casing, the bomb hadn't been moved from its cradle. No mention of what, exactly, the object was.

"Were you planning on telling us about this?" growled the krogan. While generally a reasonable individual, anything that smacked of consigning the krogan to history's dustbin set Wrex off. It took some fancy verbal footwork from Samantha Shepard to convince the angry then-mercenary to stand down on Virmire.

"The reason I am consorting in secret with a sworn enemy of my people is because neither the Hierarchy nor the current Primarch would have said a thing" shot back Victus. "The only shield I have is my Councilorship—should I be found out, the consequences will be severe."

"So how do we deal with it?" Wrex realized as angry as the situation made him, removing the bomb held far greater importance than satisfying his indignation over a deception perpetuated by turians long dead. "What about our illustrious friends, the Trans-Galactic Republic? They have guns that disable things—why not just call down fire from orbit?"

Victus recognized the change in Wrex's demeanor. Mirroring his counterpart, the Councilor adopted a let's-get-down-to-business attitude, forsaking emotions for the time being. "The bomb has a secondary manual detonator—if anything happens to the trigger mechanism's electronics the bomb will automatically go off. Further, firing on Tuchanka by the Trans-Galactic Republic would attract attention. Attention we don't want focused on this issue!"

"No easy fix from the sky" barked Wrex. "Do I have to send someone in on foot to rip the detonator off?"

"It's not that simple, either."

"Clever bastards." To the surprise of the turian, Wrex burst out laughing. "So you installed a network of bombs across my homeworld, in case you needed to deliver one last kick, huh? Can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing to you!"

"Thankfully for us, there is only actually one bomb" replied the Councilor. "But it is a very clever bomb! It checks in with the Hierarchy over the mass relay comm buoy network at random intervals throughout the day. Usually, there are at least six checks. There can be as few as two, or as many as twenty, but six is the average. If the bomb doesn't receive a response from Palaven within a certain period of time, it switches to standby mode, meaning a single order from the Primarch will detonate it."

"Does it also read hanar poetry when you get too close to it?"

_I have to deal with the one krogan in the galaxy who thinks he's funny_.

"I wish that were all it did. If those on Palaven responsible for monitoring the bomb don't receive a check-in when it is expected, contingency plans activate. Several layers exist, but the culmination would be the insertion of a special task force to verify the existence/functionality of the bomb onto Tuchanka itself under the guise of the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission."

Unknown to most, the CDEM was partially created as a cover for maintaining the "Final Option" device buried in the Kelphic Valley. How much other participating races (mainly salarian with some asari) knew about this was not openly discussed.

"And how do the triggerfingers on Palaven know when their toy is supposed to be calling home?"

Victus paused. He really shouldn't…oh the hell with it. He'd already broken a good number of laws even admitting to the bomb's existence, never mind describing its failsafes.

"QEC systems. The bomb sends a 'ping' to its handlers a few seconds before it checks-in. Then the full exchange of keys occurs, the bomb verifies that Palaven control hasn't been wiped out and Palaven control is assured the bomb is still operational and un-tampered-with."

Wrex paced back and forth in his private chamber. "So we can't fry it, we can't rip it apart, and we can't jam it. What can we do?"

"At this point, I really don't know" admitted Adrien Victus. "You realize it was never meant to be deactivated—either blown up or maintained until the end of time yes, taken out of service, no."

"Well, I know I need to keep the rest of the krogan on Tuchanka from figuring out what it is—because if they found out, they'd launch an all-out assault."

"That might be a task best suited for our extra-galactic friends" remarked Victus. "They're neutral, maybe even considered krogan-friendly since they helped cure the genophage. They have some built-up goodwill."

At a hastily-arranged videoconference with the Trans-Galactic Republic leadership hosted by RNS _Promenade Sunrise_ ("What the hell kind of name is that?" demanded Wrex), the krogan clan chief and turian Councilor tried to explain an awkward situation.

"Let me get this straight" said an exasperated Fleet Admiral Nimitz. "You want us to keep the krogan from finding out there's a humungous _bomb_ in the middle of a population center? And you can't disarm this bomb?"

"We've been over this already" replied Councilor Victus, beginning to lose patience. "Trying to tamper with the bomb will alert the Turian Hierarchy that something is going on. We don't want that. The galaxy is already starting to see more and more rumors that the genophage is cured, or at least something big happened on the krogan homeworld considering all the krogan that poured in here lately."

"We have already quietly turned away several salarian and one asari intelligence-gathering force" added Captain Jason Braxton of the _Promenade Sunrise_. "Now, if those myths about _Vorknkx _intel ships were true, we could use a couple of those to hide the bomb so well even we couldn't find it!"

_Awkward_ thought Nimitz. _That's a possibility, but we can't just disappear a whole section of the valley without everyone noticing_.

"We have the resources to accomplish this task" began Nimitz, in a somewhat forced-calm manner. "We will have to create a reason to establish a Republic Operating Base in the entire Kelphic Valley. Perhaps weather modification, or ensuring genophage cure dispersal—yes, that will work well. I will be in touch once my crew has prepped a prefabricated command base."

The Fleet Admiral disconnected and Captain Braxton excused himself.

"You know what, turian, I admire your honesty" thundered Wrex. "You remind me of Commander Shepard—she never gave up on the krogan! She trusted us when no one else would."

Victus chuckled. "I think she trusted _you_ more than krogan in general. You're kind of their great last hope."

"Thanks for the pressure. I'll be sure to return the favor someday."

In the interest of honesty, Wrex considered telling the turian about something he himself only recently learned about: The Bone Fleet. Though he'd been around during the tail end of the Rebellions, Wrex had been too young to be involved in such secret things. Now, as leader of all krogan, he'd been brought up to speed—by an apparent nobody from a tiny clan his advisors told him to wipe out. Wrex, being Wrex, refused to spill the blood of any krogan not actively hostile against him or the greater galactic community, thus gaining valuable information.

Faced with an order to demilitarize under the crippling influence of the genophage, most krogan warlords went along quietly, relatively speaking. Some of them, though, conspired to hide away military materiel the Council wanted to see destroyed. One part deception, one part smooth talk, the most reasonable-sounding (again, relatively) krogan managed to secure a contract to "dismantle" several of the most advanced dreadnaughts in the name of galactic peace. Rumor had it these were ancestors of the current Clan Thax, still known for being better-mannered and significantly less violent than the average member of their species.

In dictionary form, "dismantle" was commonly accepted to mean "to take to pieces." Obviously, what the Council _meant_ was "dismantle and _destroy_" but so long as said Council believed that was what happened, no one had to know any different. Combined with lack of oversight (trustworthy krogan easily set their turian/salarian supervisors off their guard), the "Bone Fleet" was born. Three whole ships were broken down and hidden deep within Tuchanka, not an easy feat. Even disregarding having to hoodwink Council monitors so glad to see the war end they didn't pay as much attention as they should have, stuffing ships over three kilometers long into solid rock required a lot of planning, work, and secrecy. The clan appointed to keep this knowledge was deliberately selected for its small size and lack of connections (either enemies or allies). It was hoped that this anonymous group would be able to safeguard the secret until the krogan had a chance to rise again.

Just in case he needed to quickly evacuate the leadership of his clan from the planet, Wrex imported a huge number of Trans-Galactic Republic labor droids (who unlike krogan could be programmed to keep secrets 100% of the time) to rebuild the imposing vessels. First, though, he had to re-dig the caverns meant to hold the ships which had caved in over time. He did with krogan labor under the guise of creating "food storage"—there were some advantages to being a genius among idiots. Once this finished, the automatons set to work using ancient plans from a time before Wrex had even been born. Estimated completion time would be a few months, if that, simply because droids required no food, rest, wages, or medical treatment.

[…]

Benjamin Reid oversaw the deployment of a much more robust Trans-Galactic Republic security screen around the Prime Vault/Altar. Of course, deploying this screen meant evicting the forces currently sitting at the site, but the slothful building-size tanks "protecting" the ruins were no match for a concentrated aerial bombardment from scores of _FIreant_ blastboats.

Orion Zeltran did the best he could with what he had. _Deadwoods_ were meant for long-range firepower against slow, ground-based targets. Though each monster machine possessed three quad-barrel flak cannons to take out Buzzards, these shotguns-on-sticks were no match for dedicated shield projectors and military-grade armor.

"Focus your fire!" he intoned, hoping to take down at least a few of the Trans-Galactic Republic's swarming ships. Instead, as if they were taunting him, the blastboats slowed down, wagging their stubby wings and showing off the large ten-point star symbols on their sides as they dropped bombs, strafed with lasers, and wrought havoc on electronics with ion fire.

Even with all six quads on both _Deadwoods_ coordinating to focus on individual attackers, the craft refused to be deterred. Both fortresses had become immobile by this point—holes riddled their armored exteriors. Elephant One no longer had anything resembling front tracks and two of four gun turrets had been gutted by guided munitions of some kind. The stinging flyers could have easily dispatched the flak cannons. It had become obvious that they'd deliberately left the defenses on the two mega-structures alone to emphasize how futile fighting back was.

One particularly unorthodox weapon crew loaded "beehive rounds" into Elephant Two's rear turrets, firing the huge, proximity-fused shells skyward. When the rounds hit, they created spectacular fireworks shows, but as with other attempts, failed to significantly slow down the ten-point-adorned tormenters. Out of nowhere, audio systems aboard both _Deadwoods_ blared.

"Attention resisting Jakobs forces: Surrender now, and you will be treated in accordance with Trans-Galactic Republic Standardized Regulations of Military Law Section 4, Chapter 9. Refusal would be unwise."

It didn't take a lawyer to realize referencing regulations that were unknown to the people fighting probably wouldn't do much. However, rules were rules—enemies had to be offered the chance to lay down their arms. The exact point at which this occurred wasn't specified, but it was generally accepted to offer a cease-fire when opposing ability to effectively fight back reached somewhere close to zero.

Captain Reid did not enjoy orbital bombardments, even limited ones. Unfortunately for the Captain, the Jakobs forces occupying the Eridian ruins the Trans-Galactic Republic sought to protect refused to budge. Against vehicles that size, even if the vehicles themselves were disarmed, there remained a great likelihood of a manpower-intense slog of capturing both machines. Thus, the decision to solve the problem from hundreds of kilometers away. Using his ship's centerline turrets in precision mode, Reid gave his stubborn adversaries one last chance to surrender. Despite them being completely combat ineffective, his overture was rebuffed. At low power, a _Curator_'s center-line turrets were capable of striking targets within a three-meter margin of error. Said error increased with the destruction setting, up to fifteen meters. At that level, targets tended to be other capital-class ships, so fifteen meters didn't mean much.

Orion Zeltran and those under his command vaporized in flashes of red light, painlessly removed from a world on which suffering joined food as something consumed daily. Collateral damage to the ruins was minimal, since the titanic machines were parked near them, not on top of them.

With the annoyance of Jakobs removed, the Trans-Galactic Republic established a much sturdier cordon, this one intended to "withstand like and superior"—instead of being a speed bump the defense would be able to hold off an essential mirror (or better) match. Dozens of turbolasers, point-defense guns, and other weaponry would keep out intruders. A powerful theater shield with a high enough capacity to resist a whole squadron of _Curator_ heavy cruisers for an indefinite period of time covered not just the site but several kilometers beyond.

"Well, at least the scientists can work in peace" remarked Captain Reid. "If we ever find anyone who can figure this stuff out."


	19. Well, That Sucked

A/N: Happy Fourth to my American readers!

**Chapter 18 – Well, That Sucked**

That Commander Samantha Shepard ended up in the Huerta Memorial Hospital Advanced Treatments Wing _again_ within less than two months of being discharged surprised no one. That the injuries she suffered this second time topped her last (a mere lame shoulder) caused many late-night jokes. The idea she might die (also not the first time) caused as much eye-rolling as sympathy.

"Tonight on Alliance News Network: When Should Life End? The controversy surrounding Samantha Shepard repeatedly brushing off death the way others would recover from a broken bone has some asking whether technology permitting organic beings to defy what would otherwise have been their end should be allowed. With me are two bioethicists…"

Emily Wong's in-depth coverage of almost everything Shepard-related earned her some derision from her arch-rivals. Diana Allers hit Wong's "obsession" with "trivial issues" rather than reporting "the news the people want."

"Apparently, viewers of other segments want non-stop celebrity gossip" snarked Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani. "I think it is vital we continue discussing the United Defense Command's increasingly inane attempts to remain relevant. If it weren't for the fact that the Reapers were completely gone, talk about 'constant vigilance' might make more sense. As it stands, the shadowy Consolidated Cooperative Service—also called CCS—keeps insisting that the 'next Reapers' are everything from pro-human terrorist organizations to the former NGO superpower Cerberus."

A chart behind the dark-haired reporter showed a sharp decline in public support for "pro-human-interests" organizations such as Cerberus. Various reports from "Cerberus watchers" (including academics, government agencies, and non-human intelligence outfits) pegged Cerberus as experiencing a revenue crisis. Without the threat of the Reapers or the possibility that non-humans might suddenly decide to smash humanity back to the Stone Age, finding donors fueled by paranoia had become more difficult.

Several corporations suspected to be Cerberus fronts mysteriously folded, including New Dawn Pharmaceuticals. The shutdown of a company which had yet to produce a single marketable drug despite many rounds of capital infusions surprised precisely no one. Later sifting by Alliance operatives uncovered secret attempts by this company to produce omega-enkaphalin, a chemical that suppressed biotic powers. Thankfully, though the mixture worked, it hadn't entered large-scale production, and an antidote formula was found alongside synthesis instructions, rendering the "threat" moot.

Jack Harper watched this with amusement. Venera Sola finally judged him worthy of leading the long-planned attack against Trans-Galactic Republic facilities. During the build-up to this first strike, Cerberus played the part of wounded animal slinking off to its lair to perfection. Those predicting its demise would have no idea where it came from when Cerberus roared back to life.

Cerberus's finances (real or imagined) had no bearing on equipment issued by the Council of the Lady Fist. Six top-of-the-line _Tormenting Swarm_ missile cruisers would lead a strike on the SETTLE facility. The Citadel-Republic Integration and Cooperation Alliance (CRITICAL) believed the shipyard's location to be secure, so the level of surprise would be massive.

Samantha Shepard woke up in a hospital bed again. Apparently, her physiology changed to rely far more on the inorganic batteries than Mordin Solis or the rest of the team could have predicted.

"Now reliant on batteries." (Inhale) "Slightly inconvenient. Keep charged."

"Next time, just let me die" sighed Sam, a look of sadness crossing her increasingly tired face. It turned out she was serious, as a No Extraordinary Measures order appeared in her file shortly thereafter. The meaning of such an order remained somewhat unclear, as "extraordinary" tended to be defined in the context of how advanced the medical technology available to the "NEM" patient was. Plus, individuals like Shepard were so rare that certain elements might decide ignoring her wishes would be necessary "in the galactic interest."

Wisely, no one mentioned this little technicality to her lest they be punched across the room, through the wall, and into space beyond the Citadel's Ward arms.

"Unfortunate. Pioneering life-extending technology might extend to salarians." (Inhale) "Change the game."

Shepard gave him dagger eyes.

"Will respect your decision. Would never disregard patient wishes."

"If you do, I'll make sure to test the next resurrection tech on you after I've made sure you need it."

"Ensure notes taken. Must preserve knowledge for others."

_Only Mordin would have that kind of a reaction to a joke about his own death_.

[…]

"You know, this is kinda boring" Gaige complained. "So many designs, so little actual use for them."

Among other things, she'd come up with a lightspeed missile launcher, an automated war factory, two automated mining rigs, an assassin droid ("That's illegal, kid"), a mass-effect based gatling gun, and refinements to the slag-engine used aboard the _Roland_. None were slated for production, though the staff remained continually impressed with the teenage prodigy.

The Systems Alliance had kept said ship to themselves minus its communication system since its arrival during the Reaper/Harvester War. Its reactor systems would have handily solved the power-density issues faced during the initial design phases of Project Olympic, except no way to resupply the "slag" coolant component existed. There arose a further small complication—slag coolant's toxicity rated toward the top of the Systems Alliance's safety charts. A single breach might kill an entire crew, or render a facility used to construct such ships uninhabitable.

Slag cooling could have turned pedestrian mass effect weapons into superweapons by permitting vastly higher masses and velocities. "What must be done" types like Maximilian Xytler would have been all over technology like this, which is one reason why the Systems Alliance black-ops division Kerberos kept the tech under wraps. Determined to avert the mistakes of their predecessor, Kerberos grew out of a desire to encourage "Cerberus unconventional thinking" without the minor issue of "Cerberus terrorism and human supremacy." The name stood as a deliberate choice—keep the spirit, not the methods.

"Acolyte Harper to Sarrisae fleet, begin your attack."

_Tormenting Swarm_ ships operated on a principle of "throw enough and some will stick." Thus, their twenty-four box launchers each contained vast amounts of munitions—sixty concussion missiles, thirty five proton torpedoes, sixteen rockets, or six space bombs per tube. Each launcher contained four tubes. Launches from each tube occurred as quickly as every two seconds (missiles) or as infrequently as one every five (bombs) with other types falling between. The cruiser carried either starfighters or additional box launchers—in the case of the latter empty launchers were ejected into space and replaced in approximately one minute by an automated process.

Two pairs of double laser cannons provided some measure of defense. As a standoff ship, shields, armor, and anything that wasn't related to its immense missile capacity were secondary. Enhanced targeting computers provided triple the range of normal warheads, guiding the missiles remotely until their own computers could lock on. Since these vessels engaged other large ships, precision did not enter into the equation as much as if, say, they were designed to shoot down fighters. Sure, the missiles could _technically_ hit fighters, but only at normal ranges, suffering from the same problems as any other ship-based missile system versus agile craft. If fighters were close enough to engage with missiles, _Swarm_-class ships generally fled.

The opening salvo from Jack Harper's squadron comprised equal numbers of missiles, torpedoes, and rockets at 192 each. Having not seen the attack coming, SETTLE was quite _un_settled as point-defenses only negated a fraction of that salvo. Much to the chagrin of the normally-technologically-superior Trans-Galactic Republic, most of the protection came from six ultraviolet GARDIAN turrets provided by the Salarian Union's STG, which effortlessly blasted down those warheads they were able to target. Eighty simultaneous proton torpedo impacts could cripple the shields of some Star Dreadnaughts—a strike over double that size ripped through shields as though they did not exist. The facility's outer defenses exploded without damaging the attacking fleet. As the unexpected interlopers closed distance, non-salarian GARDIAN systems kicked in. More effective than the Trans-Galactic Republic's low-energy Integrated Tracking, Evasion, and Reconnaissance Control Platform (INTERCPT), they knocked down virtually every missile. At first.

At the fire rates available to _Tormenting Swarm_ launchers, GARDIAN lasers began to overheat and fail. Trans-Galactic Republic enhancements reduced their heat profiles, but without the same technology utilized in Trans-Galactic Republic turbolasers (which despite their names were not true lasers) GARDIAN point defense systems only lasted longer, not forever. However, this did buy defenders some time as the mostly-finished _Maxthon_ managed to move clear of its dock to engage the assailants.

"Remember, we're not here to completely destroy the station, as enjoyable as that would be" said Harper to his troops. "We need to let them win. Eventually."

More missiles poured out of _Swarm_ cruisers. Pickets stood ready to engage any starfighter or light defenders, but were completely unprepared for _Maxthon_, which plowed through them like tissue paper.

"By golly let's give them what for" shouted Ashley Williams. Alongside James Vega, N7 operative, they'd been on a clandestine tour of the SETTLE facility. Rumor had it one of them was being eyed for a new posting aboard _Maxthon_. Said ship had not yet been fully crewed, and the command decision had not been made. Thus, Vega took charge of the situation, which made sense considering N7 operatives were usually thought of as "well suited to senior leadership positions."

"Back away from the cruisers" he barked. "That will give our point defenses the longest possible time to shoot down incoming missiles."

"It's not like you to shy away from a fight" teased Ashley. "Unless you're going soft on me…"

"That ain't happening, you know that. I love a good scrap as much as anybody, but it's more important to survive rather than go out in a blaze of glory when this many lives are at stake."

"Then let's blast these bad guys!"

Mass drivers in fusion mode didn't have enough range to keep the ship totally safe from a rocket barrage, preventing one-hit kills against poorly-shielded opponents. _Maxthon_ backed off to a range where standard mass accelerator fire would still be effective. Steady "thuds" from both audio emulators and vibrations through the ship's superstructure meantthe collaboratively-built heavy cruiser hurled a large quantity of munitions in the direction of her enemies.

Seeing only one defender, Harper split his forces in two. Either defend the shipyard or storage containers—not both! Vega prioritized protecting the shipyard, saying "Supplies can be replaced more easily than lives, project blueprints, and morale." Ultimately, this choice cost the SETTLE center and CRITICAL hundreds of thousands of tons of war materiel. With the Trans-Galactic Republic's juggernaut of an economy backing the alliance, such losses mattered little.

_Maxthon_ landed disabling or destroying hits on several cruisers once escorts were wiped out, causing the force to pull back. One especially damaged cruiser limped past the shipyard, seemingly on its way to the mass relay at the edge of the system. Some debate broke out aboard the lone protector whether to destroy the fleeing vessel, as its course veered ever closer to the SETTLE construction bays.

"We fight with our hand tied" thundered James Vega. "That is what makes us different from them—we do not kill those who cannot harm us."

"How do we know that ship isn't going to suicide-run us, or open its missile bays and shove them down our throat?" demanded Ashley.

"We don't" replied the acting captain. "We take a chance by walking the high road. It's what would _our _Commander would do if she were here" he added, as if that settled the matter.

Only one person was so associated with that rank that names need not be mentioned.

"Chances, yes. Stupid gambles, no" fumed acting-XO. "A ship with damaged engines might still have weapons." Subconsciously, Williams' hand moved to the fire controls for _Maxthon_'s forward "doom cannon," a combination Thanix/batarian lightning/superlaser monster capable of annihilating anything in its path for a lightyear.

"Williams! You take your hand away from that fire control, now. That's an order!"

"With all due respect, _Acting Captain_, you are putting _lives at risk_." She knew how to use the often sarcastic phrase, and she hammered it home. "By the time we…"

Purplish-blue light flared from the listing ship's vertical launch system. Fortunately for Vega's sensibilities, many of the modified Javelin torpedoes were launched incorrectly, damaging the wielder more than the target. Williams' intuition had proven right, though, and the fury on her face only magnified it. She said nothing, knowing reality vindicated her stance. If glares were mass drivers, James Vega would have been just so much stellar dust.

Hybrid barriers possessed a superior ability to hold off even fluctuating-mass torpedoes like the Javelin. A brilliant series of flower-shaped impacts bloomed against the shields of the SETTLE shipyard. Thinking the confrontation over, both officers turned away from combat displays. In that short time, a thin red line connected the last attacker to the SETTLE center. Alarms blared, barriers overloaded in seconds, and a weapon looking suspiciously like a miniature Reaper beam bisected the shipyard. It cut straight through as a hot knife into half-melted butter, slicing the partially-completed _Elizabeth Booker_. Off-duty crews watched in horror as the ship's two halves crashed into the sides of the facility. Due to the gutting, part of _Booker_ now stuck out of her berth.

It would be counted as a minor miracle (for those who believed in such things) that only a handful of dockworkers died—all in the first cut through both facility and starship. It appeared the dying antagonist merely sought to damage things, not people, as the weapon never headed toward the densely-populated core of the station. It also fizzled out rather quickly as both remaining GARDIAN defenses and _Maxthon_ tore into its carrier.

Acolyte Harper smiled as the single surviving _Tormenting Swarm_ cruiser whipped away from the calamity they'd unleashed on CRITICAL. The point, as Venera had said, was to do a lot of damage while still letting the Trans-Galactic Republic and Citadel governments think they'd won the day. It would expand their already star-sized egos, further lower their guards, and make them look even more hilariously incompetent when the next strike inevitably came.

Tallying the damage, CRITICAL ended up with one warship needing to be stitched back together, vast amounts of lost materiel, a stunning blow to its secrecy operations, a handful of deaths, and two of its best operatives not speaking to each other.

[…]

Arriving at the Arcturus Relay, SSV _Normandy SR-2_ startled traffic control by initiating communications with an urgent distress call. An advanced stealth warship appearing from nowhere didn't surprise anyone, though a vessel this well-built normally didn't come in hot, two engines destroyed, and armor plating half-gone without explanation.

"Medical emergency, _medical emergency_" pleaded a male voice. "The Commander is hit badly! Anticipate bogies pursuing us will arrive in moments!"

"What bogies?" questioned a sensor operator to his superior officer. Thanks to the Trans-Galactic Republic's physics-defying sensors, bogies light-years away would be spotted immediately. Scans were clear in the entire bubble observed by Arcturus Station. Newly-installed turbolaser batteries tracked back and forth, ready to shred any adversary.

"Look, kid, anything tough enough to take down _Commander Shepard_ merits attention. Ring Admiral Hackett and tell him we have a large, unknown force on the way. May be stealth, tell them to ask the Trans-Galactic Republic about what kinds of tech can defeat their sensors."

Steven Hackett was just as confused as Arcturus Control. "We beat the Reapers. We even beat the demons within ourselves. What is going on? Does anyone have clear readings on what, exactly, is happening at the Arcturus Relay?"

"No sir" replied an ensign. "We just got an urgent flash-traffic that said the _Normandy SR-2_ reported being pursued by unknown hostiles."

"Wait. The _Normandy SR-2_ shouldn't be reporting anything, Ensign. It is docked at Earth as a memorial to those lost in the war!"

"Sir, you'd better see these."

Hackett stared. He blinked. And blinked again. Arcturus Station's computer reported the arrival of the _Normandy SR-2_ just five minutes ago, with its Alliance _and_ Council codes. Problem was, though both sets of ID passed authenticating formulas making them genuine, they weren't exactly right. No one knew how to forge such credentials. To ensure he wasn't going crazy, the Alliance Admiral connected to the Systems Alliance War Memorial Center on Earth.

"Director Fury here."

A balding black man with a booming voice and penchant for cutting through red tape (or "bullshit" as he insisted on calling it), Phillip Fury had been through hell with Hackett during the First Contact War. He then retired, vowing to "make sure those we lost are never forgotten," becoming the Director of the War Memorial Center, and one of the youngest on record to hold that position.

"I need to ask you a question, and I need you to keep this quiet." Though the channel was encrypted, Fury was well-loved for his almost absolute open-door policy. "When soldiers stop bringing you their problems, you know something is wrong" he said. Day in and day out, he offered advice and support to both active-duty and retired soldiers in addition to his duties as Director of the War Memorial Center. Thus, it was a rare moment for Fury's door to be shut, which he did to accommodate his friend's request.

"Did Shepard badger you into taking the _Normandy_ out for a joyride?"

Fury laughed. "Steven, you know if she wanted that ship all she'd have to do is ask. The galaxy, or even, galaxies now, owe her a debt that our children's children will still be paying. Hell, she might even be alive to see it!"

"Then we have a problem. I just received a transmission from Arcturus Station—the _Normandy SR-2_ reports heavy battle damage, pursuit by unknown enemies, and a severely injured Commander Shepard."

"Are you sure someone's not yanking your dog tags, Admiral?" Fury never thought of Hackett as gullible, but it seemed like he'd been totally had by something. Turning the camera to his window, the _Normandy SR-2_ sat peacefully as hundreds of somber citizens shuffled on and off, paying their respects to those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

"You see Steven? She's right where she's been since the Reaper War ended!"

"Open your secure terminal, Phil."

A few minutes passed as data was flung across the galaxy.

"Somebody just dressed up a ship as the _Normandy_, I'd bet. They probably wagered on whether you'd get pulled in. I wish I could have gotten some scratch on that action—gratitude and admiration don't add to a non-profit salary!"

Hackett remained steadfast and serious. "What I'm about to do is completely illegal. You no longer hold the necessary clearances, but I believe it will prove to you that I am not being fooled."

Once Fury saw the authorization codes Hackett received only minutes earlier, his demeanor changed instantly.

"So someone's figured out how to forge our codes?" His face showed genuine anger—anything that put the men and women of the Systems Alliance military in unnecessary danger got his blood boiling.

"Phil, you know and I know that no one, not even the Trans-Galactic Republic, can forge these codes. See the Council code? We don't even have the formula for that!"

"I have no idea what's going on" replied Fury. "And it's probably best that I don't know—after all, I'm not cleared anymore. What I can tell you is that the _Normandy SR-2_ is here, Shepard's not, and there isn't a scratch on either of them to my knowledge."

"Thanks." Hackett disconnected.

Aboard Arcturus Station, another complication held up receiving _Normandy_ and her crew.

"I'm sorry, the scanners seem to think you're dead. Because, well, you are."

"Do I look dead to you?"

"What did you say your name was again? Because if this is some cruel joke…"

"Alenko. Major Kaidan Alenko."

[…]

Jackie Jakob's antics in the hospital wing only seemed to get worse. Though she progressed in her therapy sessions, she still acted the part of a spoiled child. A spoiled child with the body of a 35-year-old woman who was not afraid to flaunt or use it. All male doctors (eventually female too) were barred from seeing her, and her care was done solely by droids. Most were offended and/or disgusted, though a few were tempted by what she had to offer. Automatons cared not for cleavage, propositions of sex acts in hallway closets, or seductive whispers.

Never mind having to deflect internal questions of who the "Index Patient" was, or persistent inquiries from the Jakobs Corporation itself regarding the whereabouts of a major family shareholder who "disappeared on Pandora." The Trans-Galactic Republic fleet keeping station "had no comment" and was "unaware of any specific treatment programs involving any members of the Jakobs family."

As the only legal "parent" Jackie had, Moxxi found herself being bombarded by updates of her "surrogate daughter's" actions. Though she'd made a promise to help, the willpower to keep her end of the bargain and not completely drop the obnoxious heiress wore thin. Nevertheless, if Maya could handle Krieg, she could tough it out—no Siren was going to out-moxie Moxxi!

"She wouldn't talk to me!" cried an exasperated Moxxi. "I asked her what was wrong, and all she did was pout or bawl her eyes out."

"She eventually agreed to work in the back for room-and-board only" continued the mother-of-many. "Eventually, I started paying her a bit wage too—the stock rooms, toilets, and slot machines were so shiny and well-running you'd swear you were on Plutus."

"Interesting. Did the other customers ever see her?"

"A few, yes. The ones that asked, I put Rubi in their faces and told them to get the hell out. Despite her attitude, she put in more effort than the children I birthed!"

"Blood isn't everything! Did you see any specific thing that motivated Jackie to work this hard?" Dr. Hann _loved_ difficult cases, and this Jackie Jakobs was the toughest she'd ever faced.

"It certainly wasn't the money! I don't really know what happened, but one day when I came back from a raid against the local bandits, I found Jackie in what passed for my bedroom. She'd put on one of my serving outfits and was prancing around the room in it. She nearly died of embarrassment when I announced my presence."

"I'm guessing she never told you why she decided to wear it" remarked the psychologist.

"Of course not. This was also over two years after I took her in. But the following week, I'd taken some time off to catch up on reading—yes, there are a few worthwhile publishers whose material you can get on Pandora if you know the right people—and I heard the bar getting rowdy. Not unusual, so I went back to my book on Siren theory."

_Not as much of a violent bimbo as she looks. _

"Shocked I have intellectual pursuits? I keep trying to get over the fact that you types always think of us Pandorans as bandits, hicks, or some terrible combination of both. We're not all crazy."

Judy Hann didn't bother contesting her patient on this point. To be honest, she _did_ have preconceived notions of what Pandorans were like, and in her defense a good number of them were exactly as Moxxi had just said. However, the rough often concealed Corusca gems, and it appeared one of them sat in her office, awaiting polishing and cutting.

"I thought I heard something, so I grabbed Rubi and headed for the stairs. What I saw next shocked me. And explained the open closet in my room, which I hadn't even noticed. Though she knew very little about mixing beverages, she was quite a natural at other things. I found Jackie doing a very seductive, extremely risqué table dance, and handing beers between the bartenders and patrons."

"That's quite the change, again with no indicators?"

"Dr. Hann, if I had seen even half of this coming, I think things would have turned out a lot differently. Over the next few months, business just about tripled. All because of her. I admit—I was jealous because men paid her more attention than me. Yes, I realize that's disgusting given her age at the time—but I never forced her to do any of it. At some point, Jackie got it through her head that she was too good for 'this dump' and wanted to get loans from her 'new friends' to spruce the place up. I should have seen it then, but I never really paid it much mind. Her 'friends' were actually members of the Jakobs family who realized who, and by extension what, she was. They were collecting one of their own—and if by doing so money could be made, all the better."

"What about that pistol she had?" inquired Hann. "It's very unique."

"From what memories I have of it, when I first saw the thing it looked like crap. Hadn't been taken very good care of, the metal had lost its sheen, and the writing on its barrel covered in grime. I had no idea what make or model it was, and frankly, it didn't interest me. I'm not a weaponsmith."

"I just wanted to make sure…"

"Make sure I missed a sign that you think you would have seen from ten klicks out? I do believe these sessions are helping me, but your attitude definitely isn't."

Mentally, Dr. Hann recoiled. Again, called out, and again, her lack of knowledge of Pandoran culture hindered her ability to connect with her patient.

"Anyway, the day she walked out, she shoved her gun in my face. I didn't realize it was the same gun because it had been shined up, repaired, and upgraded. New barrel, refinished stock. Even a sight! She said she was taking over, or taking me out. At that point, I was as much a fighter as Maya or Axton is now, so I told her to bring it on—we'd settle this in a duel and the winner would keep the bar. The New-U system was in its infancy then but it generally revived people without any extra fingers, toes, or breasts."

"So you decided to have it out? What was the result?"

For the first time, Moxxi let loose with a giggle. "When I told her I'd take her on, she kind of pulled back. Muttered something about 'her friends' and left. I never saw her after that. And she never did give me my dress back."

_Not the story we got from Jackie at all. No chasing, no threats, no inciting the whole bar to send her packing with nothing but her pistol._

"Never saw her until the past week."

"Correct."

"And you recognized her when you took her upstairs after her fight with that Mallory woman?"

"Of course I did, sugar. Even if… Even if your…" Moxxi choked up. Jackie might not have been a product of her innumerable sexual trysts, but in a way found only on Pandora, she felt as though Jackie were even more of her child than the ones she'd actually contributed to genetically. From scared little girl to confident woman who knew how to use what she had to make a life for herself on one of the crappiest planets in the six galaxies, you just had to admire that. Parent or not.

"Would you like to stop for today?" Hann guessed Moxxi might be at the end of her rope.

"Even if your _own child_ walks out on you, you never forget them." She'd practically forced two words, the two that Hann suspected tripped her up before. A small sob followed.

"And you _always_ help them if they come back" she finished, with more determination than her therapist expected.

In a reverse, Dr. Hann found herself ending the session. She handed Moxxi a handkerchief as she left the office, embroidered with the ten-point star of the Trans-Galactic Republic.

[…]

"Yet again, out of bed, engaging in unacceptable behavior, followed by resisting medical staff when you were found" intoned MD-7.

"Meeem meeem muuuum mooo" mocked Jackie, "talking" with her hand.

"Your self-image and relationship with sexual activity will not improve if you keep acting in the same way you did when you entered this facility" insisted the droid.

"A woman can't have a little fun? Sometimes, you just gotta get it out!"

Finely-tuned audio receptors detected a noticeable change in the implacable patient's tone. The possibility of an opening to affect change was calculated to be high enough where further exploration of the subject might yield results.

"Please explain how you feel if you cannot engage in masturbation, which is currently a restriction within your treatment plan."

MD-7 could not recall another memory of Jackie Jakobs engaging in giggling. Such sounds generally indicated a state of relaxation and openness among humans.

"Seriously, you droids are missing out" she said brightly. "I don't think anyone ever bothered to program a droid to have fun." She started to reach down her jumpsuit.

"Unacceptable behavior. Desist or you will be restrained."

"Hee hee!" Jackie put her hands back on the arm rests of her chair. "I just wanted to see what you'd do."

"Earlier in this conversation, you used the word 'fun.' What does that mean to you?"

"Let's see." Jackie tipped her head and placed two fingers on her chin. "Killing things. Definitely killing things. Doesn't matter if it's robots, people, or animals. And sex. I _love_ sex. Doesn't matter whether it's just me, or me and a guy, or me and a girl, or me and several guys… As long as I'm in charge! And with these" (she pointed at herself) "I usually am."

MD-7 made note of the changes in pitch and apparent excitement in Jackie's voice. The patient seemed to have an obsession with sex, despite, or perhaps in a twisted way, because of her past.

Leaks to the ECHONet obtained by Dr. Judy Hann gave some insight on what, exactly, her disturbed patient got out of sexual encounters. That was one part of dealing with messed-up people that Hann disliked—having to dig this deep into the darkest corners of someone's existence required immense strength of will both to keep going and to avoid judging these people as their demons came out of the ether.

"Ugh" she spat, as she closed yet another video before retiring.

[…]

Despite the noble intentions of "First Flight," much of its success hinged on avoiding information getting to places it wasn't supposed to be prior to its official release date. With the extranet (and ECHONet in Gamma-Three) containing information became an exercise in nailing smoke to the wall.

The first seepage surrounded humanity's spot on the Council. Really, it was inevitable as the Systems Alliance Parliament could only hold so many varren-and-hamster hearings before the public tired of it. Some tuned it all out, but a dedicated cadre of politics junkies refused to be dissuaded from speculation and demands to know who would eventually succeed the assassinated Udina as Councilor.

Grayson's name kept popping up, alongside an un-retirement by Admiral David Anderson. Other notable names included Admiral Steven Hackett, Phil Fury ("hell no!"), several members of the Parliament, and even (from more extreme factions) the Illusive Man. His association with women of extraordinary power was not yet public knowledge.

Eventually, Admiral Grayson was unveiled as Councilor Grayson. This split the political class down the middle ("Good, someone who can keep the rest of the Council in line" and "He's not even from these parts—sellout!"), but most citizens couldn't have cared less. Their gratitude for his timely arrival which helped blunt the Reaper attack outweighed concerns he'd not protect their interests. Besides, he'd shown a desire to advance the Systems Alliance through huge technological transfers that led to the rise of the United Defense Command. Clearly, the UDC was a mistake (and its last vestiges were crumbling away, unable to withstand the retreat of the tides of war), but many technological developments created under its visage ended up having more positive effects than negative. Further, the implicit guarantee that humanity would thrive due to the Trans-Galactic Republic's human-majority representation kept a lot of people quiet.

Trans-Galactic Republic command transferred to Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz, which actually generated more uncertainty than Grayson's ascension. "She's an unknown quantity" asserted Emily Wong. "While she's shown a remarkable degree of openness, her desire to spread technology clearly arose from orders, not any desire to make this galaxy a better place. We don't know how much effort she'll put into ensuring another wave of advancement among things doesn't create a backlash from people not ready."

The general view of Grayson revolved around a genuinely selfless, kind-hearted desire to help the citizens of the Citadel that also happened to make a bit of a mess. Though people distrusted him _during_ the war, especially when it came to who-got-what, time and hindsight upgraded his status significantly. Most doubts were pushed aside. Even the notoriously combative Diana Allers asked her viewers to "give the guy a chance. He did save our collective behinds."

CRITICAL thought they'd managed to get the necessary fingers-in-the-metaphorical-holes only for the STG to blow wide open changes in the status of the krogan. Compared to arguments over Admirals making competent Councilors, the debate level escalated several orders of magnitude. A furious Dalatrass Linron tried to pull the Salarian Union out of CRITICAL, only to find an inscrutable change in operations at the Special Tasks Group made such a withdrawal legally impossible. Enraged, she tried to dig to the bottom, only to be stonewalled by a refusal of other dalatrasses to cross the enigmatic STG.

"Have no idea what you are talking about" replied Mordin Solis when questioned on whether he had spoken with his old contacts within STG on any of these issues. "Genophage cure seemingly dropped from sky. Unaware of any specific involvement by STG operatives. Would be classified anyway."

Samantha Shepard smirked. Good old Mordin—figuring out ways to stick it into the grating dalatrass's eye at every turn without actually revealing anything. Despite her annoyance over being revived _again_, Shepard had a feeling the galaxy wasn't done with her yet.

"You know, Shepard, I'm glad we never ended up shooting each other on Virmire" said Wrex, slapping her on the back. Unlike Dr. Solis, her cybernetics better enabled her to take the energetic krogan's adopting of a human custom without having the air crushed out of her. "Or having my homeworld bombed. Not that it could look any worse than it already does. Hah!"

"I'll make sure to keep Urdnot in line. Can't speak for the other clans, but a surprising number of their chiefs seem to have decided it's better to be untraditional than dead. Of course, there's still the matter of establishing where exactly we can live…"

"Oh goody goody" huffed Shepard. "Yay. More diplomatic issues I can solve by yelling at the parties responsible."

"Would you rather I eat them?" asked Wrex.

"Uhh, no. I think we're at krogan-snacking capacity."

"You're no fun at all."

[…]

Chafing at yet another call to "perform," Maya wished she could find a way out. Ever since the attack on the Warrior's Crypt landed face-first, she'd been an "exotic dancer" at the Awesome Family Entertainment Center in Opportunity.

"Maya….where's my pretty Siren?" taunted Handsome Jack. "They're getting bored out here! Think it has something to do with Lilith's hair."

"I'm coming" she groaned.

"Now, we can't have that kind of attitude in front of the Daddy's Club, can we?" Always chipper and upbeat, even when sentencing people to die by "fighting" his Warrior, or throwing people into a lava pit because he could.

Salvador overheard Maya's plight, but knew better than to say anything. As long as he wore the ridiculous hat-thing that turned him into a walking drink holder, he'd collect his meager paycheck and avoid being thrown into whatever gruesome "entertainment" Jack designed next. Rumor had it that a massive thresher had been found somewhere near Thousand Cuts—vast amounts of material and men were being shipped there. Obviously, the megalomaniac dictator of Pandora was working on something.

Jack's mood had soured lately. Likely this stemmed from Moxxi finding a way to hang herself from the balcony of his gigantic Jack-U-Lation Palace where everyone could see. Despite the body being removed and burned immediately, shaky video of the woman's last act had been uploaded to the ECHONet. Even with the iron fist of Jack, it was virtually impossible to control anything once it hit the ECHONet, so the President of Hyperion contented himself with using iplookup, a semi-accurate tool for determining geolocation from computer addressing.

"Close enough" he laughed as he shot a five-year-old kid through the head for allegedly downloading the video.

Axton had been executed by forcing him to fight wave after wave of bandits in Fink's Slaughterhouse. Unsurprisingly, Zer0 couldn't be found by anyone. The fate of the seventeen-year-old girl Gaige was too terrible to imagine.

Maya regretted gunning down the oddly-semi-sane psycho at one of Pandora's train stations, but hey, if someone's pointing a gun at you and babbling nonsense on Pandora, the options don't exactly fill books. She readied herself for more humiliation as she stepped toward the stage.

"C'mon now—they're waiting for a blue-haired bombsh—"

FZZT!

"Intruder alert, deck three!"

Sirens blared throughout RNS _Veritas_. A strange energy signature appeared briefly, then dissipated somewhere in the vicinity of deck three. Worryingly close to the bridge. Immediately following, a new life-sign had been detected.

"We don't know what we're dealing with" said the fireteam leader. "Nevertheless, do not fire unless fired upon. Callouts at every junction—let's give whatever or whoever it is a chance to show themselves peacefully."

"Attention unknown lifeform: You have boarded a military vessel belonging to the Trans-Galactic Republic. Please show yourself as you have entered a restricted area. Failure to comply could bring unpleasant results."

_Who the hell is the Trans-Galactic Republic? Is this a spaceship? There are never any ships in orbit around Pandora…_

Maya decided to take a risk. If this was real, it was a hell of a lot better than being a go-go dancer/stripper.

"Hello? I have no idea how I got here. My name is Maya, and…"

"Wait, what?" A trooper rounded the corner and pointed his rifle at the stunned woman.

"Lead, am I seeing double?"

"Negative, Specialist. I see it too."

"I am not an 'it'" shouted Maya peevishly. She got enough "objectification" treatment from Jack—she didn't need it from these people and would rather die than be pressed into a similar arrangement.

"Miss? Are you cold? We can take you to Medical straight away."

Maya was shivering in her skimpy outfit.

Losing balance, she fell. Two men caught her. She half expected them to start groping her the way Jack did—instead, they support the weakened Siren and half carried, half dragged her to a turbolift. The next thing she knew, she lay on the floor, removed from her carriers' grip somehow.

Moxxi debated going to see Jackie again. From what she'd heard (patient privacy officially prevented Dr. Hann from sharing information, but that didn't mean scuttlebutt never happened from other sources), Jackie had started to turn around just the slightest bit. She might need some encouragement. Remembering her own words and cursing her proclivity toward compassion, she turned to head off to the psych ward when she ran smack into a pair of marines dragging a woman clad in very little—only a bikini and bottoms.

She knocked the woman out of the marines' grip.

"Oh, I'm sorry—I wasn't paying…"

Both women had a similar reaction, after which they attempted to talk over each other.

"You're dead…"

"…what happened…"

"Jack doesn't know…"

"…dressed like that?"

The marines picked up on the idea something was off. "Try that again, ladies!"

"But you're dead!" spluttered Maya. "You hanged yourself from the front of that disgusting palace Jack built for himself…"

"What palace? If you're talking about Handsome Jack, which I presume you are, Lilith vaporized his sorry ass."

"Hate to break it to you" spat the Siren, "but I didn't dress myself this way. I'm his…_dancer_…and his _toy_… He's definitely alive."

"You look like someone I know" replied Moxxi, "except last I checked she was in another galaxy!"

"What other galaxy?" This 'Maya' was clearly weakening physically, probably malnourished, and fading mentally.

"She isn't going to stay conscious much longer" remarked one of the marines. "We should get her the rest of the way to medical."

"Right…go right ahead…"

Life was confusing. And annoying—as she'd been pulled away from Torgue and the Badass Arena of Badassitude. But sometimes, doing the right thing meant giving up fun until issues were resolved.

"I'll see Jackie later. I think my brain just bent in on itself."


	20. All the Old Familiar Faces

A/N: Bonus chapter! Extra writing over the long weekend!

**Chapter 19 – All the Old Familiar Faces**

"This is officially the most confusing thing that has happened since the Trans-Galactic Republic popped out of nowhere and saved us from the Reapers" remarked Admiral Hackett. Summoned to Arcturus Station to marvel at the apparent contradiction of a second _Normandy SR-2_ and a living version of a person thought dead on Virmire, he hadn't the faintest idea how this might have transpired.

"What were you doing before this?" asked the Admiral.

"We were fleeing the Collectors" replied a shaken Kaidan. "Shepard's assault on the base went bad. She and the _Normandy_ fled back through the Omega-4 relay. She's lost most of her team… Do you know if she'll live?"

He'd had harsh words for his former CO at Horizon, but seeing her bloodied, beaten, and defeated after trying to take down a terrible threat against the human race caused him to jump back in with both feet. Especially after he found out the likely Cerberus "handler," a woman named Miranda Lawson, was crushed to death in the flight from the base. Along with Jacob Taylor, Mordin Solis, Samara, Jack, and Grunt. Garrus, he found out, had died on Omega, overwhelmed by angry mercs.

She'd taken a small team, rushed in after her crew had been kidnapped by the Collectors before she'd finished recruiting all the exceptional individuals noted by the Illusive Man. They were good, but they weren't enough, resulting in many paying the price. Except, he'd just seen Mordin Solis walking around, commenting on Samantha Shepard's recovery from yet another brush with death. None of this made sense!

"The doctors say the prognosis is grim, but with help from our extra-galactic allies, we think she'll make it. This is going to be a bit tense."

Awake! Pain! Light! PAIN!

Those were the first thoughts that coursed through Samantha Shepard's brain as she came to in some kind of liquid. She tried to move, but her mouth had a sort of breathing apparatus in it. Which was probably a good thing since humans need air. She flailed around until a mechanical-sounding voice filled her head.

"Please desist from excessive movements. Your convalescence will complete more quickly if you remain still within the bacta tank."

_What's bacta? Where am I?_

Outside the tank, two physicians conversed rapidly.

"That's not supposed to happen" hissed the first. "Unless you think her leg is supposed to have black fibers sticking out of it!"

"I'm telling you, it's not the bacta!" retorted the second. "I mean, it is the bacta, but it's because she has some kind of implants and a ton of healing to do, so her body's trying to remove the implants!"

"If we take her out now we could kill her! The bacta's the only thing keeping her alive!"

"And if we don't take her out, having those implants rejected naturally will definitely kill her! There's too much damage—her body's natural healing is in overdrive and dumping out all the hardware! We need to operate!"

Shepard drifted in and out of consciousness. A heavy sedative had been administered through her breather mask and continued to be pumped intravenously once she cleared the bacta tank and lay on an operating table. Because she still contained some Cerberus hardware, though, the anesthetic wasn't keeping her down as it should have. Greater and greater doses had to be pumped in until the lead surgeon flatly refused to raise the injection quantity "because she might not wake up again."

"I got here as quickly as I could" panted Samantha Shepard. She'd been discharged from Huerta some time before, spending some time catching up with Thane Krios and his son Kolyat on the Citadel. Where Commander Bailey had gone she had no idea—for once in her life even Spectre authority wasn't enough to get information. Just a constant stonewall of "official business." She'd wanted chat with the tough old copper about all the insane goings-on recently, but found herself unable to do so.

"What's happened? Which one of my crew am I going to find in the…"

A datapad was thrust into her hands.

"Nice try Dr. Chakwas!" she hollered. "It's not even April!"

The look on her face suggested either she wouldn't take a prank very well, or, in the case that another Commander Samantha Shepard actually did exist, she'd just take it in the same resigned, weary manner she'd applied to everything since her second "resurrection."

"Mordin! Maybe you know more about this absurdity than I do, and can explain it to me!"

"Not technically violation of rules to see self naked."

She looked through the glass into the surgical suite. Normally, no patients were allowed into the operating control room since it offered a complete view of everything going on in all three trauma suites, but for Shepard an exception was made.

"You know what, if I were anyone else, I'd probably faint, curse whatever deities I worship, or run away screaming. But given all I've been through, seeing myself on an operating table while also standing outside looking at that operating table is probably one of the less shocking things to happen to me recently." She might well have been reading the morning's varren racing scores for the casual nature of her speech.

"Not privy to entire situation. Hackett will brief you. This way."

Ushered into a secure room, Shepard found herself seated across from the Admiral whose voice sent her on many missions into uncharted territories during the time of her first command, the _Normandy SR-1_.

"Sir!" She saluted.

"You're wearing street clothes, Shepard. At ease!"

"If you could tell me more about why there's a copy of me on that operating table, it would really help my mental well-being."

Some soldiers, he observed, would just keep taking whatever you threw at them without complaint or indication they were under any form of stress. A few would snap, some in spectacular ways. Others, like Shepard, would just keep going. And going. And going. That she'd been worn down enough to let fatigue show in her voice meant she hovered within millimeters of the bottom of the metaphorical barrel.

"If you're worried it's a loose Cerberus copy-of-a-copy, you can put those worries to bed. No Cerberus operative has access to Spectre codes, or Alliance top-level codes, for that matter. She has both. She and her ship, a near-perfect duplicate of the _Normandy_, appeared at the Arcturus Relay a couple hours ago. They came through claiming pursuit by the Collectors. And that's not all. This will come as another shock to you, but you've demonstrated a remarkable ability to handle the unpredictable."

A third person entered the room.

"Commander. This is awkward…"

"Ordinarily, I'd accuse someone of pulling a prank on me, chew them out for being an insensitive bastard, and give the impersonator a gigantic kick where the sun doesn't shine. But given all that's happened in the past twenty minutes, I'm more inclined to believe you're actually the, or a, real Kaidan Alenko rather than some kind of twisted joke."

"'A' Kaidan Alenko? That stings!"

"I never did tell you…" She sat down in one of the hard, interrogation-style chairs. "Before Virmire…"

"So Ashley's alive?"

"Yes. I asked you to set up the bomb to take out Saren's krogan cloning facility. You died a hero, and the Kaidan Alenko Memorial Fund was set up to help biotic kids through the Ascension Project. There's even a banquet hall bearing your name."

"We, uh, kinda trashed it…heh heh."

She laughed.

"Well, as long as you had fun and no one died, I don't think there will be any problems" replied Kaidan.

"I hate to sound like that girl, but this is starting to look like those 'Persephone's Predators' omnivids…" She awaited Kaidan's reaction. People either loved those or hated them. And reactions either way were visceral.

"No comment, Commander."

"Thought so."

The door to the briefing room opened again.

"All I wanted was to learn more about Sirens. But nooooooooooooo! Instead, I get hurled to a different galaxy, face off with a bunch of mechanical demons who want to eat our souls, survive a military junta, and now I'm told the weirdness is only going to continue. Well then."

"That was quite a mouthful, Maya, what brings you here?"

"Do I look like I know? If I had any clue what was going on, I'd probably not be shoved in this room with you guys! And you are…"

"Kaidan Alenko, Alliance Military. It's…complicated."

_That's putting it mildly_ thought his very-confused former CO.

"Maya, it's good to meet you in person. Admiral Steven Hackett." The grizzled man stood and offered his hand, which she shook awkwardly. "Your case is yet more disturbing news on top of the two Shepards, and two _Normandy_s. We have confirmed reports from the Trans-Galactic Republic fleet at Pandora that a woman very similar to yourself has been found aboard one of their ships. Something's not right."

"Who else is going to get copied today?" Samantha threw up her hands.

"That's the thing" replied Hackett. "We're not sure they're exact copies. The encryption keys carried by the second _Normandy_ and, well, the second you authenticate properly, but they're not a precise match for the ones we have. We know no one compromised our codes, and the appearance of physically-identical duplicates has some of our scientists convinced that we're witnessing some kind of interaction with other universes."

"They say every choice you make creates another reality" added Kaidan. He'd never been good at humor or making pithy observations.

Shepard picked up on it anyway. "Yeah, like I was saying about the omnitool vids… This is getting creepy."

[...]

"So you were walking out to a stage where you were going to, um, perform" said the physician, a relatively newly-minted doctor by the name of Jake Sorensen.

"Yes" replied the glum, sad-looking woman. She'd gratefully changed from her very swimsuit-like outfit to a hospital gown before being fed and permitted to sleep. Blue hair, who had blue hair? He'd been ordered to do a full evaluation of this Maya after she woke, on the grounds that it was "necessary for galactic security." Which of course meant no one told him exactly why—namely, that it was desired to find out exactly how much of a copy of the _existing_ Maya she was.

_Since when are routine physical exams a matter of galactic security?_

"And then you were suddenly aboard this ship" he continued.

"Yes. Honestly, I don't care where I end up, as long as I'm free of _him_" she spat.

"Who is he?" asked the doctor as genially as he could.

"Jack" she replied. The venom in her voice could have probably melted through the heavy armor of _Veritas_.

"Handsome Jack? The deceased President of Hyperion?" What was she talking about? Or more accurately, who?

"He can't be dead. He's down there on Pandora right now. He's probably crying because his favorite toy is missing…"

She allowed herself a small smile from this.

"You say you were Opportunity City?"

"Yes." She didn't understand why this doctor was asking so many stupid questions. Sure, she'd somehow teleported from the surface all the way to what appeared to be an orbiting starship, but that didn't mean she could just walk away. Especially since she didn't know if this "Trans-Galactic Republic" was friendly or another Hyperion front.

"Can you show me on this map exactly where you were held prisoner?"

She tapped a place on the overhead view—though, she had to admit the city's layout appeared different. The top of the Awesome Family Entertainment Center definitely had a giant picture of Jack on it, and no such image was visible through what he claimed was a live satellite feed. Zooming in, it became clear to her that the only structures at this location were an office building and a faux-park.

Weary and exhausted, Maya turned back to her "doctor."

"This is a nice trick and all—if I've done anything to offend Handsome Jack tell him I apologize and will accept any punishments he deems necessary. I'm sure you got in on the cut, so whatever he promised you could do to me, might as well get it over with."

She pulled his hand halfheartedly toward her chest.

Dr. Sorensen jerked his hand away. "What are you doing?"

"What I expect to be used for…"

"Maya, listen to me. Whatever happened to you before, that's not how we operate here. We aren't in league with a dead man, or a live man if he's somewhere else. If we find him, we will arrest him, try him for crimes including whatever he's done to you, and make sure the only people calling him 'handsome' will be his cell-mates aboard a prison ship."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

A half-hour later, Maya, Dr. Sorensen, and an accompanying craft flew down from RNS _Veritas_ aboard _Fireant_ blastboat Liberty One. Liberty Two through Six ran escort.

"Why are we flying to a dead city?" asked Three.

"I have no idea" came Six. "Something about galactic politics."

"Seriously?" chimed in Two. "We're being flown around because of some political hack?"

"Cut the chatter and keep it professional" snapped Liberty One. "We fly in, wait while the Index Patient conducts her business, then return to _Veritas_."

"What's with all the Index Patients?" More snark from Two.

"Above our paygrade, Two. Just stay in formation, keep tight, and do your job!"

Liberty One touched down with some difficulty as a statue of Jack occupied the place where the ship needed to land. Several blasts from the gunboat's three pairs of light turbolasers turned the statue to a melted puddle. Maya grinned and pumped her fist in excitement upon seeing this.

As the Index Patient, her doctor, and their marine escort disembarked, Dr. Sorensen gestured to the plain-looking office building.

"See? Whatever you were held captive in—it isn't here."

"I want to see" she hissed. The distressed woman ran over to the front door and began trying to open it, alternating between tugging and pushing.

Sorensen touched his ear. "Okay then."

He retrieved Maya. "Stand back."

A whooshing sound followed by a high-pitched whine assaulted the ground party's ears. Liberty One rotated to face the building, hovering on repulsorlifts. Powerful cannons drew in energy from the ship's reactor.

TA-REEET! TA-REEET! TA-REEET! TA-REEET!

Liberty One's weapons chewed into the front façade of the building. A few desks, some computers, a bit of paper (shockingly)… No stage. No Jack. No jeering crowd. Clearly not designed to resist high-powered weapons fire either.

"Whatever you're afraid of, it doesn't exist on Pandora."

As a doctor, he didn't want to suggest the existence of alternate dimensions, divergent timelines, or other such twists usually found as a plot device in HoloNet videos. Maya did it for him.

"I wonder" she said, suddenly chipper, "if the Pandora I left and this Pandora aren't the same planet. Or the same galaxy."

"The likelihood of nearly identical planets with nearly identical corporations and…"

"What about other universes or planes of existence? Before I was forced to become…a…a _stripper_, I used to read about interspatial harmonics theory. According to it, multiple universes might exist depending on the choices we made, among other factors."

"Maya, even if that stuff's true, I'm a doctor, not a theoretical physicist" replied Jake Sorensen kindly. "It's an interesting theory, but you'll have to run it past people who actually stayed awake in non-biology science classes."

A vicious grin suddenly lit the formerly-downtrodden woman's features.

"Does…does this city have to exist?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Sorensen didn't get it, but one of the marines did.

"I think she wants to have some fun burning this place down" he said. "It's not like this cookie-cutter faux paradise was designed to withstand, oh, a couple heavy rockets or being raked by light turbolaser fire…"

Maya held the controls of Liberty One. "Fitting name" she said, "considering that it will be the instrument of my freedom from slavery and oppression."

She squeezed the triggers. Genuine happiness flooded into her for the first time in years. With the audio emulators off and the ship's sound-proofing, the turbolasers were a mild whine at best. Disappointment crossed her face as she expected to hear more of her vengeance exacted upon the hated city.

"Let's turn that shit up!" came the excited voice of a marine, the same one who figured out what she'd wanted to do. He adjusted a few controls.

TA-REEET! TA-REEET! TA-REEET!

Audio emulation filled the cabin. Since it had no targeting lock, the computer couldn't determine when a target had been suitably destroyed such that it could play back an appropriate explosion. She didn't care.

With almost childlike glee, Maya raked the blastboat's weapons back and forth until they stopped firing.

"Oh…" Her voice shrank.

"You need to set the weapons to recharge!" laughed the marine. "We were just flying down here on a simple stop-and-show mission, so the weapons weren't set to recover their energy after use. There you go—watch the red bars. They're like ammo in a gun, except the ship regenerates 'bullets' on its own."

"What's this do?" She toggled a small switch near the glowing weapon indicators.

BEEP.

[ Ion cannons armed ]

TSEEEER. TSEEEER.

Blue static played over the surfaces of buildings, but no fires and no melting. No collapsing.

"Even a doctor knows that ion cannons only disable electronics" called out Sorensen. "You have to use lasers or missiles to blow things up!"

The ecstatic woman flipped the switch again.

BEEP.

[ Heavy rocket launchers armed ]

Not knowing what other weapon systems the imposing vessel possessed, she nearly flipped the ship onto its side recoiling from both simulated and actual rocket noise.

PAHTOOM. PAHTOOM.

BOOMBOOMBOOMBAHBOOM.

"I think she likes it" shouted another marine.

PAHTOOM. Maya fired, and fired, and fired until all ten rockets found a home in the increasingly destroyed cityscape.

There wasn't much left to blow up in the immediate area. Recalling the books she'd read about piloting, she tried the controls. The blastboat rose up further, and she took it forward, strafing intact areas of Opportunity City.

"Yes, you have opportunity" she whispered. "An opportunity to burn for what I've been through!"

Over the next half-hour, the elated woman flattened what was once a Hyperion megaproject into charred ruins.

"Are you done?" asked an amused Sorensen.

"She's used up all our rockets, half our missiles, and ten percent of our Tibanna gas" remarked the pilot, who'd taken her chair back.

"That was the best feeling I've had in a long time" breathed Maya. "We can go back to the command ship now."

[…]

Harry Wrozniski, Bella Trixon, and Cody Weston prepped their ships to jump through hyperspace toward an apparent "hot spot" within Gamma-Six. Utilizing regenerative hypermatter reactors aboard prototype _Curator _ Mark IIIs, they would be able to travel 5% faster and had endurance ratings normally only found on Star Dreadnaughts of eras long past—two decades of combat (power-wise).

"Spin up drives, engineering" ordered Captain Wrozniski. This would be the drives' first field test at full power—previous runs had been at "normal output."

All three ships lurched forward, but there was no smooth transition to hyperspace. Instead, each vessel's crew felt as though a "bump" had punched their ship in the gut. As drives spun down, engineering staffs on the trio of ships raced about trying to figure out what happened.

"Main power is offline, shields are holding" reported engineering aboard _Righteous Victory_. _Unyielding Defender_ had it the worst—a portion of the starboard flank was actually chewed off, as if a giant knife sliced from front to back, cutting the corner off the massive cruiser. _Hammerforce_ took no apparent damage, and was the first to pick up on a distress call.

"This is the Systems Alliance colony of Shanxi. We are under attack by unknown alien forces. Requesting assistance. Repeat, requesting assistance. This message will automatically repeat every minute."

Confusion reigned, so Captain Wrozniski tried to contact the colony. A split second later, he realized he recognized its name from a history lesson the Trans-Galactic Republic had given to their officers before the Great Opportunities Fleet departed. A bit of a nerd when it came to events long past (he even managed to purchase a working lightstaff), the Captain realized something was very very out of place.

The battle at Shanxi was a key event which brought the humans of Gamma-Six into the wider galactic community. Humans had not yet encountered sapient non-human life, and were busy opening every mass relay they could find. Ignorant of laws prohibiting doing exactly that, humanity struck back when the turians attempted to enforce a law the humans couldn't have known about. Throw in cross-cultural confusion, language barriers, and incompatible tech—one giant clusterfuck.

"I think we've traveled through time. Use the star map, extrapolate past and future."

"Sir, cartography reports an 85% chance we are now in the past, somewhere. Things aren't exactly where the formulas predict they'd be, but it's all within the margin of error for the most part."

The Captain knew he had a chance to stop the war and avert distrust between human and turian. "XO, fire up the universal translator and broadcast on all frequencies…"

"Do we really have time for that?" yelled Operations. "We're being shot at!"

"By who?" demanded the Captain.

"The turians, sir, they're shooting at us."

"_Get that god-damn translator online!_ And get me the turians!"

Harry suspected this probably wouldn't work. It was difficult enough for the citizens of the Citadel civilizations to accept the Trans-Galactic Republic the first time, and as far as he could tell, in this universe, he'd have to play out that entire sequence again without Grayson's diplomatic skills (or neigh-invincible Star Dreadnaught).

"Sir, the turians have received our message, but all we're getting back is gibberish! It's like the language is mutated or something!"

"Figures. Let the computer work on it. Return fire only to protect our damaged compatriots aboard _Victory_ and _Defender_. Otherwise, do not provoke."

He needn't have bothered. Even in their damaged states, the Trans-Galactic Republic's battleships were more than a match for the current turian fleet. Which was, after all, almost thirty years less advanced than the turians from his own…galaxy? Time? Universe?

No communication was possible between the turians and the Trans-Galactic Republic's forces, though those forces were able to raise the colony. Why human language remained constant across universes while others shifted was a headache-inducer Captain Wrozniski would rather not contemplate. So he didn't.

"Thank the heavens you got here! What are you, Alliance? They've really been holding out on us if they're building ships like that…"

"It's an extremely long story. We will finish dissuading the turians, and then we will tell you what we think is going on…"

[…]

MORE EXPLOSIONS. THIS PLEASES ME.

With the departure of Jackie Jakobs ("Good riddance" said Mallory Maliwan) and zer0, the Badass Arena of Badassitude became somewhat tamer. Without Moxxi slinging drinks, the popularity of the Big Guns Rack also took a nosedive.

Torgue threw in additional explosive elements, until the maintenance crews started complaining about having to do extra shore-up work around the arena's base. He cut their rations in half for a week. The complaining stopped, but he also cut back on the ground-shaking.

"I'll be right with you" called out Marcus to whoever just walked into his shop. He spent time at his many shops across Pandora, but tended to have the most presence at the heavily trafficked ones. Vault Hunters, bandits, and civilians were always in need of a new gun. More often than not, fixing a weapon on Pandora ended up costing more than the weapon was worth, so even the savviest of gunsmiths tended to buy new ones. Marcus strongly denied his repair prices had anything to do with this.

"If you're going to try to charge me twice what this Maliwan is worth to clean up and reline the promethium chamber, I think I'll have to take my business elsewhere."

"Wait, what? You're dead!" Marcus looked at the newcomer several times. It was Roland all right. Except he'd lost an eye which had been replaced with a prosthetic. And his clothing took on a greenish hue instead of the blue fatigues he'd been fond of when Marcus last saw him.

"Definitely alive over here" replied the soldier. "Now, are you going to fix this gun for me, or are you going to make sarcastic comments?"

"I, uhh…"

"Maybe you can also explain where Sanctum is." Roland's voice took on a harder tone. "I step into the bathroom to, you know, number two, and I fell in. Except, I landed on my ass outside this building. I guess that beats landing in the bottom of an outhouse, though."

"What's Sanctum?"

"Don't play dumb with me, arms dealer. I've tolerated your presence in Sanctum because you've been rather generous with your discounts for the Sanctum Sirens and their squads, but I'm not going to play games while you pretend the city your weapons both protect and shoot at doesn't exist."

"I seriously have no idea what in the six galaxies you're talking about!" protested Marcus. Wrong move. Roland reached over the desk and took the corpulent weaponsmith into a chokehold, dragging him back onto the floor. "Do I seem in a gaming mood?"

"No, no, please…"

"Outside. NOW." The soldier frog-marched the merchant in front of him.

"Why is that space station still in orbit?" He pointed at Hyperion's gigantic H-shaped megastructure. "We took it down with rockets you sold us. When did Hyperion rebuild it?"

"I'm not even going to ask" came another voice. "Ever since I heard about the two Mayas, I've decided every crazy thing I see probably has an explanation. Including how I stepped out of a gun store on the Citadel and ended up here."

"Axton! Would you please tell this crazy man…" Roland didn't let Marcus finish. A swift kick sent him sprawling onto his face in the dirt.

"It's good to see someone who isn't obsessed with money." Roland offered his hand, but Axton didn't take it.

"You're…"

"…dead? That's what Mr. Guns here says. Maybe you're a little better versed in what's going on."

Axton took on a look of confusion. "Where did you come from?"

"Well, based on what you just said, it sounds like I'm not the only one who thinks they're going one place and ends up in another. I was using the bathroom, and I fell in. Yes, disgusting. But I ended up landing on my rear end, just over there. You can see the, uhh, butt-print."

"And you don't have shit on you" replied Axton matter-of-factly. "So, basically, you teleported. Like the New-U system does when someone dies."

"Exactly. Except, I don't think taking a dump is a deadly activity. Unless Zed really messed me up…"

Roland took a deep breath. "Let me start at the beginning. Or, maybe, it would make more sense if I called up Angel. Let's see…"

"Angel's dead" interrupted Axton. "Her own father killed her."

"What? We prevented that! We saved Angel! And Lilith! Jack never got the Vault Key! We did! The Warrior lives under Sanctum…"

As Axton took on an increasingly weird look, Roland's voice trailed off.

Finally, he spoke up again. "You're looking at me like you've seen Jack back from the dead." Realizing how strange things had gotten in the past twenty minutes, he added hastily, "Please tell me there's no zombie Handsome Jack here."

"Nope! Definitely not! Lilith got the bastard after we killed the Warrior." Axton's voice rose a bit on the last part. "It was a great fight!"

Roland hadn't become the leader of Sanctum and the Crimson Raiders for no reason. Quick to latch onto solutions, even implausible ones, he rapidly decided to make the most logical guess—even though it seemed crazy.

"You teleported from a place called the Citadel…where is that?"

"Dude, the Citadel is hundreds of thousands of light years away from Pandora. It's in a whole other galaxy!" Axton spread his hands apart to indicate exactly how far Pandora was from where he'd just been.

"This Marcus" (who moaned at a mention of his name) "has no idea why that space station is still here. Further, neither he nor you know about Sanctum, which would be very visible from this place. Him, I figured was bluffing or playing games—but you, you're an honest soldier. You'd never do that to another man who wore the uniform. I'm going to hypothesize I somehow ended up in an alternate reality where key events turned out differently."

"Sounds about right" replied Axton. "We've got two Mayas. Is yours missing?"

"I just saw her about to head out on patrol before I ended up here, so I'd guess not."

"You say in your…uhh…time…you _saved_ Angel. How'd you manage that? She was pumped full of Eridium and addicted to it."

"Let's find someplace more comfortable to talk than standing out here in the sun."

Leaving Marcus behind, the two headed toward the Big Guns Rack. Even without Moxxi, there was always business—just less of it.

"Two Rakkinishus on the rocks, please!" said Axton to the bartender.

After taking swigs of their drinks, the men swapped tales.

"So we got to Control Core Angel, right? Some quick thinking by Lilith and Maya blasted the pipes leading to Angel's prison. After that, she informed us that cutting off the Eridium flow would kill her, so Lilith teleported her away. I think she used all the Eridium in Angel's system to do it. Somehow, quitting cold turkey only knocked Angel out."

"I don't get it" deadpanned Axton.

"Me neither. We're soldiers, not scientists. Leave that stuff to Patricia Tannis. Anyway, Jack shows up. He's majorly pissed because we've taken away his Vault-charging device _and_ Lilith isn't there anymore. He tries to grab Maya instead, but the joke's on him—Maya doesn't respond to Eridium."

"Well, that's one thing that's the same!" laughed Axton.

"She kicked him in the crotch. Somehow, the asshole didn't bother to turn on his shield—so her boot made a nasty mark. He falls the floor screaming, she Phaselocks him and I put a bullet through his skull. Too quick considering what he'd done to Angel, though…"

"Ah, now you're making me feel guilty" complained Axton. "At least we got the bastard in the end. On a less depressing note, tell me more about this Sanctum…"

"Heh," replied Roland. "That might actually be _more_ depressing if you think about it. But okay…"

[…]

Jackie reached a point where Judy Hann felt ready to speak with her in person, rather than let MD-7 do most of the work. She'd practiced, often with Moxxi's help, how to deal with a woman who, to put it mildly, saw the world as her bedchamber.

"Jackie? I'm Judy Hann. Your human therapist."

Jackie's sullen expression suggested she wasn't looking forward to this appointment. Over the past several months she'd been in the protective custody of the Trans-Galactic Republic, she'd faced many of the dark specters from her past, but not all of them. And sometimes when one vanished, another larger one would appear that had to be confronted, as was the case now.

To say she was "over" her trauma would be a lie, and an insulting one at that. However, she dealt with it on a different, healthier level than she had upon her arrival. She no longer broke down in tears when discussing her escape, though she still wouldn't bring up the subject unless pressed. MD-7 suggested attempting to address her unhealthy obsession (and attitude) toward all things sexual. This is what caused Dr. Judy Hann, PsyD to suffer through hours of Jackie's sexcapades, many self-filmed and then deliberately uploaded to the ECHONet. A few were released by unscrupulous partners, but given the dominance of a "BlackHeartJJ" in the comments (which Jackie admitted was in fact her without being told exactly why her ECHONet handle was relevant) praising the video, it appeared she had zero problems with unauthorized releases.

One theme ran through them all: control. Jackie always assumed a position of dominance, whether her partner(s) were male or female, or even both. Anyone who questioned this found themselves evicted from whatever activity was occurring at the time. One video showed Jackie shooting a naked man in several painful places when he refused to go along with what she wanted. This being Pandora with its New-U, it was unlikely the man actually died. Regardless, the images deeply disturbed Dr. Hann. She focused on a handful and small segments at that. On rare occasions, her cries of ecstasy (or anger) offered direct insight into the why's of her definition of intimacy.

Occasionally, her partner(s) would actually storm out on her, after which she often tried to get them back. In one lucky break, the distressed heiress left the recorder running, after which the scorned individual uploaded it to the ECHONet. After being denied, first she broke into a stream of curses that made the old Crimson Lance units look like toddlers. However, the follow-up act to the curse-o-rama offered great insight into the labyrinth that was Jackie Jakob's broken, confused mind.

"Why?" she sobbed. "I give them everything, and I get nothing…" The immediate contradiction of this phrase coming from the mouth of someone who put herself first sexually and held her partners as afterthoughts struck Judy as hypocritical. That being said, the first impression wasn't what counted.

After a significant amount of time spent agonizing over perceived inadequacies, Jackie proceeded to try out different poses, moves, and phrases in front of her full-length bedroom mirror.

"Maybe someone will finally stay… I'm tired of being a one-night stand… I want to know what it's like to know someone who doesn't just leave. Who turns down no-strings-attached sex?"

Further analysis of her therapy sessions revealed the essential truth: the woman measured her value in terms of sex. She thought of herself as providing value to others through it, but couldn't understand why no one valued her because of it. From Moxxi's description of what might be called Jackie's first "therapy" session, Jackie had no concept of any form of attachment not revolving around something sexual. She couldn't even conceive of the notion of "friendship" without "benefits."

Even while in therapy with heavily censored access to the combined ECHO/extra/HoloNet, she made extensive use of the resource. As was standard procedure, all activity appeared in logs open for analysis by the patient's attending therapist(s). Her initial queries immediately ran into the firewall—sexual and similar topics. However, over time, her readings began to turn away from a singular focus. She now read more about relationships, friends, family, and socializing with others. Unlike most internet research, Hann had confidence Jackie only got suitable information, due to the heavy access control around the patient portal.

Thus the motive for today's session.

"You're aware that as part of your treatment, I've, um, traced the history of your past life that you've uploaded to the ECHONet, correct?"

"MD told me" she replied with very little emotion.

"I'd like to talk about your reaction to that last statement. Previously, any mention of sexuality, sex, or anything you could tangentially relate to it caused you to become far more talkative as it was a subject you seemed to enjoy discussing. Has something changed?"

"It doesn't matter" said Jackie glumly. "I'm stuck in this hospital, everyone hates me, I can't do anything I like anymore."

"Well, your self-professed 'likes' were killing and sex. You understand we can't allow those activities inside a hospital wing aboard a military ship." Hann realized a split-second later lecturing the truculent woman was probably not a good idea, but the expected explosion never occurred.

"They're the only things that make me feel like I'm wanted or important" she responded despondently. "Even if it's only for one night, or that people fear me and would rather be behind me than down range from my scope."

"It's entirely natural to seek the approval of others" soothed Hann. "There are many ways to do so, but not all of them have the same end result. Some will gain you short-term appreciation, while others, which may not be as easy and require more effort, will net you long-term support."

"I bet you're going to tell me I'm shortsighted." When Hann acknowledged this prediction as correct, Jackie perked up. Being "right" provided similar feelings to being in control for her.

"Everyone has shortsighted moments, but when you live in the short term, you may miss opportunities that otherwise might have been open to you."

At this, she deflated again.

"You brought me here to confront my past" whispered Jackie. "The past of partying, fucking, drinking, and killing. _I don't want to be her anymore! _I want to do something else with my life._ But I don't know how!"_

Judy Hann smiled. This was progress. The fact she'd recognized a new path and wanted to follow it despite having no clue where it led or indeed how to walk it represented a quantum leap forward.

"We're generally not supposed to point to anything within appointments as an example of a particular behavior or situation lest it cause either of us to start behaving un-naturally. However, I feel like I ought to break that rule just once—I think it will benefit you and help you start along that path."

"What did you notice?" Her voice picked up a tiny bit of confidence.

"I believe the first question you asked when Moxxi offered to talk with you was what it was like to have friends. What it meant to be someone's friend. Is that right?"

"Yes" she muttered.

"One important aspect of friendship is that focusing only on the immediate future can be detrimental. To use an example from your past, you asked, many times, why those you engaged in sexual activity with never sought you out again afterward. Or, why when they did, the only value they saw in you was more sex."

"That's what everyone thinks of me" replied Jackie softly. "Great in bed, great to have on your arm when you need to impress people. But that's it. No one sees me as anything more."

Hann opted for a risky move—try to turn Jackie of the present against Jackie of the past. She wanted to be free of her old self, so Hann would try to guide her into pushing her past persona and activities away by creating negative associations with her past behavior. Walking the tightrope between "valuing yourself through sex alone is bad" and "sex is bad" would be challenging—hammering the second message inadvertently would be very unhealthy. Nevertheless, Hann sought to exploit a possible opening.

"You want to be someone else. That you're here asking questions means you already _are_ someone else. What would you have said to me a month ago if I'd brought you to this stage of our talks, back then?"

"I probably would have told you that's how I liked living. I don't need anyone, because I'm strong and independent. I use them, not the other way around."

After finishing her statement, Jackie looked slightly perturbed, as if she'd swallowed a bug.

"You aren't happy with what you just said."

"No, I'm not… I used them…because…" Her voice trailed off. "Because it made me feel better about letting myself be used…"

Jackie broke down, something that hadn't been seen in a few appointments.

"I should have been stronger!" she wailed. "If I'd had a gun, if I'd had the guts, I'd…I'd have killed them all!" Her voice dropped. "Or, if I couldn't do that, at least I'd deprive them of me, so they couldn't use me anymore…"

At this point, Jackie lost it, sobbing uncontrollably.

_Sometimes, revisiting the old scary alley reveals even darker details than the conscious mind cared to remember until prompted by returning there. Looks like she just found out her past was even uglier than she thought. Probably Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder_.

"You've never mentioned wanting to harm yourself before" said Hann after Jackie had mostly stopped bawling.

"I…I was tired of it. Sick of it. I wanted a way out. They kept the guns away from me. Except the one night I managed to escape."

"Did you ever have thoughts like that while living with Moxxi?"

Her patient's face clenched up, as if recalling a particularly unpleasant memory.

"When Moxxi… she asked me to wait tables in her bar… then she'd let me live with her without paying for a room or food."

Jackie seemed to have stalled. "Go on. What else can you tell me about what happened when you first moved in with Moxxi?"

"I watched her serve drinks from the upper level" whispered Jackie. "The patrons, mostly men… They said things. They did things. They touched her… _She enjoyed it._"

She stopped for a moment before continuing. "I would watch for hours. It was like I couldn't look away even though it made me remember those nights…"

Jackie had a minor sniffing bout, before she composed herself.

"Jackie, we don't have to finish this today."

The same fierce determination that first showed itself when the woman was told she didn't have to tell her whole story again less than twenty-four hours after first revealing it to Moxxi surfaced with a vengeance.

"_No. _If I don't say something, I'm letting them control me. I'm not afraid of you anymore. I AM NOT AFRAID!" She practically shouted the last few words.

"What happened next?"

"Moxxi asked me to start serving."

"And what did you do?"

"I…I got rid of the uniform. And I tried to drown myself in the shower."

Jackie laughed, a heartless, cruel, cold laugh Judy hadn't heard before.

"Stupid girl. You can't drown yourself in a shower! I should have taken Moxxi's Rubi, that would have finished it!"

"But you didn't."

"I didn't because… I don't know… She always had it laying around within easy reach of wherever she happened to be if it wasn't on her person."

_Not exactly safe firearm handling_.

The emotionless voice returned. "She needed me for exactly the thing I tried to escape from. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that. I deserved all that happened to me for being weak, so I made up a story about my father giving me my Judge pistol. She bought it. She was still mad at me for not wanting to serve drinks though."

Before Jackie could continue, Hann cut her off. "There's something important I need to tell you. Remember how you aren't allowed to take your bracelet off?"

"Yes. Am I in trouble for that?" She smiled weakly. She hadn't actually tried the no-bracelet routine for several weeks.

"No. You are, however, not helping yourself when you keep saying that you somehow deserved or earned what happened to you. That isn't something anyone _ever_ deserves, no matter what anyone told you."

"But what am I without that?" The mirthless voice asserted itself again. "If people aren't lining up to fuck me, what purpose do I have?"

_If she starts exhibiting split personalities, this is going to get really complicated. Well, even more complicated_.

"You keep telling me that your only value to others is sexual. But your activity during structured reading time keeps telling me something else."

Hann handed a printout to Jackie that contained most of her "friend" and "socialization" related queries. "This is what I found over the past few weeks. Do you remember typing those things?"

Jackie grabbed the paper and tore it to pieces, causing Hann's eyes to widen in shock.

"I can never be those things" she growled. "Everything I read there makes me feel more like I can't relate to people if I'm not on top of them!"

"So if you decide that these new concepts are beyond your reach, where does that leave you?"

Jackie looked down and saw herself reflected in the glass surface of the desk she sat in front of.

"I…"

Suddenly, she slammed her fist into the glass.

"I hate you!" she shouted. "You stupid, worthless…"

Doctors would later note she managed to crack three knuckles.

At that moment, she kept ranting while hitting the desk. Unlike her last verbal explosion when she'd cursed out Moxxi, her father, etc. after intake, _all_ of her insults, vitriol and belittlement were directed at herself. Once she'd punched herself out, literally and figuratively, she sat panting and holding a bleeding hand.

Jackie both cried and shouted at the same time, jabbing her finger at the mess on the desk surface.

"I don't want to be her. I don't want to be her!"

"But you're not" insisted Hann gently. "If you were, you probably would have either told me to 'fuck off' by now or tried to seduce me first thing."

Dawning comprehension brightened Jackie's stormy face.

"This…if I want to change, I can, right? That's what this is for."

"Only you can truly decide who you are. That said, I'm here to help you find that person."

"This is probably the hardest thing I'll ever do in my entire life" replied Jackie. She'd alternated between shattered survivor and steeled soldier, and now the determination and strength of the second voice returned.

"Before we go any further, tell me why you think this is going to be so difficult."

"Why?" laughed Jackie in that horrible, mocking voice. "Why? Every time I've wanted something in life, or someone, I just have to ask. Or threaten. Or…" She stopped herself from making any comments about sex. While she didn't know it at the time, it was the first occurrence of such self-restraint.

"Once I became a Jakobs, if I shouted loudly enough someone would always do things for me."

"And as you've seen" replied Hann, "there isn't anyone here except you and me."

"No" snapped Jackie. "There was someone else in here. That weak, sappy slut who thought with her tits instead of her brain. That spoiled, self-centered brat who couldn't take a shit without a Loader to wipe her ass."

Gesturing dramatically at the drying blood on the desk, Jackie continued. "And I punched her smack in her smug little face."

_That wasn't quite what I was hoping for. She still takes far too much blame for what happened before she became a Jakobs. But this is better than before_.

"You're not me" she snarled at her reflection. "And while I was you before, I'm not going to be you anymore. I'm through with that life. You hear me, you bitch?"

After sending Jackie back to the psych wing, Hann organized her notes. The truest test would be how much Jackie stuck to her vehement insistence that she would both work toward finding her new self and avoid incorporating the negative aspects of her former persona into it. Like past sessions which were then followed by relapses, Judy Hann braced for some painful reversions. She could only hope none of them caused Jackie to "fall off the wagon," so to speak. She was moving fast. Almost too fast. Like the type of "therapy" you saw on the ECHONet soaps. In reality, that meant the risk of everything coming undone was far higher than average, meaning the patient had to be handled _very_ carefully.

_If she can see her old self as an unfamiliar stranger by the time we're finished, I will have done my job_.


	21. Searching

**Chapter 20 – Searching**

Bill Arkansas Jakobs called a board meeting to again discuss the missing family shareholder. No Jackie meant no new advertisements. As a company that liked to rotate its marketing materials every six months or so, not having Jackie on hand meant not being able to deploy its star endorser. Selling products with sex appeal was older than dirt itself, but it still worked.

In a stark comparison to Hyperion's board-of-comedy, Jakobs' corporate governors were mostly competent and remained focused on business during meetings. That said, a greater diversity of opinions from seven members instead of Hyperion's five meant that consensus occasionally took longer to reach, as was the case now.

"We should send a rescue team in. It's our best hope!" enthused Pickens Jakobs. Odd, since he'd been the one whose anti-Jackie antics drew the attention of the Chairman at the last family shareholder meeting.

"Are you pulling a Hyperion?" replied Clayton Jakobs. Everyone knew the antics one would usually find speaking to the Hyperion Board, from Arlen Casper's high-jinks to Juan Pablo Rhees' trying to keep everyone else from attacking Casper, or Alice Sturdon attempting to talk down the latest hotheaded proposal. Thus, "pulling a Hyperion" was a backhanded way of saying "That's stupid." An ongoing pool among Jakobs board members on when the next turnover at their competitor would be continued to grow, as the current Board at Hyperion continued to exist years after their initial ascension despite many bets to the contrary.

"Clayton's right" chimed in Carson Jakobs. The entire board still consisted of family members, due to either having to own a "family-class" share of stock or receive a 67% majority vote from those owning such stock in order to be appointed. He turned to Pickens. "Are you forgetting what the Trans-Galactic Republic's fleet did to us last time we fought them? Actually, it would be more appropriate to say they steamrollered us. Admiral Shunpike made one dent, then his ship got completely destroyed!"

"So what do we do, give up on a member of our family?" intoned Bill. "I don't agree with Pickens—especially not without more information as to what we'd face if we sent in a rescue team—but we are not the Jakobs family if we leave Jackie in the hands of those…outsiders."

Lawrence Jakobs responded to the Chairman's statement, wondering "Do we even know for sure that she's there? You know Jackie, sometimes she just disappears for a bit, then resurfaces."

"Our intelligence operatives are working full-time to determine what is going on in orbit around Pandora" insisted Wayne Jakobs.

"Full-time work, or avoiding work full time?" snapped Dallas Jakobs. "They haven't brought us anything from that dirtball in months!"

"Have you considered it possible that the Trans-Galactic Republic may also have more advanced security measures to go with their fantastically powerful weapons?" asked Bill.

"Our intelligence operatives haven't brought back anything worthy of reporting to the full Board" continued the chairman, "unless you'd like to hear endless reams of 'unable to gain access' and 'HUMNIT rebuffed.'"

Several faces took on sheepish looks. Many Board members became annoyed with all the intel reports that were more header/footer than content due to an inability to round up anything actionable, so they'd opted to not receive those reports.

Wayne Jakobs let off a small "Hmph."

"Just because you don't mind having an inbox full of mostly blank ECHOs…" said Dallas.

"Look, I don't understand what's so hard about setting filters on your ECHOMail client" shot back Wayne. "Keeps them all in one folder instead of filling up your inbox."

"I still end up having to empty…"

Bill Arkansas Jakobs raised his hand for quiet. "These are issues best addressed to technical support rather than wasting valuable board time. Now, the intelligence operatives we have are trying their best to bring us information both on Jackie's whereabouts and what, exactly, we'd face making a military move at Pandora. We'd best wait until we receive more information before making any significant moves."

"What about the JVLN Alliance?" asked Carson. "Shareholders endorsed keeping our position within this corporate conglomeration."

"Until we hear from Hyperion again, we cannot assume they will commit to standing with us should conflict break out" replied Clayton. "I'd be willing to bet they're in it until the going gets tough—because then Hyperion gets going!"

His mild swipe at their competitor elicited chuckles from around the table.

"We must also ensure no one gains access to Fort Jakobs. Even though we haven't gotten any firm leads, strange rumors have abounded around Pandora" said Pickens. "I hear stories about people who were supposed to be dead showing up in random places, or someone stepping through a doorway and ending up clear across a continent!"

"Pickens, how many times…" Clayton grew exasperated with his fellow board member. He latched on to every tall tale, every implausible theory, every crazy bit of speculation.

"Our intelligence does suggest that things on Pandora are not normal" intoned Wayne. "Pickens may love himself a wild yarn or two, but he's not wrong—credible sources have given voice to unexplained events on a large enough scale to warrant concern."

"Gentlemen, what you see is not to leave this room. Seal the windows and entrances."

The computer complied, locking the seven members of the Jakobs board into their meeting room.

"You are all aware" continued Bill, "that our weapons receive their exceptional power from a technology we've managed to keep secret for centuries."

Heads nodded around the table.

"The slipcelerator inside a Jakobs weapon is the key to its high damage" he continued. "By passing through an alternate-dimension transforming mechanism (ATOM), the munition passes into a type of space we don't fully understand before re-emerging into our reality with a vastly multiplied velocity, permitting extreme penetration power."

"So what does a weapon technology we've used for centuries, which we don't even understand because it was taken from the Eridians, have to do with people popping up in random places?" asked Wayne.

Lawrence realized the Chairman's theory before he could say it.

"The scientists who worked with Montgomery on the first ATOM-powered rifles warned us that the enhancement to our weapons could have side effects. The most likely would be shots simply disappearing into the ATOM chamber. However, the probability was estimated at less than one against the total number of stars in the observable universe, so it was disregarded."

"Lawrence is correct" added the Chairman. "Where this intersects with today is the point at which things become slightly unconventional. It is possible, though not supported by a body of evidence as of yet, that the same phenomenon utilized to make our guns the best on Pandora might also occur on a much larger scale. This would explain people appearing in nonsensical places with no recollection of how they arrived."

"But why now?" questioned Carson. "We've been firing ATOM-powered guns for hundreds of years!"

Arkansas Jakobs tapped a button on his terminal, and the head of a scientist now floated where Jackie Jakob's visage had graced the last meeting.

"This is a prepared testimony for the board of the Jakobs Corporation. It is not to be used by any…"

The Chairman fast-forwarded through the disclaimers, legal notices, and obligatory "do not try this at home" to get to the meaningful portion of the ECHO.

"…events. Such portals might occur on a bigger scale, say, on the order of teleporting a person, or even a vehicle. Our mathematical models, as well as those used by our forebears who worked with Montgomery Jakobs on the original recovered Eridian tech, suggested that such tears in space could happen but would require immense amounts of energy to generate. Far more than any power system is capable of, even today. Thus, these formulae were regarded as mere curiosities, until now."

A chart replaced the scientist's head, though his voice continued describing what the Board members saw. It showed a rapid escalation of energy requirements versus the size of the tear expressed in square meters.

"Obviously, there is no way any technology we possess could generate the required output to create such large rifts. However, what little data we have on the Trans-Galactic Republic suggests they are not only capable of creating this amount of energy, but do so regularly."

The image changed again, this time to show one of the hated "Curator" cruisers, a mainstay in the Trans-Galactic Republic's fleet. Small white dots appeared around the ship. No doubt they represented stars, even though space did not in fact look like this. Suddenly, the stars stretched out into lines before a blue "tube" formed around the crude representation of the enemy vessel. The colors of this "tube" shifted around from white to various shades of blue (almost to black) and back again, as if the ship were moving.

"Every time a Trans-Galactic Republic ship engages its faster-than-light drive, it expends enough energy to push itself into what is essentially another dimension. This is how no violation of the cosmic speed limit occurs—if it isn't in our universe, it doesn't count."

The image changed again, zooming out. The tube lengthened into a tunnel, connecting two points in space. The ship "appeared" at the end opposite from where it went in. The unseen scientist resumed narrating.

"We, and likely the Trans-Galactic Republic, were under the impression that such interspatial holes only occurred when and where we wanted them to—if a gun's trigger were pulled or a ship engaged its FTL drive. Our mathematical models, however, show that while space-time itself occasionally experiences such holes on its own (they're really small), repeated uses of technologies which disturb space may correlate with an increase in both the number and size of naturally-occurring superlight anomalies."

"So we've turned the universe into Swiss cheese, and now we're falling into the holes" said Carson.

"Shhh!" said another board member. In the semi-darkness, he couldn't tell who.

"…increasing occurrence of random 'teleportation events.' It is very likely that whatever encouraged the initial formation of larger spontaneous interspatial connections is still present, and these anomalies will only become bigger over time unless a method is found to reverse the effect our weapons and engines have had on the fabric of the universe."

Bill Arkansas Jakobs switched off the presentation.

"Long story short, we have something out of an ECHOvid on our hands. And in some small way, it looks like Jakobs was partially responsible for it."

"So what, do we shut down the company?" asked Dallas sarcastically. "I mean, okay, we contributed to a bit of a galactic mess like the people who wouldn't stop burning fossil fuels on Artemis."

"Yeah, yeah, save us your environmentalist bullshit" huffed Lawrence. "We're here to make a profit, and if the universe gets a little bloody nose because of it, who cares?"

"Lawrence, that is a rather ill-advised position" chastised Arkansas Jakobs. Mouths dropped open in shock. This was the man who said regulations only got in the way, that a company should have free reign to pursue profit however it saw fit (though he disdained slave labor), and that so long as gains exceeded (in)tangible losses, forge right on ahead.

"Torching a planet is one thing. There are plenty more for the moment. But if the scientists are right on this one, we'll all be falling into new galaxies whenever we go to the bathroom. Does anyone want that?"

As if on cue, a blue rift appeared in the middle of the boardroom.

For a split second, the assembled executives thought they saw the blue of some sky, before a red wing appeared through the rift, which sealed itself. The severed part-wing dropped onto the table.

On Pandora, Marcus cursed the fifth dead, chopped-up rakk to land on the ground outside his store near the Badass Arena.

[…]

The _Amerigo_ hummed as a hive of activity. Aboard were tens of thousands of scientists, researchers, graduate students, and even a few very bright (also fortunate) undergrads. Plus the support staff necessary for such a massive multi-disciplinary scientific endeavor. Most of the vast warship's weapons had been stripped off—what was left constituted a token defense at best. Forty individual turbolasers, twenty five ion cannons and five warhead launchers on a ship that once had several times that many of each. Space saved turned into laboratories, larger crew quarters, and general storage. Due to the rather chaotic nature of some science work (alternate-dimension experiments, shield harmonics research, and dangerous animals among others) most shield power got shunted into maintaining the containment of close to hundred unique scientific areas.

Within the biology wing, both Katie Ballard and Kevin Filner spent more than eight hours a day on their respective projects. Filner managed to capture a four-meter wormhole thresher, which he later categorized as a sub-species dubbed "black hole thresher." Its gravity nodule emitted exponentially more energy than its smaller cousins, and its tough hide contained twice as many spikes per measured area. Counteracting its grav-field when it grew agitated consumed so much power lights would dim throughout several sections nearby. To compensate, power was drawn from top-side turbolasers, further compromising the ship's defensive armament.

For the first time, Filner managed to obtain readings from within the wormhole on the creature's back. Smaller threshers' wormholes generated too much interference. Like actual black holes, the physical effects near a small thresher's wormhole were far more damaging to instruments due to stretching than the same distance from a larger thresher (with its consummately bigger back-portal). Curiously, a pair of high-precision chronometers inserted into a thresher's portal usually came out showing different amounts of time had passed. Sometimes the difference would be a rounding error, other trials yielded variations of several hours. One outlier showed a jump of over a week, but it was disregarded due to the inability to repeat it over tens of thousands of trials, plus the calculated probability of such a result being so small in the first place.

Attempts to obtain visual records returned pitch-black video feeds. Either this was due to there being nothing to see, or the instruments simply malfunctioned. Though it was unscientific, Filner refused to believe what might be another dimension could be so ugly compared to the beauty (to him) of hyperspace and hyperspace seen with an eezo core active (now referred to among Trans-Galactic Republic engineers as the "zero core").

Strange radiation appeared to emanate from the threshers' wormholes, though not being a high-energy particle physicist, Dr. Filner did little more than catalogue the anomaly in his notes before moving on. It appeared the threshers used their unusual ability to feed, since the spikes on threshers observed in the wild were often coated with blood, fur, bone, and other food traces. Feeding threshers in captivity did stimulate their wormholes as one would expect when presenting the animal with food, however, since pellets need not be subdued, the animals would quickly cease to exert energy on maintaining their gravitational devices. Filner observed that hand-fed threshers began to exhibit smaller, weaker wormholes over time as they no longer needed to pull food to themselves.

As to why there existed such a diversity among threshers in general, from fire-spewing monstrosities to the tiny "tadpole" thresher, Filner hypothesized that vastly differing prey drove the evolution of distinct thresher species. The largest "Pyromania" threshers often consumed other threshers, even the notoriously-tough black hole thresher. They also presented a significant road hazard.

Rumors abounded of a titanic thresher near a bandit settlement, which was supposed to be home to a titan of a man who ate other bandits for his meals. Clearly, even on Pandora legends could get out of hand.

Katie Ballard spent a good portion of her days trying to figure out exactly what the crystals on the legs of a crystalisk were made from. It seemed to be some kind of combination of organic and inorganic compounds—explaining why crystalisks evolved to stomp the ground so thoroughly. It enabled them to pulverize various forms of rock, which were ingested along with plant matter and used to grow their leg adornments which gave rise to their (human) name.

Obtaining samples could be difficult or not, depending on whether the crystals had been given a chance to grow back. Much to the chagrin of Dahl, who slaughtered the animals for their crystals, it was not necessary to actually kill the creature. Like the claw/nail on some furrier animals, the crystal could be cut down to a certain point before causing the crystalisk pain. Given sufficient food and time, the crystals would regrow, different in shape than the last set but generally similar in size.

An angry crystalisk could both stomp its large feet or excrete semi-hardened crystal material from its back, which could be shot at its enemies. The volatile mixture within would cause the crystal-missile to detonate several seconds later.

While Katie had not yet observed crystalisks mating, she did observe that all crystalisks she'd catalogued exhibited the same sex characteristics. Though mono-gendered races weren't impossible (see: asari) she decided it was very unlikely that this was the case with crystalisks, as she couldn't find any means of non-sexual reproduction based on the samples she'd taken.

An expedition into an area called the "Caustic Caverns" brought back video evidence of an absolutely colossal crystalisk with blue legs instead of the usual yellow. She vowed to make a trip of her own to study the giant animal. Perhaps crystalisks exhibited some form of sexual dimorphism with regard to size.

Permitted to work in peace and quiet, Patricia Tannis began to make progress on the (literally) tons of Eridian artifacts recovered from Rakkman's cave. The Trans-Galactic Republic taking control (finally) of the Altar permitted more artifact hauls, but according to scanners the biggest stashes were deep down. Someone was going to have to dig, and neither Trans-Galactic Republic nor anyone else on Pandora seemed to want to do that. Besides, it wasn't like she didn't have enough to occupy her as-is.

"I do wish we had this fantastic technology rather than those ridiculous seismic scanners earlier" she huffed upon finding out that the Trans-Galactic Republic could basically determine the existence of relics at the drop of a hat, so to speak.

The M4P-D droids assigned to assist were very compliant, non-obtrusive and quick to pick up on new languages, within limits. She'd gotten a basic translation matrix built within a week of beginning work in her lab aboard _Amerigo_. The droids were currently stymied with more advanced Eridian as it seemed to not follow the existing pattern, but for the moment there existed a good body to translate, if only partially.

So far, she'd divined some simple instructions, mainly revolving around the care of various items she presumed to be of religious importance. Tannis also noticed a discrepancy in the size of the scripts—that which had already been at least partially cracked by herself/her droids was physically larger than the script whose meaning remained unknown. Not deterred, she scanned in several small-script tablets using a high-resolution three-dimensional imaging device, before submitting the outputted files to the _Amerigo_'s computer core for analysis.

"I thought this was the future" she complained when told she'd have to wait in line along with thousands of others who needed time on the ship's badly-overloaded primary core. Being a former top-of-the-line warship (superseded by the _Curators_), the control computer was designed for (shockingly) military tasks which relied on real-time response speed above all else. Scientists tended to load huge datasets into memory, then run massively parallel processing on those datasets, not exactly this computer's strength.

When the science crews complained about the bottleneck caused by the ancient TekShot 450-A CissionTrak (which also irritated those who disliked "c" being left out of words to "sound cool"), they were told that they should not gripe—after all, this Star Destroyer was headed to the scrapper before the Admiralty decided to refit her (at military expense) for science duty as part of an emphasis on exploration over matters of aggression. The Trans-Galactic Republic hadn't seen a full-scale war in centuries, so downsizing the military became the name of the game, until unspecified events hidden from the public eye triggered the construction of the behemoth _Revenant_ Star Dreadnaughts, a ship-scale not previously seen in the Trans-Galactic Republic's time.

Tannis rapidly found herself entering into yet other domains she did not become an instant expert in. Checking out several tomes' worth of programming resources from the digital library ("At least this isn't offensively primitive"), she grew frustrated with her inability to master the allegedly-simple "Hello, galaxy!" program. The fact that it was designed to be many-threaded, three-dimensional with a full GUI, and haptically-interactive probably didn't help.

Ultimately, she handed her work off to computer programmers in the Applied Technology wing. Analysis of her scanned relics would have to wait.

[…]

Mallory and Malcolm Maliwan bid Torgue goodbye after signing an extensive cross-licensing and asset protection agreement between their respective companies. A first collaboration, called the High Impact Special Salvo by Maliwan and "F-CKING ACID EXPLOSIONS" by Torgue, would be ready for market within a calendar year of the pacts being created.

Without Moxxi or Vault Hunters, the Badass Arena of Badassitude began to drain Torgue financially. He insisted on continuing to fund it despite consuming over 5% of his company's revenue in doing so. Still, compared to Jakobs, Hyperion, and Vladof, the relatively flat numbers posted by Torgue seemed positively glorious. The war had drained the JVLN group's coffers, Hyperion especially. None of them could seem to get rid of their excess war materiel at anything more than fire-sale prices, even for brand-new ships that never saw combat. That the Cosmic Cleansing Sphere wiped out the Harvester forces not killed by Xytler's fleet before they could really do damage to populated areas further diminished attempts to sell advanced warships to a galaxy that hadn't see a major non-corporate conflict in decades.

Jakobs, with its Eridian ace-in-the-hole, made no public comment about the apparent collapse of its market. Vladof remained cryptic as always, issuing occasional press releases about being held down by "capitalist pigs" who would be swept aside in the "glorious people's uprising." It was hard to fund a "revolution"(ary marketing campaign) when the banks stopped taking your calls, though.

To offset his increasing lack of entertainment, Torgue Flexington branched out into starship design. Most current Torgue vessels were either clones of competing products licensed by the company or outsourced designs original to Torgue's brand, but not designed by Torgue himself like many of the company's guns were. After a few dangerously-failed experiments, the board gently steered their explosive founder back to designing guns, as his attempts to create a vessel propelled by _dropping nuclear bombs out its rear end_ didn't sit well with focus groups (or anyone not wanting radiation poisoning). The whole promethium lining thing was annoyance enough in that area.

[…]

Arriving at the planned coordinates, Bart Jakobs wished dearly to use the New-U as his face felt as though he'd taken an acidic Maliwan between the eyes. However, his bitch of a some-relation-he-couldn't-think-of had locked everyone out, then disappeared, so no quick fixes just yet.

A ship appeared just off the port side of the massive MODDER. He wasn't sure whether it was actually stealth or if he'd just been mentally deceived—these women had strange, frightening powers…

Minutes later, one of these woman stepped aboard the mobile shipyard.

"I see you have finally made good on your promise."

Zera.

"Yes. Can you please do something about my face?"

"Scars are hot" she said, sounding almost aroused. "So no, I won't do a thing about it."

"I, however, will."

What was it with these women and being dramatic?

"You brought me a shipyard with a bulb out? Shame!" The new woman tut-tutted as if speaking to a child as she stepped into view.

"It is time to toss aside the façade you faced before. The Lady you saw in your communicator was an illusion—it is I you were speaking with."

Bart couldn't find words. On one hand, the woman was Amazonian in stature—over two meters. Her hair and eyes were not natural colors, being purple/blue and turquoise, respectively. On the other, despite her size, she…

"You find me attractive. Unsurprising. You also think I am not as attractive as the black-haired woman named Jackie whose location you do not know. That she is some kind of family member does not stop your desire to experience her in ways that I do not understand."

The new woman wrinkled her nose. "I am grateful our dealings relate strictly to business."

"How…"

"She does that" commented Zera. "Get used to it."

"You have brought me the largest digistruction yard with a single interior bay and you will be well-compensated for it once order has been restored to this plane. I will…what? I meant monetary compensation. Your thoughts confuse me."

"We cannot bring this shipyard, as impressive as it is supposed to be, to where we need it. We will thus have to build parts here and bring them in piecemeal."

Another woman who Bart did not recognize connected a data drive through six adapters before it would interface with the shipyard. "Damned computers" she muttered. The shipyard fired up and began producing a part Bart hadn't ever seen before.

"My lady, it may take several attempts before we can be sure that the parts produced by this 'digistruction' process match what we need to rebuild _Revenant_" said the third woman.

"This is Drythlyn" indicated the purple-haired Amazon. "You may continue calling me The Lady as you have previously."

"Nope!" she chided. "You may not call me that!"

Whatever Bart planned on calling her, if only to himself, remained unknown to the others, though they snickered imagining what he might have been thinking.

In the meantime, the digistruction system had completed approximately 33% of the part requested. It made a sound similar to a very low-pitched document duplication machine. The one called Drythlyn unpacked some kind of emitter from cases she'd brought.

"These will measure the part to determine how precisely it meets our requirements" she explained. "It appears highly complex parts combined with the adapter system and a very much non-native file format are slowing down your fancy printer."

Bart was curious about Drythlyn—she didn't carry herself the same way as the other haughty strangely-empowered women he'd met (or flat-out God-among-mortals attitude of The Lady). She seemed far more _normal_.

As if she'd read his mind (she hadn't), Drythlyn turned to him. "I was a computer tech before The Lady began training me. I did software development and project management."

"So this all comes naturally to you?"

"Some of it" responded the black-robed woman. "These converters—I have no idea where The Lady got them. But the file format—I reverse-engineered it enough to make this work. At least in theory."

"All this won't matter if we can't get the parts in" piped up The Lady. She was not going to tell this inbred moron her real name—she'd had enough of it from her fellow Current-Channelers for being a Sarah among Mayas and Liliths. "That's why we need what the Jakobs family knows. And the one to get us that information is the one who is apparently missing, according to your own thoughts."

Her tone had shifted, and Bart was very confused. She'd gone from formal and clipped to colloquial and casual with no warning. He figured his best bet was to roll with it. As long as no one burned his face, he'd play along.

"I promised I'd remove the marks Zera so discourteously left on you."

He hadn't quite grasped how tall the purple-haired woman was until she stood in front of him. Bart was hardly a short man, yet his head barely met her breasts. Running her long fingers over the scars left by a lightstaff, the cruel branding disappeared under her touch. "Do try to be a little nicer to our helpers, will you Zera?" She spoke as if scolding a child for being mean to a shop worker.

The Lady Finger found her own brain doing the same gymnastics to understand her superior's change in attitude and tone as Bart Jakobs had. She had been so cold, distant, and even cruel over the comm-link. In person, she could be reserved, but would occasionally show a sense of humor. It made no sense. Aside from her brutal treatment of Selina, though, she hadn't done anything remotely similar to her attitude over the comm since her arrival.

The gargantuan woman clapped her hands. "Now. We just need to figure out where Jackie Jakobs is. She'll have the key to unlocking a method to get these parts to the _Siren Serenade_."

"My lady, you insisted that using trans-dimensional travel was destroying the universe. You even used that exact phrase!" cried Zera. "You told us we had to destroy everyone who was destroying the universe!"

"Do as I say, not as I do, because what I'm suggesting is better for you" sang Sarah.

_What the hell has my life become? Surrounded by women who could flip me over with a thought who sing nursery rhymes, stealing family property…_

"Yes, my lady" responded Zera hesitantly. "What of the Jakobs heir?"

"We do not know where she is" replied Drythlyn Narb. "Our illustrious leader does not know either, which is unusual." No sarcasm entered her voice while describing her boss. "We must consider alternate methods."

"Well, the last place anyone saw Jackie was Pandora…" offered Bart hesitantly.

"We cannot just go storming in there" replied Zera. "We have no idea what we're up against."

"Oh!" squeaked Drythlyn. "This is new!"

"I have…learned…the art of vision from The Lady" replied Zera with a note of pride. "My former self was a hot-headed, aggressive fighter who didn't know the meaning of finesse. Why beat your enemy with a club when you can hit him with a sniper rifle from two kilometers away if you only find someone who has one and beat it out of them? Patience pays off!"

Indeed, through a combination of stretching, breathing control, and mental discipline, Sarah had considerably sharpened the skills of her overly-aggressive operatives since her arrival. Though some might mock activities similar to yoga or Zumba (the Sirens, of course, had their own) they greatly enhanced an already impressive force by improving concentration during times of mental stress. Now, instead of snapping their tempers at their enemies, the Lady Fingers were leaning how to (mostly metaphorically) kill with the tap of one finger rather than the swing of a sledgehammer.

"We shall try diplomacy" asserted Sarah. "There is no harm in asking politely. After all, why make saving the universe harder than it needs to be?"

[…]

Jack was in an incredibly bad mood. Not even a quick session with Lilith could restore his confidence. Maybe if he hadn't pumped her full of Eridium she might have been more…enthusiastic. But she might have also escaped. Maya had just _vanished_. No matter how many people he whipped, shot, beat, tortured, or threw to the Warrior, he couldn't get anyone to tell him where she'd gone. He'd paced over the spot she'd last been seen for hours, hoping that whatever took her away might take him too. Nothing happened.

Sitting on a massively over-wrought chair made of smaller chairs ("Heroes deserve to sit in comfort" he insisted), he contemplated his next move. Everything had gone his way—the Vault Hunters unlocked the means to his nearly infinite wealth while failing to achieve any of their own objectives, the Warrior responded to him alone, and he had as many attractive women as he wanted. And lots of rakkahol.

As he stumbled under the influence of said rakkahol down into the cellar where he kept, surprise, more rakkahol, he tripped. In what seemed like slow motion, he fell face-first down a long flight of stairs. Except he landed with a hard thud on a metal surface.

"OW OW OW!"

Yelling in pain from plastering himself on a dark metal roof exposed to sunlight at noon, he hopped around like a madman.

"Anyone who saw this, I'll scoop your eyes out with a spoon if you dare mention it to anyone!"

Gravity took over. The roof sloped, so Jack landed on his rear end, sliding down, down, down until his feet hit a gutter.

"My shoes! Fuck!"

It had just rained, and his expensive footwear went straight into the accumulated water. Someone forgot to clean out their drainage pipes!

"Dude, the hell is that shiz?" came a high-pitched, shrill voice. "Me be tryin' to go for a walk out here!"

Pulling out a pair of "binoculars" she'd made from two mismatched sniper rifle scopes, Tina looked for the source of the noise.

"Okay, who put the Jack-bot on top of the Siren Sparring Center? Uncool, man, uncool!"

She spoke the code-phrase that would freeze the robot and permit whoever spoke it to issue direct orders.

"Grade-A Douchenizzle detected!"

"You watch your language!" yelled Jack. "Also, you're dead! I had you roasted on a spit and fed to the giant skag at Lynchwood while my girlfriend and I watched!"

"Dunno what planet you're on, moron. That place is a crater. Lilith was bored."

Jack kicked the gutter in frustration. From his position, he was only able to use the back of his foot, resulting in more damage to him than the architecture.

"GOD DAMNIT!"

"Laaaaaaaaaaanguage!" mocked Tina from below.

The commotion attracted attention. Maya, Lilith, Persephone, and Hera appeared from inside where they'd been training.

"It's hard to keep getting better at killing things when someone's making a ruckus on the roof" shouted Lilith. "Tina, I know you like the toy Gaige built for you, but could you please not put it up there?"

"I'm not a toy!" bellowed Jack. "I am Handsome Jack, President of Hyperion, Hero of the Wasteland, and Holder of the Warrior Helm!"

It took a few seconds, after which the Sirens burst out laughing.

"Nice shoes" snarked Maya. "Heroes should dress better." Water dripped off Jack's now-soaked shoes.

The man tried to kick his shoe in the Sirens' direction, only for Maya to catch it in the blue bubble of a phaselock. "Thanks! I wonder how much Marcus will give me for it since it's covered in gold leaf?"

"I could kick farther" remarked Hera. "Phasekick!" She slid along a diagonal purple path leading from her standing position to Jack seemingly conjured out of thin air at extreme speed, landing a huge foot-based attack directly onto Jack's groin.

"Get down" sighed Persephone, as if scolding a child. "Phasestrike!"

A rain of what looked like Eridium arrows fell out of the sky, making high-pitched yet ominous whistling noises as they did so. Trying to avoid being turned into a pincushion, Jack jumped. Maya grinned as she let him fall right past (no phaselock-save) and land hard on his feet.

CRUNCH.

"YEEEEEEOW!"

"Awww" simpered Lilith. "Has de big nasdy diktatoo broken 'is legs? Poor baby!"

Turning to Lilith, he practically screamed at her. "Blow me, bitch!"

"I don't think I could—unless Maya's phaselock found it for me" she replied. "Besides, small parts pose choking hazards."

A loud series of crashing noises announced the arrival of the Angelic Avenger and its pilot. With a power more suited to controlling computers, Angel participated in battle by guiding a huge mechanical assault mech and coordinating the other Sirens in any maneuvers.

"Guess what?" boomed an amplified voice from the top of the massive walker. "You're still an asshole!"

[…]

Haunting screams echoed through the third surgical suite at Huerta Memorial's Advanced Treatments Wing. The nurses and surgeons had taken to ignoring it—the situation was operate or die. This second Samantha Shepard's body had begun excising her implants. Except, of course, the ones buried deep inside that let her system shrug off the anesthetic, and painkillers… MD-4 Microsurgery droids borrowed from the Trans-Galactic Republic assisted in removing hair-thin muscle boosters, nanofiber skin weaves, and other updates to the doubled Spectre's biological systems.

A specialized bacta-bath kept the patient semi-immersed while permitting surgery. Of course, operating on someone while fluid sloshed around didn't make the surgeons happy, but the team took the challenge in stride. Mounting biohazardous waste trundled out on carts to be incinerated.

On the other side of the glass, the normally-unshakeable Commander Shepard vomited into a nearby trash can.

She grabbed Mordin.

"Does this look right to you?" she demanded. "There is a woman in there screaming in pain, because they're tearing her apart. They've already botched the treatment by dunking her in that tank, and they just keep going." She shook him with every word.

"Never seen this level of anger or intensity from you, Shepard. Why now?"

"I already told you I don't want to be brought back again if it comes to that" she replied in an unusually punctuated tone. "And if no one can save her without subjecting her to more agony, is it really worth her suffering?"

"Unusual. Extraordinary medicine saved your life. Yet you do not want others to undergo similar treatment."

"What I don't want" hissed Shepard through gritted teeth, "is unnecessary pain. If you all stopped to bother to listen to her, you'd have realized she doesn't want any of this."

Mordin responded with logic that seemed typical for salarians given the genophage: "Consequences likely to be dire. Her plane of existence doomed. Without Shepard, Collectors keep attacking. Reapers arrive, destroy galaxy. No indication Trans-Galactic Republic would step in, or even exists. Life in that continuity condemned."

"How do you know that?" Samantha Shepard took on a dangerous tone. "You have no idea what's going on where she's from—none of us do! What I do know is in there, a patient is being treated against her will. What part of medical ethics permits forcibly medicating or treating a lucid person?"

"One life, or many? Needs of many outweigh needs of few."

"You keep saying that" shot back the Spectre. "There's no proof that she's essential to…wherever she's from! For all we know, Kaidan could end up stopping the Reapers! Or there might be no Reapers over there! How do we even get her back to where she came from?"

The pair took notice of a cession of bustling around the surgical table. Two surgeons stood off to the side, apparently deep in discussion. Both employed large gestures, and by the movements of their mouths, were likely shouting. Unsure of whom to obey, the MD-4s ceased their operations. Nurses and assistants stood with their hands dangling uselessly.

"I don't care what they're talking about. I'm ending this!"

[ Spectre status recognized ]

The door opened, and Sam stormed in. The arguing surgeons turned to her. "Wait, you're not even sterilized…"

"…very delicate operation…"

"…won't make it if…"

"So. I. noticed." Each word came out slowly, but with the weight of a dreadnaught behind it.

Without another word, she pushed through the slackjawed OR team.

"Please… Just let me die…" The woman on the operating table could barely speak.

"No one is going to force you to go through more of this surgery now that I'm here" replied Sam. "Your wishes will be honored if I have to shoot up this whole facility to make sure of it." She made sure to emphasize the last part. Several nurses shifted uncomfortably.

"Kaidan…where is he?"

At the moment, Kaidan remained cooped up in a briefing room with Admiral Hackett and Maya, where she'd left them upon hearing that there was some controversy about her…duplicate? Copy? Extra-dimensional version?

She turned to the surgeons, radiating a fury that were it heat would have melted the entire room.

"You keep her alive until I return with Kaidan. But if you do anything else…" She left the threat hanging.

Upon reaching the briefing room, she grabbed the surprised biotic by his arm. "Shepard needs you. Now. Come with me."

"What's going on? What happened? Will she make it?"

"You'll find out when you get there" replied the other Shepard tersely.

Upon seeing medical personnel standing around doing nothing, Kaidan burst out angrily. "Why aren't you operating? You're supposed to save her!"

"Kaidan…"

"Sam, what happened? What have they done to you?" The normally stoic major's voice began to crack.

It was easy to see why. The rejection of cybernetic implants required their removal. Left leg below the knee—gone! Right leg at the hip—also gone. Both arms looked like deflated, limp noodles since all artificial muscle fibers had been pulled out. Her stomach looked caved-in, as if she'd been sat upon. One hand worked, the other was flayed open to the wrist in order to facilitate removal of several high-tech implants.

Her eyes rolled back into her skull—the pain ceased to be a feeling. Instead, it became her entire being, consuming her, encompassing her, and blocking out everything else. She couldn't vocalize her feelings anymore, as they were too intense.

Kaidan took the one good hand of his shattered superior.

Noting this, the other Shepard muttered "Uhh, I should probably go…"

The original Samantha Shepard excused herself. The rest of the medical staff awkwardly followed, after which the suite door shut. On the way out, one of the surgeons opaqued the glass that let people in the observation room see into the surgical suites.

As the entry closed, Sam noticed its indicator go red. Kaidan had locked himself in.

"This is definitely not proto—"

The speaker found himself shoved up against the wall.

"If you even think about bothering them, I will personally ensure you will never work on the Citadel again. Am I clear?" Sam glared at him.

"Yes ma'am."

Sam Shepard stood in front of the operating room door, giving dagger eyes to anyone who made the slightest indication of moving toward the suite. She didn't know how long she stood at the door, a sentinel for those whose grieving had only begun. By the time the door hissed open behind her, the medical personnel had left, and most of the lights in the observation room auto-dimmed to save energy.

"Her suffering is over" whispered Kaidan. "Her mission went sideways, she lost so many… I'm not religious like Ashley was, but I hope she's reunited with them in Elysium."

"Well, it'd be a damned better place than where she was now" replied Shepard.

"Uhh… This is awkward…" Kaidan looked down.

"What?" asked Sam. "What's awkward?"

"Well, we'd kind of been together—her and me. I know you're not her, but I'd still rather have you as my commanding officer than anyone else."

"Well, as long as your service under me is strictly protocol, I think I can find you a spot. Got a big fancy new ship too!" Internally, she cringed. _Too soon._

To her surprise, he smiled. "If anyone else made a joke like that right now, they'd probably be flying through a window. Coming from you, it's actually pretty funny. When do I report for duty?"

Sam put an arm around the distraught Major. "Kaidan, you take as long as you need to get back on your feet. If you need to talk, I'm here—or you can see what the Spectre medical office can offer. Either way, you are not to report to a duty station until you are ready. That's an order."

"Understood. Well, see you later."

_Damnit. What am I, a galactic issues magnet?_

Mordin hadn't left either.

"Do I want to know what it would have taken to keep her alive?"

"Given earlier outburst, informing you of necessary procedures" (inhale) "unwise."

"Thought so."

She stalked out, leaving Mordin to his thoughts.

[...]

A successful and damaging attack against a facility CRITICAL thought completely secret caused the alliance to launch a full and complete investigation. The destroyed vessels matched no known configuration, but carried weapons generally found in Trans-Galactic Republic arsenals. Some extranet conspiracy theorists cried false flag—the Trans-Galactic Republic didn't bother trying to argue with them. People like that never accepted themselves as wrong, it was simply another "layer of conspiracy" keeping "the truth" from being known. Mostly ignored, the "Trans-Galactic Republic did it" faction gained no traction politically.

That a single ship carried modified Javelin torpedoes wrought more confusion than anything else. Combined with its very Reaper-like weapon, analysts concluded it must have been constructed by someone with knowledge of both the Reaper War and Trans-Galactic Republic technology. While that seemed a rather obvious statement to make, those with deep access to _both_ sets of tech were few and far between. Unfortunately, absolutely every accused had airtight alibis and no known affiliation with the attackers. To top it off, recovered IFFs didn't resolve to any known faction, so even if anyone had been involved with them, it remained unclear who "they" were.

Said individuals were well aware that in a straight fight, they'd all be dead within an hour. In that hour, scores of enemies would fall, but in the end the Lady Fingers and their leader would be so many corpses on a deck. Without them, the inhabitants of this universe would continue their destructive behaviors, eventually leading to at a minimum inter-spatial calamities, and possibly open war with other planes.

"When the Forebears created me" lectured Sarah the Siren, "they charged me with cleaning up their mess and stopping anyone else from making their mistakes if other measures failed. Apparently, absolutely everything failed."

"Thanks for the pressure" replied Zera. "With Selina dead, there are only five of us against hundreds of trillions of sapients (if not more) armed with a huge starship and more capital ships than any fleet I've ever seen."

"I wish I didn't have to do that" replied Sarah, showing some regret over the death of her soldier for the first time. "She was an annoyance. And more than likely would have hindered the mission."

"When the mission is preventing people from tearing the universe into pieces, I suppose almost anything goes" murmured Urthula.

"Precisely. The ends justify the means. I have zero compunctions about using this logic" replied Sarah. "When the scales are multi-galactic, the rule book goes out the airlock."

"And yet, we are still told to keep destruction to a minimum, not harm those who might not be attacking us but make our tasks difficult, and avoid creating spectacles? You'll have to excuse my confusion here" questioned Zera.

"Yes, but no. The state of decay between universes is far more advanced than I believed" said Sarah. "Monitoring the galactic communications networks has revealed an increasing number of people, things, and animals disappearing, then showing up somewhere else."

"What of the duplication rumors?" asked Drythlyn. "Several notable individuals are alleged to have seen copies of themselves appear from nothing."

"You speak of the _Normandy SR-2_ and its Commander Samantha Shepard. I am aware through intelligence sources that such a person and ship exist, but presently have no knowledge of their status."

"Our spies on Pandora, some operating as triple agents within the Jakobs Corporation, have discovered that the company is indeed the source of space-distorting weapons. We ought to start by shutting them down" added Zera enthusiastically.

"You realize neither Buck Rogers Jakobs nor Bill Arkansas Jakobs can exert enough leverage to accomplish that" replied Sarah sternly. "They have been valuable resources, but their usefulness is coming to an end. In open war, Jakobs would be a speed bump compared to the Trans-Galactic Republic."

Hammering her fist into her hand, she continued "Which is why the _Siren Serenade_ will sing them all their death songs. That requires it to be operational, by the way."

"I'm doing everything I can" snapped Bart. He turned as if yanked.

"Wait a minute… You ladies have _moles_ in the Jakobs Corporation?"

"I might not have mentioned that little detail" replied Sarah airily. "Bill has been under our control for years. He avoided any actions that might have brought undue attention to Jakobs' Forebear-induced advantage."

"Yet, in no way did we work to rid the galaxy of Jakobs in general" commented Drythlyn. "If the company manufactures guns which promote the very thing we seek to prevent, why did we use it, instead of someone else who could then assist in ending Jakobs as a company?"

Sarah looked at her fellow warriors as if expecting them to answer the question.

"Do none of you realize what we've accomplished by keeping Jakobs somewhat within our sphere of influence?"

"Wait…" mused Venera. "Jakobs hasn't changed their core weapon designs since we got Bill Arkansas in our pocket…"

"Win-ner!" sang Sarah. "There were many who wanted to try exploring Forebear tech again after the disasters of a century ago. Our hand on little Billy here discouraged that development, buying us time."

"But not enough" interjected Zera. "And with the Trans-Galactic Republic's new FTL drives, things are worse than ever!"

"Someone should have blown up every faster-than-light drive in existence" groused Sarah. "Why create this complicated mess of checks-and-balances that ultimately ends up being no check and no balance?"

"My lady" cautioned Drythlyn, "is this not what the Forebears sought to prevent? Mainly…"

"I know" sighed Sarah. "But direct intervention from beyond the Veil would make things even worse, if you can believe it. I just…I just hate what I'm required to do because the intended paths were not followed. The Forebears had great faith in the Unbalancing, the Corruption, the Purge, the Scouring, a series of massive conflicts meant to cause the denizens of these galaxies to wipe themselves out, the Ancient Machines, Pandora's buried bio-weapons… None of them worked very well. Now I take extreme measures to serve the purpose I was created for."

"Push hard enough, and some will push back" hummed Urthula.

"Or use things for entirely unexpected purposes" replied the purple-haired Amazon. "For example, if a man is taught to use fire for cooking food, he benefits. No one else is harmed. But if the man discovers that the same thing which enables him to fill his stomach also allows him to deprive his neighbor of his home by burning it down to settle a quarrel, fire becomes harmful."

Venera chuckled. "Ironic, isn't it. The very first of the Forebear powers meant to prevent the situation we are in from occurring will be used to try to correct that situation."

"Indeed" said Sarah. "We must use all aspects of the Current, no matter how much they might tempt us into evil."

"Let's hope we're more competent than the morons who were supposed to channel the nastier aspects of Current powers" laughed Zera. "They became so obsessed with themselves and their power that they failed to do as they were supposed to—the galaxy in which the Trans-Galactic Republic originated both grew and built even more dangerous means of propulsion. These means were often used by the very individuals who were supposed to _destroy_ society, forcing it to rebuild and letting the fabric of space heal."

"There is a reason that 'to sith' means to fuck up" added Urthula. Despite her trance concealing the presence of both modifications to _Revenant_ and the Current signatures within, she sometimes dropped in to conversations. Glares from the others made her regret her statement—the word had few synonyms and even without calling someone one, per se, it was considered extremely foul.

The remaining women began laughing upon discussing the "Purge," engineered bio-weapons meant to wipe out not only galaxies obsessed with the hazardous faster-than-light technology called the hyperdrive, but also to "reset" the Current by eliminating all Channelers of it. Given a fanatic devotion to all things organic and hilariously twisted notions of "gods," the children of a test tube in a Forebear lab believed themselves to be the "chosen" race. This race grew to hate all technology, not just the hyperdrive. Driven into a lust for war by devotion to a god whose name sounded like some kind of random noise made by a child, they went on a rampage.

"But seriously" breathed Zera through fits of laughter, "even if those foolish walking rejected science experiments had done their job, then what?"

"We'd all be a lot uglier" replied Sarah in her deadly, no-nonsense voice she often used in a completely inappropriate context (which as usual failed to conceal a grin).

"At least each attempt was tuned to its target" said Venera. "The Ancient Machines were doing a fair good job of controlling the damage from the abominable 'element zero.' I almost would have wanted to see the results of firing off that 'Crucible' device whose design has been passed through cycles—though the latest one ignored its existence."

"_Sick_, but train-wreck-eye-glue!" replied Drythlyn. "It would have blown the mass relays, stranding ships in the systems they docked at when the Crucible fired. Mass starvation as society grinds to a halt. Inability to ship resources where they need to go due to limitations in the otherwise-safe faster-than-light drives used where relays did not permit direct travel would result in economic collapse."

"Still, the goal would have been achieved." Zera's tone seemed entirely too chipper for discussing how a society using the device would have doomed itself to a slow, painful death.

"Why the Current-Bomb, though?" wondered Venera.

"The Forebears didn't always leave an instruction manual" sighed Sarah. "Or a list of motivations. They just did stuff sometimes, at least that's what the memories I was given say. Well, those I can remember, anyway. They did subtly kick off several inter-galactic wars from beyond the Veil though, which killed quadrillions of sapient beings."

"Who they underestimated" added Urthula. "It is as if resilience is hardcoded into genetic material, especially in the case of baseline humans."

"Not only that, but their ingenuity. We're warriors, not engineers, but I'll eat my hair if anyone expected the apes to combine Element Zero drives and hyperdrives" replied Sarah. Much to her annoyance Zera plucked a hair from her head and, unsurprisingly, ate it.

"Snozzberries" she commented, before returning to a more serious topic. "These combo-drives are what seems to have accelerated the process!" cried Zera. "Hyperdrives alone were bad, Eezo alone was worse—mix the two together and you're going to have interspatial breaches all over the place!"

"Yep." Sarah nodded.

"We should accelerate their destruction" giggled Venera. "Even if this whole universe implodes, I'm totally fine with being the last five standing."

[…]

"Freedom One to Pandora Control, reporting an 0-4-8. Repeat, 0-4-8."

The blastboat zipped over a massive structure jutting out of the Pandoran desert. It looked like some kind of energy projection device—not a weapon, its barrel had the wrong shape and was pointed down, not up. Too many exposed circuits, unless someone built a doomsday beam cannon on a backwater planet with boxes of scraps and the Trans-Galactic Republic failed to notice. Which, Freedom One thought, was a possibility. The Trans-Galactic Republic stood as a monument to what humans and institutions could achieve, but it also reminded everyone what the limits of both were. The Trans-Galactic Republic spanned ten galaxies, and as such was a clumsy, clunky instrument at best. Turning a Star Destroyer with the wing of a moon moth would be easier than trying to handle tax policy, military deployments, constant brushfires, bickering, egos, corruption, often very-organized crime, and pollution all at once. Times ten.

_They don't pay you for that, One. Stick to your paygrade_ he chastised himself.

"Describe the 0-4-8, Freedom One" crackled the voice of Pandora Control.

_Would it be too much to ask for communicators that don't sound like primitive radios?_

"Uhh, I'll just upload some shots to y—_HOLY SHIT!_"

"Explain, Freedom One."

"My sensors indicate the 0-4-8 has a cloaking device. Its serial number and authentication are Trans-Galactic Republic."

"You are to disable the 0-4-8 with ion cannons and await further instructions, Freedom One."

TSEEER! TSEEER! TSEEER!

Ion fire raked blue lightning across the imposing structure. It apparently wasn't powered, since no reactions (i.e. sparks, popping, minor explosions) occurred.

"Pandora Control to _Sacrifice of Angels_: Deploy ground team to secure reported 0-4-8 at the transmitted coordinates."

Once a detachment arrived from _Sacrifice_, Freedom One found himself recalled and subjected to a debriefing by the Republic Intelligence Service. He received strict orders to never discuss his findings with anyone, followed by an ominous warning that should he break the taboo, his life would become very unpleasant.

"What the hell is this thing?" wondered a marine sergeant upon arriving to escort the device to a cargo lifter. "Looks like someone took a kid's science project and made it a lot bigger."

A massive cylinder pointed down at the ground underneath. Supported by six angled "legs," the 0-4-8 had wires snaking down each one, after which a large, thick "tube" connected the whole assembly with a quartet of drive motors: one on each corner. The drive motors were quad-tracks meant to disperse the weight of the massive structure so it would not sink into soft ground. Unfortunately for whoever was attempting to move the device, that is precisely what happened in the sands of a Pandoran desert. The front-left corner sank down, which caused the whole thing to skew. Instead of pointing straight, the cylinder took on an angled appearance.

Rectangular power units front and back drove the vehicle when not trapped in sand. On top of the back power unit: a Trans-Galactic Republic cloaking device stolen from a Vorknkx intelligence ship. Since no one actually admitted the Trans-Galactic Republic still _had_ cloaking devices, it followed no member of the shore party recognized it. They assumed it was part of the 0-4-8, being covered in sloppy wiring and its TGR emblem scratched off/painted over.

"Looks like a large directed energy projector to me" remarked one of the scientists. "Probably meant for industrial use—there are a lot of valuable minerals here on Pandora."

_I have no idea why the Trans-Galactic Republic or Pandora Command would be interested in this piece of junk._

"Tractor on!" yelled the transport foreman. Invisible forcefields from the load-lifter grabbed onto the strange object, re-orienting it and pulling it free of the sand trap it had gotten stuck in. Sixteen repulsor sleds pushed underneath let machinery finagle the 0-4-8 onto a lifting pallet attached to a cargo transporter.

"Let's get this thing outta here!"

_Why the hell are we moving a rusted-out piece of crap? Whatever, I still get paid…_

[…]

Samantha Shepard still felt a burning anger over what she'd seen her counterpart go through at the hands of the Huerta Memorial Advanced Treatments staff. She didn't know who'd ordered such cruel, inhumane "treatment," but she strongly suspected should she find out, those responsible would have mysterious problems. With breathing. That she definitely positively knew absolutely nothing about.

To take her mind off "stuff," she journeyed to Tuchanka. The fallout from the genophage cure started a fire she thought might not be possible to put out. Combined with the ascension of Trans-Galactic Republic Admiral Adam Grayson to Human Councilor, it started to look like someone was pulling huge backroom deals. Which, in fairness, they were—First Flight was _the_ big backroom deal to end all backroom deals. No shadowy fingerprints showed on the geth-quarian ceasefire yet (thank god). Unfair as it was, this likely stemmed from the galaxy's negative attitude toward the quarians—so their issues (and resolutions to them) were deemed unimportant by comparison.

Upon arriving, she noticed the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission seemed to have disappeared, replaced by even more heavily armed Trans-Galactic Republic battlestations, Star Destroyers, and assorted other craft. When she tried to ask why, she got rebuffed, even after asserting Spectre authority.

_Hmm… I thought "Spectre" was the universal term for "tell me what I want to know or I'll cut your balls off and sell them to a krogan." Apparently not with these Trans-Galactic Republic pooh-bahs._

At Wrex's citadel, she found the krogan leader looking wearier than usual, along with being guarded by Trans-Galactic Republic turbolaser towers that looked newly-installed. Shepard would have attributed his tired posture to his great age of closer to a thousand than five hundred years, until he said otherwise. While krogan had no biological issues living over ten centuries, few often did due to their violent nature. Since Wrex mostly subverted this by controlling his violence on top of being much more forethoughtful than the average krogan, his lengthy survival wasn't actually all that surprising.

"Shepard."

"Wrex."

"Remember when I said I'm glad the Trans-Galactic Republic didn't have to bomb Tuchanka?"

Sam's head dropped and she let out an audible sigh.

"Do I want to know?"

"There were giant explosions!" replied the krogan, enthusiastic as ever about things blowing up. "There are a lot of unmapped underground caverns on this planet—our ancestors built them after they turned this place into a nuclear wasteland. Turns out some of the clan chiefs who went along weren't exactly being honest with me."

"Let me guess: sneak attack."

"Bastards" he snorted. "Thinking they could fight the entirety of Clan Urdnot, Clan Jorgal, Clan Forsan, and Clan Raik all at once? Idiots."

"But they still surprised you." She couldn't keep a small smile off her face. Someone catching Wrex with his back turned had to be very crafty indeed—but also would have an extremely short life expectancy afterward.

"Traitors in Clan Ravanor—they run a mining operation on Tuchanka—tried to tunnel under this command center, along with some pyjacks they'd convinced to follow their plan" he growled. "That's why there is a big ditch to the west."

Shepard, having arrived from the north, had not seen it.

"I figured some shock and awe would get their attention. When dealing with krogan who don't think like me…"

_That have their heads up their asses, or cloacas, or whatever_ thought Sam.

"…your best bet is to hit them with everything you've got. Since part of all this…Forward Unto Ascension…(he almost spit the phrase, despite coming up with it) project was to clean up the planet, I wasn't about to use our considerable numbers of fusion weapons to blow these guys away."

"Plus, fusion weapons don't work well if someone's hiding underground" added Shepard.

"Right. But you should see the Trans-Galactic Republic and their turbolasers. Drilled straight into the crust like it was nothing! As much as I think the name 'Promenade Sunrise' sounds more like a name for a pet varren than a starship, Jason Braxton told me these battleships could liquefy the surface of a planet to a depth of over two kilometers!"

"So despite being sneaky, they didn't really stand a chance."

"Nope" laughed the Urdnot clan chief. "Their unmarked graves are probably still warm from all the energy those ships put into wiping them out."

"Also, having people digging around a bomb isn't exactly a good idea either" she added, somewhat hesitantly.

"That's how we caught them—seismic sensors. It's also what this complex is for" hinted Wrex darkly. "Keep anyone from ever knowing it's here. That's why they installed the turbolaser towers. They're fun, too! Wanna try?"

Wrex handed her what looked like a krogan take on portable computers. The screen showed some kind of targeting interface.

"I think I got my fill of that helping Ratch with pyjacks" replied the Commander.

"You're no fun—these guns kill thresher maws!"

"I'm just sick of everything" sighed Sam. "There've been…things, I guess…that have happened making me really question if all this is worth it."

"Of course it is!" boomed Wrex. "The Reapers are destroyed, the krogan have a future, and some turians seem to have taken after Garrus and his surprisingly enlightened attitude toward the 'new krogan.'" He added "They all have the same crap humor though" in a tone that suggested this discounted overcoming centuries of racial mistrust.

"So what are you going to do? What are _krogan_ going to do?"

"That's a funny question. See, we've forgotten how to do anything besides make war."

"Which is why Thax Vorak is here."

"I don't believe we have been introduced" said a curious Shepard.

"You haven't met the missus yet." Wrex practically burst with pride at this fact.

"I am the shaman of Clan Urdnot."

"So what should I call you?"

"I have no name, as I surrendered it upon taking my oath."

"Well, that's kinda awkward" replied Sam. "Am I supposed to just say 'hey Shaman' any time I want your attention?

"The salarian Mordin suggested for the sake of communicating with others that I select a name others may refer to me by. I demurred, but Wrex insisted—he did a bit of searching around the extranet and came up with 'Abra.'"

"It means 'mother of many nations'" added Wrex in a tone usually reserved for describing explosions.

"How appropriate. Now what was this about a krogan named Thax? I think I ran into a representative of his once—caught an associate trying to cheat him."

"Indeed you did," replied "Abra." Though her true name (Urdnot Bakara) was known to a select few (including Wrex and Mordin), she used it with no one else, not even Shepard. Only those who had thoroughly earned her trust would be given this piece of information.

"He told me about a curious human who had once helped him out, despite general galactic disdain for krogan when they're not guarding you or killing your enemies." Bakara took on a quizzical expression.

"What's wrong is wrong, no matter who is doing it to whom" insisted Shepard. "I may end up looking like some galactic do-gooder, but if that can make just one krogan be more trusting of humans and vice-versa, it was worth it."

"Given the stories Wrex tells about you, I suppose this is not entirely surprising. The reason Thax Vorak is on Tuchanka rather than tending to his businesses at the Citadel is due to my invitation" continued Abra/Bakara. "He, like Wrex is a rare example of his species who sees ways to contribute to galactic society that do not involve the discharge of weaponry. Certainly, he sometimes sells weapons, but Thax is a businessman—and a well-regarded one at that."

"He hosts classes" laughed Wrex. "_Classes_ on how to run a business! This is a great idea, but very few attend. I tried explaining that running a business means more credits, which can be used to buy bigger guns. That two-step logic is apparently too much for some of my people."

"I think you might start making some education mandatory. Headbutt them if you have to!"

Bakara gave Wrex a look as if to say: _Where did you find this strange human? She almost knows us better than the salarians do._

"We'll find a way to educate more krogan" growled Wrex. "I'll drag their asses to class whether they want to study or not!"

Snickering to herself over a very human-sounding reaction to students ditching class, Shepard took leave of the krogan homeworld.

[…]

The rebuilding of Rannoch moved at a blistering pace. Partially due to the efficiency of the geth and partially due to the geth's quiet maintenance of the world should the Creators return, Rannoch would become physically habitable (that is, shelter from the elements—not "no quarian suits") within months. A select few from the Migrant Fleet began residing on the surface, the first quarians to do so in generations.

Attempts to secure technology which permitted the construction speed of _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ dreadnaughts were rebuffed, however.

A few quarian vessels were fitted with scavenged/"reappropriated" drives capable of intergalactic travel. The young quarians aboard sought to bring back the most valuable Pilgrimage gift ever: a working copy of the energy-to-matter converters used by the United Defense Command. Not knowing exactly where to go, many of these ships disappeared into the vastness of the Gamma-Three galaxy never to be seen again.

The few Rannoch-bound quarians were given a choice: live among the geth who would help rebuild, or live only among their own kind (who would have to do everything on their own). Unsurprisingly, many quarians elected to live among their own, even though many of those same individuals also believed eventual re-unification to be possible, just not now. The fact that the geth also lived on the planet, even separately, caused a good number of the nomadic race to decline a return "until we can have our planet back in its entirety."

The Citadel Council steadfastly refused to re-open the quarian embassy, despite Grayson's urgings.

"What do you want them to do, dismantle the geth? Remember how well that went!"

"For their part in causing severe instability to society, in order to earn the trust of the galaxy once again they must make an equally-large contribution which benefits the galaxy as a whole" replied Tevos.

"While it may seem unfair" continued Victus, "the quarian people cannot be excused from their past misbehavior. This is not a schoolyard—apologies are not enough. They must demonstrate that they have grown enough to not make similar mistakes in the future."

Grayson thought of mentioning the salarian/turian "contribution" in the form of the genophage that turned an entire species into heartless, gun-obsessed, violent mercenaries but thought better of it. Everyone had some level of hypocrisy, and most would not budge off it, no matter how egregious it might be. It also wasn't as if the krogan, whose relentless expansion pushed other rightful owners of planets offworld with threats, were completely innocent.

He really wondered what would become of the quarians. They had valuable skills and the biggest (numbers-wise) fleet under one command bar the geth (whose numbers had not yet been ascertained, thought to be over ten thousand individual ships). The galaxy could not afford to ignore them, and he'd try his hardest to make sure the quarians got a fair shake.

[…]

"Keep that barrier up!" yelled Jack to her student. Brick's charges slammed shot after shot of training ammo into it. Seeing her assailants going for a reload, Catalina Rodriguez dropped the barrier and one-two punched the "Iron Ab Slabs," disarming them.

"Ha ha!"

"Good!" called out Brick. "Now, Rachel! Marco! How could you have avoided that?"

"Get bigger guns" grinned Rachel.

"Not reload at the same time" replied Marco.

The Kinetic-Oriented Multiple Belligerent Training School honed the finest potential among young students in both biotic and non-biotic combat. Jack, arguably the most powerful human biotic living, served as the primary teacher for those like herself. Brick had the same job for those whose talents would be better suited to non-biotic roles due to lower potential in that area.

Having the opportunity to train with (or against) dissimilar opponents taught flexibility under fire—biotics might be surprised by the adaptability of non-biotic adversaries, and vice-versa. As a cross-species endeavor, the School's facilities were located on the Citadel to grant easy access to pupils from all races and worlds.

"So" Brick asked Jack after a particularly active day of training (students continued to spar below their observation deck), "what exactly is the point of keeping this school around? I mean, we're turning out more "ICT-Ready" enlistees for the Systems Alliance than they've ever had. Biotics of all races are developing their talent 15% faster thanks to your…methods. Except, there's no war on. We don't need all this badassness!"

"You never know when the next pile of space squids will show up" replied Jack, a hard edge on her voice. "Better to be over-prepared than overrun!"

A large noise and pink flash startled the two senior instructors. Many students observing the matches ran to the center of the arena.

A robed figure stood in the middle of a ring of students. Lips moved, but neither could hear what had been said, nor could a face be seen. Lights dimmed or went out upon the stranger's arrival, further limiting detail from the several-story-high skydeck. Whoever it was dropped into a combat stance. Several adolescents rushed at once—and were thrown backward as if repelled by an invisible barrier.

Flocks of warp attacks angled at the fighter. At this stage of training, the most they could cause would be a large bruise, but sparring partners would definitely feel it in the morning. Again as if wearing a personal kinetic barrier, a glow emitted from where the warps should have struck—before exploding and also propelling those who launched them back. Shockwaves reflected around the arena, hitting other students instead of the lone figure.

Having the same thought at the same time, Brick and Jack dived through the plate-glass separating them from the apparent battlefield.

"Holy shit, whoever that is—they're huge!" breathed Brick. The stranger to his eyes had to be two meters in height or more.

"Huge and attacking my kids!" roared Jack, throwing a supercharged shockwave that raised Brick's hairs from a significant distance away. Powering into a run, Jack launched herself at the apparition. The air around her biotically-amped fist turned red and she felt as though she'd punched into stretchy fabric. The only thing missing was a "sproing" noise as Jack hurtled backward, landing at the feet of an amused Catalina Rodriguez.

"Think this is funny?" shouted the enraged teacher. "You realize if I can't handle this…weirdo…you're in deep, deep varren…excrement."

Rodriguez said nothing, though her face took on a more serious expression.

"Distract it!" yelled the teenager Jack recognized as Marco. He fired burst after burst of training rounds in the general direction of the phantom.

"Kid, you're gonna need some real ammo if you want to accomplish anything!" yelled Brick. "Here!"

Marco caught the FireHose with both hands. A massive derivation of the Revenant Light Machine gun charged with a fire elemental unit, the fearsome gun lived up to its name on the battlefield. A competent soldier with a FireHose could take down an entire platoon on his/her own.

Loud bangs indicated students had broken into the nearby armory and were discharging its contents. Biotic punches smashed through locks as physical combat students picked up rifles, shotguns, and even a rocket launcher.

PHIPHIPHIPHIPHIPHI! A red stream issued from Marco's FireHose as he tried to keep the bucking, bouncing weapon under control. Some hit the unmoving figure, others forced fellow students to dive for cover.

"Watch it, moron!" bellowed Jack. "You're causing friendly fire!" 

Indeed he was, in more than one way. Several small fires burned on the floor from the special incinerator ammo carried in a FireHose. Noticing this, he stopped aiming _at_ the figure and instead aimed _around_ it. Soon, even its two meter height disappeared behind a circle of flames.

ENOUGH.

It wasn't just a spoken word—it echoed through the heads of everyone present as if by telepathy. The fiery prison vanished, blown away by some unseen force. The flames disappeared on the wind as if they were smoke. Lights in the complex mostly came back to life. Students stood as if trapped in temporal stasis, jaws open in shock. Brick lay on his back, subdued after (unsurprisingly) trying to punch whatever had just defeated a wave of incinerator ammo, a cruiser-load of regular ammunition, and Jack's biotics.

**You see that I mean your students no harm** boomed the voice again. **If I wanted them dead, their blood would have painted the walls upon my arrival**.

"If there's a scratch on any one of them, I will destroy you!" screamed Jack.

**You already tried. As I recall, you went flying.**

Jack couldn't find words to express her rage. She knew attacking to be pointless, so she stood in frustration with clenched fists and a biotic aura begging to be used.

The red hood dropped. Bluish-purple hair spilled along massive shoulders. Turquoise eyes swept the room. Sarah the Siren swiveled where she stood, looking over the assembled students.

Without any form of amplification, Sarah resumed speaking.

"You train your children like an animal fighter trains their beasts for slaughter. Why?"

Brick sat up.

"If you had a bunch of purple cuttlefish of death show up, burn your worlds, kill billions of innocents, and..."

"The Ancient Machines" replied Sarah in a tone of voice suggesting the discussion of a trivial matter. "Yes, they tried and failed this time—for millions of years they kept you in check. Then, the Trans-Galactic Republic showed up and ruined it."

Jack couldn't control herself any longer. Here was this woman, if she even was one and not some kind of illusion, acting as though billions of people dying meant nothing. Combined with attacking her students, Jack lost it. The buildup of biotic energy surrounding her discharged in a tsunami of a shockwave aimed square at the mysterious purple-haired woman. Except, it rebounded, throwing Jack up high enough that if she were able to walk in air, she'd be back in the observation deck tower easily.

Catching the furious biotic in a blue bubble, Sarah resumed her monologue.

"I am the vanguard of your destruction. Your society and many others like it across hundreds of galaxies has upset the natural order of the universe. You ask what use your students have in a time of peace when they are trained for war. I will tell you, and you will not like it. However, you need to hear what I have to say."

Jack found herself unable to speak despite wishing more than anything to hurl an entire swear-jar's worth of curse words at the woman who currently held her suspended in midair.

"Now, where to begin…"


	22. Well, That's Depressing

**Chapter 21** **– Well, That's Depressing**

Athena threw herself into her work. What else was there to do after her vicious torture at the hands of Jackie Jakobs? Besides, it offered a way to stay away from Samantha Shepard. Sure, it was just a little drunk kissing, but Athena really didn't want to think about it. In fact, drunk kissing or not, she couldn't figure how anyone would be interested in her once aware of what she was and what she'd done. The only person who'd seen snippets of the horrific video was Axton, who disappeared from the Citadel and hadn't been heard from since.

She did see a therapist for her nightmares relating to the barracks incident, but gave up in frustration after not seeing improvement despite months of appointments. With the apparent permanent arrival of the Trans-Galactic Republic as both a trading and military partner, discussions opened regarding the Council's Spectre program. While the Trans-Galactic Republic disliked the idea of "specially-empowered agents" as their bureaucrats insisted on calling Spectres, the usefulness of such agents could not be denied. The Trans-Galactic Republic did, after all, permit its _Vorknkx_ vessels to operate mostly outside of official commands or rules (mainly the "no cloaking" one), though said vessels were unarmed.

Called "InterSpec" (Intergalactic Special Forces), the new organization would be joint-commanded between the Trans-Galactic Republic and the Citadel's militaries. Athena retained her position within the new hierarchy, processing paperwork instead of firing bullets. A turian Spectre had caught onto an apparent weapon-smuggling ring related to what was left of Cerberus. After the SETTLE/CRITICAL facility attack, the group up-and-up disappeared. Until now.

Drinking away her unhappiness, Athena found herself approached by none other than Garrus Vakarian. "I hear one of your agents is having some trouble with Cerberus."

"What of it?" she murmured. "Besides, that's classified—how do you even know?"

"Let's just say that certain individuals in high places think highly of me and trust me with sensitive information that I may or may not be authorized to have" responded the turian cryptically.

"So you have connections. Got any ideas on how to help?"

"Not to brag, but the individual who gave me the tip also said that while no official sanction or acknowledgement had been given, he wished me luck dealing with the problem."

Garrus loved work like this—making all the calls, digging through (or generating) leads, ending the lives of miserable criminals… This could be Omega, except far bigger.

"Quit playing games with me, Vakarian. Tell me straight up like this vodka, or I'm leaving." Athena's voice wavered—probably too much alcohol. Not that Garrus could say anything—turians also enjoyed imbibing themselves with various synthehols or suitable alcohols.

"Alright, alright!" He made the human gesture of "backing down/I surrender" formed by raising the hands so that the palm faced the other person, and rotating them back and forth.

"Cerberus got their hands on some military hardware they weren't supposed to have. Remember that giant beam that cut through the SETTLE facility?"

"Again, restricted information you're not supposed to have" replied Athena. "Also again, not going to ask how you got it."

"I learned from the best!" chuckled Garrus. "Samantha Shepard never had much use for annoying red tape either—and _she_ got it from Admiral David Anderson. Who punched Donnell Udina in the chest once."

Athena winced at the mention of Shepard, but kept listening, hoping she hadn't shown too much. She needn't have worried—turians didn't generally read human emotions well outside of being in an actual relationship with a human or spending significant amounts of time with humans.

"Find people in high places who agree with you and share a particular proclivity for selectively enforcing regulations in the name of the greater good. Anyway, Cerberus got their hands on something big. Combined with a specific form of refined Eridium, it is possible to create a very power-efficient directed energy weapon like the one seen at the shipyard attack. That was actually a prototype."

Athena sighed. The makeup of that weapon, which had been immediately salvaged and its contents kept from anyone outside of certain circles, was supposed to be so secret it wasn't known most military operatives, including some Spectres.

"So what do you have in mind, turian stud?"

Garrus wasn't sure if that was just a nickname from their shared captivity at the hands of Jackie Jakobs, or if this human actually liked him in a relationship-y sort of way. He ignored it and kept gushing about the superlaser.

"They're trying to build more—importing parts from the shady underbelly of the Trans-Galactic Republic. That huge fleet they brought in? No way they can keep track of everything, even with their inventory control systems. Lots of things hidden on those freighters that the Trans-Galactic Republic Navy doesn't know about…including power generators robust enough to fuel this kind of superlaser."

"I'm going to ask again, even though I know I won't get an answer—how is it that a turian with no special clearances can get more information than some of my InterSpec agents on an issue this critical?"

Garrus hinted darkly "Not everyone trusts InterSpec. Let's leave it at that."

"Cerberus doesn't seem like much of a threat, at least in public" replied Athena. "That's probably why the Citadel Council is hesitant to order-but-not-officially a crackdown on a group whose activities seem to revolve around letter-writing campaigns."

Garrus did a visible facepalm motion, which Athena had never seen a non-human do.

"What?"

"Do you _know_ the history of the Citadel Council and 'pretending things aren't a problem?'" he demanded.

"If the Council doesn't even bother telling its top operatives what's really going on, do you expect them to say anything to the wider galaxy?"

"I'm going to make a wild guess here: they don't want to risk legitimizing the victimhood story peddled by Cerberus and human-supremacist sympathizers by digging more into this, so they're going to hope the 'human-supremacists-have-superweapon' is just a rumor. They also don't want to admit that Cerberus built a superweapon under their noses, either."

"That sounds about right" replied Athena sardonically.

"I mean, come on, it even looks like a Reaper laser! Given our history with red beams of massive destruction…"

Athena giggled, hiding a grin behind her hands.

_Was this one of those behaviors that suggests "she likes me?" Must ask Shepard about this…_

[…]

"So you guys just utterly trashed Handsome Jack, sent Hyperion away with their tails between their legs, and got a total fairytale ending?" asked Axton.

"Pretty much, yeah" replied Roland. Well, Roland-from-another-universe, anyway.

"So what's depressing about that?"

"Considering your outcomes were so much worse, I figured it would be kinda rude to talk about ours." Roland shrugged.

"Hey, I asked."

"That you did. Well then. After Handsome Jack's downfall, the Dahl Corporation made another huge investment in Pandora. Their board figured with Atlas and Hyperion out of the way, they could learn from the mistakes of preceding occupiers and be a little less occupier-ish."

"A corporation not being a bunch of jerkwads? Tell me more about that."

"Well, you gotta realize Dahl made the best starship mounted weapons of any corporation within our six galaxies. They really were, or are? This interspatial travel thing is confusing. Anyway, where I'm from, Dahl builds battleships the size of several competitor ships laid end-to-end. Once their _Imperator_ dreadnaughts showed up, everyone not affiliated with Dahl got out of the system as fast as they could."

"Sounds like your Dahl is in a hell of a lot better shape than ours—here, Dahl doesn't make ships that I know of and their Pandoran adventure practically bankrupted the company."

"Money can come from many places other than profits" said Roland. "Don't tell me your galaxy doesn't have an Interstellar Democracy League!"

Axton stared blankly.

"Given what I've seen so far, I'm gonna theorize there's no central government here by that name."

"Yep. The Economic Development Group is a very thinly disguised corporate front." Axton couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. The "government" turned a blind eye to corporate abuses, only stepping in if one corporation's actions sufficiently threatened others whereby said other companies demanded action.

"Hyperion, Vladof, Torgue, and some splinters of the Jakobs family decided to try to take on the IDL. Didn't like 'regulations' and 'environmental standards.' Ate too much into profits, they said. Torgue actually got off light—he's not exactly the smartest and only supplied munitions because HEY COOL EXPLOSIONS." Roland did his best to imitate the bombastic founder of a corporation known for producing things that blew up and little else. Including weapons that had a good chance of detonating in the wielder's hands due to shoddy construction.

"Torgue went bad in your galaxy? Here, he runs that giant arena you saw. He's kind of loud, but overall a good guy."

"Do his guns still explode every third time you fire them?" asked Roland. "That's how I lost my eye—too far from the New-U, which is actually pretty poorly maintained since Hyperion basically got sanctioned back to fifty years ago for its part in the Corporate Rebellions."

"Nope. Makes great shotguns, though, catch!"

Axton pulled a Lumpy Bangstick out of his SDU and tossed it to Roland. "I promise it won't blow up on you. I'd enroll you in the New-U, but someone locked the whole system down with a code I've never seen before."

"Heh. Then I'll hold off on testing this until we can get that sorted." The interspatial soldier wanted to trust his new/old comrade, but wasn't about to take the risk. Losing an eye does that to your trust of certain weapon-makers.

"So what else happened? How'd Dahl become the corporate king? They're right average here."

"Dahl produced weapons, ships, and mechanicals for the Interstellar Democracy League. Even without the substantial reward they received when the war ended, the actual contracts were worth trillions." Roland's expression suggested awe at such large numbers.

"Like those huge dreadnaughts?"

"Yep" said the one-eyed man. "The Interstellar Democracy League let Dahl keep its military in exchange for donating some of the ships to the IDL. Since Dahl never really did anything out of line, no one cared. They're as close to a benevolent company as you can get. Most of the sanctions against TVHak went straight into Dahl's pockets."

"TV-what?"

"Oh!" laughed Roland. "Torgue-Vladof-Hyperion-Jakobs. Kind of sounds stupid. But they had to make a word out of it, and that's the best they could come up with. That's where a lot of the capital for Pandora Round II came from. It paid for Sanctum!"

"That place you kept asking about" mused Axton.

"Yeah. It's a safe place for new Pandoran arrivals until Dahl can really get development going. That's why we have the Sanctum Sirens to protect it—it's getting way too big for a normal police force."

"So does Dahl still give out free ECHO HUDs?"

"Way more than that! They actually pay people to move to Pandora based on their skills. They don't even have to work for Dahl once they arrive—the idea is that Dahl will benefit overall from an improved, profitable Pandora."

"This all sounds way too nice to be the Pandora I know" replied Axton suspiciously. "What's the catch? Powered by enslaved children? Lunchmeat has ground-up thresher in it?"

Roland couldn't keep a smile off his face. "You keep forgetting different, uh, universes have different outcomes. Events that you saw happened in other ways where I'm from. Let's go with another example. In my galaxy, Jakobs exclusively manufactures sniper rifles. The current CEO, Jaqueline Jakobs…"

"Stop" barked Axton. "Stop right there."

"What? What's different here?"

"First off" started the mercenary peevishly, "Jakobs makes other things. Second, the only Jakobs I know with a name like that is a total _bitch_. Jackie Jakobs. She's absolutely everything that could be wrong with a person. Entitled, spoiled, rich enough to get away with it, insane… She captured the squad I was with out at the north pole of Pandora. Tortured us. Wanted information. Think she got it too."

"I'm sorry to hear that, soldier. Things _are_ different here."

"Please tell me your galaxy doesn't have anyone like that…"

"Well" continued Roland, "Jaqueline Jakobs is a big supporter of the Frontiersman/Frontierswoman program—the one that pays people to move to Pandora which Dahl started. She got off to a rocky start because she wasn't supposed to be chosen as CEO. Lots of shareholders and a few board members didn't believe she was qualified. Someone gambled on trying to sink a rival by splitting votes between him and Jacqueline. Except nearly all his votes went to her, so she won. She knew she was a spoiler candidate, and didn't really have a transition plan. So upon her elevation, she didn't know what to do. Jacqueline got a lot of help from an unexpected source—the recluse Mallory Maliwan."

"Recluse?" questioned Axton. "In this galaxy, Mallory was actually just here a few weeks ago helping Torgue build his arena. They actually have an alliance—Maliwan and Torgue. Think they said it was MALITOR or something."

"Interesting. Mallory from my galaxy is a brilliant biochemist. She spent most of her time working on counteracting the very nasty effects of guns loaded with acid, electricity, and fire. She…"

"What about Malcolm? She got that name from marriage, right?"

"Slow down, Axton! I'm getting to that. Not everyone liked what she was doing. In fact, most corporations didn't. A team of Atlas assassins tried to kill her. Tried. Thing was, they'd forgotten someone who could counter those types of weapons could also build far nastier ones. She fought back, and most of the Atlas operatives died terrible deaths. One who survived told Mallory about her husband—his ship was scheduled to have a 'reentry problem' on return from Promethea. Once the operative said this, her eyes glazed over. She started talking again, but it wasn't the same person. She didn't know where she was, what she'd done, or why she was here. Kept requesting orders. Turns out the Atlas operatives were clones under mind control. They'd been grown, raised, then placed under military command once reaching the mental age of twenty or so."

"Was one of the clones named Athena?" inquired Axton.

"That…that was the one Mallory tried to save. The last thing Athena remembered was going to bed after her twentieth birthday. Analysis of her body post-mortem suggested she'd aged to thirty-seven. Seventeen years of being a drone. Seventeen years of slavery. She broke through long enough to let Mallory know about her husband. Atlas tried to remote-wipe her memory after that, hence the eye thing."

"She was probably better off dead" muttered Axton.

"I don't disagree with you on that. But it broke Mallory. She couldn't save this operative, and she couldn't save her husband. Atlas had laid demolition charges on the ship she had at her research base, and it blew up in her face. By the time she patched herself up and got to another spaceport, DSV _Arrow_ could already be seen as a burning streak across the sky."

"Any other rainclouds?"

"Yeah. Mallory found a set of coordinates in Athena's armor. Atlas's cloning facility, hidden on Pandora. Turns out Atlas used Polyfit armor. Fits anyone within the usual 90% ergonomic range by using on-the-fly digistruction. She put on that armor and hasn't taken it off since. Stormed the facility by herself. Nearly died. Still managed to destroy cylinders with over six hundred clone operatives."

"What about the control mechanism?" Axton's face took on questioning look. If Athena died a slave, what about this Mallory?

"Wouldn't have worked if they'd wanted it to. The helmet's interface is tuned for one person—it doesn't know what to do with other neural patterns. Besides, it thought the operative connected to it died, so it wasn't active in the first place. Mallory broadcast footage of what Atlas was up to. The Interstellar Democracy League fined the company back to the stone age and threw most of its upper management in prison for life. Atlas doesn't even exist anymore as a weapon maker—the only product I've seen with their name on it recently was canned skag meat."

"Justice: best served warm" said Axton viciously.

"Skag meat tastes like ass no matter the temperature" replied Roland. "It also made Dahl's hand stronger—they found and liberated thousands of other Atlas clones. Many of them serve as law enforcement in Dahl's various settlements, excluding Sanctum. That's the big one, hence the Sirens."

"Lots of things sound great where you're from" said Axton. "How is any of this bad, on the whole?"

"I'm guessing if I appeared here, other people from your universe, or maybe even others, may appear in mine. Lots of things had to happen in a very specific way to make where I lived until recently as good of a place to be as it is. Whatever's going on will probably disrupt it."

"Well, we wouldn't want Perfect-McAwesomeland to get messed up, would we?" spat Axton bitterly. "Spread some of the good fortune around, willya?"

"I warned you that you probably didn't want to hear too much about where I'm from" sighed Roland.

Axton didn't say anything. Roland was technically right on that front.

[…]

Moxxi stepped cautiously into Jackie's room. It had been over a year since Moxxi brought a severely disturbed Jackie to the attention of the Trans-Galactic Republic. With its motto of "Everyone forward, everyone upward," the Trans-Galactic Republic came through in spades attempting to help Jackie.

_If only they could do this for the entirety of Pandora_._ Or the whole damn galaxy._

In order to prevent Jakobs Corporation operatives from determining Jackie's location, Moxxi had received some training from the Republic Intelligence Service. Her lack of modesty helped a great deal—men occupied with (thoughts of) sex involving her rarely thought about anything else, such as the important mission they were supposed to be working on. She wasn't the only one running interference either—Jakobs was not stupid; not all operatives were male, and not all that were fell to Moxxi's charms.

In a sign of progress, Moxxi got less and less information from side channels than from Jackie herself. She couldn't believe how quickly Jackie progressed—it seemed to be exponential. Once the ball started rolling, it picked up an incredibly velocity.

She'd been released from solitary, integrated among other patients, and hadn't had any incidents in over a month. The incidents that did occur were far-cry from "seducing doctors"—the last write-up was for staying in the arcade past closing time.

"Hello Moxxi."

She was surprisingly pleasant, polite, and collected considering past history.

"Hi Jackie. Learn anything today?"

"Well…" She leaned in close. The old Jackie would do this to try to seduce someone—this time, it was yet another "secret."

"…don't tell anyone, but I've been reading about interspatial harmonics theory like you recommended."

"That's great!" Moxxi clapped her hands. The old Jackie hated learning anything other than a new position. "Which book?"

Collections of writing were still referred to as "books" despite being digital—similarly, the "Commit Work" button still looked like a floppy disk.

Jackie's face took on an unhappy look and her eyes misted over a bit as if focusing on something very far away. When she spoke, it was much quieter than usual.

"The same one you used to read…back when I lived with you" she whispered. "'Branes, Bubbles, and Multiverses' by Meesho Khahaktu."

"I would have thought you'd go for newer works—this stuff changes all the time" replied Moxxi. "Khahaktu is very intelligent and breaks things down without being patronizing, but he hasn't written a new book in decades! The theory is almost twenty years out of date!"

"I…it…that book, it's not just about what's in the book."

Moxxi realized then why Jackie would jump into an out-of-date book. _She wants to try again. Her childhood was stolen, she didn't live the best life while under my care, and starting with something she'd ignored when it was right in front of her feels like getting a fresh start._

Moxxi briefly lapsed into a memory.

"Jackie, why don't you try reading this? You said you were interested in quantum string equations…"

"That's boring" pouted the young Jackie. "I'd rather earn extra money today."

"You don't have to—you've more than earned your room for this week and next" protested Moxxi. "You're sucking me dry, child!" Since Jackie started receiving a small hourly wage along with her place to live, she'd become a work machine.

Jackie turned and sauntered out of the room, swinging her hips the same way Moxxi did.

_What have I created?_

"…looks like we may be experiencing a convergence" Jackie was saying. "Really, all these strange events only make sense if we consider that the barriers between 'branes are breaking down!"

Smiling, she looked at Moxxi expectantly.

"Sorry, I zoned out for a moment."

"Remember when I thought this stuff was boring and stupid?" asked Jackie, still grinning. "Let's just say a little bird drops by my window every day and tells me what's going on in the wider galaxy. We're pretty much screwed if no one does anything about it."

"So what do we do?"

Suddenly, Jackie was all business.

"First, we stop using those blasted hyperdrive engines. They're ripping the fabric of space. Second, destroy every gram of Element Zero we can find. Those systems are even worse! And whoever invented the hyperdrive/zero core hybrid? Out the airlock with them!"

Realizing what she'd just suggested, she quickly spit out an alternative, looking embarrassed.

"Or, force them to disassemble all the engines by hand?"

Moxxi had to keep the aghast-ness from showing. Jackie's guesswork mirrored decades of advancements in physics theory that took thousands of scientists millions of man-hours in labs. Except her only source was a twenty-year-old-book, a hand-calculator and spare time! Khahaktu hadn't even considered the potential for FTL travel to have unforeseen consequences—it had been touted as a means of economic development more than anything else at the time. In fact, it was only in the past few months that people began paying serious attention to the "FTL is dangerous" faction among scientists.

This woman was just full of surprises.

Without warning, Moxxi found herself pulled into a hug. And not one of those "I'm going to strip your clothes off now" types either.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving me from myself."

For the first time Moxxi remembered, Jackie's tears were neither sad nor bitter or angry.

[...]

Over nine months of extreme training pushed Armando Bailey to discover new physical limits as he bowled over old ones. Despite his age, he felt invigorated, as if he'd somehow gotten younger and stronger. Upon mentioning this to his case managers (Bhatti and Walker) they informed him that as a consequence of learning to channel the Current, the body could in fact show some signs of reverse-aging up to a point.

Handling his lightstaff proved problematic at first; thankfully "training mode" prevented slips from causing Bailey to remove his own limbs. As he strengthened in the Current, the lightstaff became easier to wield, and he was permitted to dial it to its full power.

One shortcoming of training was that, unfortunately, no suitably-powerful Channelers existed to train those with great potential like himself. Several palm-sized "Whirlpool" learning devices were made available to him instead. Somehow, these antique artifacts not only functioned millions of years after their creation, they also served as living memories of those who built them. Each contained one or more interactive personalities who guided any suitable student through various exercises, usually accompanied by an image of the speaker(s) in question performing the application of the Current in question.

One of the most advanced Whirlpools, dubbed "Maelstrom," contained (allegedly) information on advanced Current techniques, ship blueprints unseen since the days of its construction, and information on governments long past. Its guardian, however, refused to permit access to those files, saying "not ready are you. Powerful, and dangerous, this information is."

Bailey learned many abilities from the various Whirlpools. He could bend spoons much more easily than Bhatti—with no visible effort or requirement to consume thousands of extra calories afterward. By concentrating on a sufficiently powerful memory, he could conjure electricity from his fingertips, an ability known as the Current of Pain. Despite its power, Bailey despised it as it left him feeling both drained and unreasonably angry after using it.

"Dangerous…[Current of Pain]…is. Use it carefully, you must!"

More than once, the Whirlpools had referred to a "force" and "Jedi," but over time the mysterious devices corrected themselves to utilize the terminology both Bailey and the Trans-Galactic Republic were familiar with. Any time a device did so, however, the speaker's visage would become corrupted, his/her voice would twist, and there would be pauses around the word(s) which had to be altered.

"This is where we got the myth, or informed speculation, that there were a great number of people who could channel the Current in the times before the Trans-Galactic Republic" answered Bhatti when the Current trainee asked about the devices' strange stuttering.

Other superhuman abilities included Tranquility (which, quite the opposite of what it suggested, allowed a meditative Bailey to achieve impossible movement speeds), Wave (the ability to sense certain other lifeforms/Current channelers), Current of Diversion (mind games), and Riptide (mental conditioning against torture/Diversion).

"You've come quite far" said another Whirlpool. "Now, you will learn to deflect various…[munitions]…thrown your way. Ready your…[lightstaff]…and enter a state of peace…"

SPANG! SQUEE! REET!

Both mass effect gun attacks and Trans-Galactic Republic blaster-fire were deflected by this new form of lightstaff usage. It was not perfect, and Bailey took hits. On stun, though, it only numbed areas near where the impact took place.

_Still, I'm not twenty-five anymore_ he groused to himself, cursing his slower reflexes.

"Age matters not!" insisted the Maelstrom's primary guardian. "When nine-hundred years old you reach, fight as well, you will!"

_Easy for you to say_.

Later that day, Bailey felt a strange presence, if only for a split second. It was somewhere distant, kilometers away, but not so far that he couldn't try to find it. A Current Channeler, and a powerful one at that. Having completed his exercises, he decided to go take a look.

Unable to find his way out of the complex where he trained without a guide, he sent a Wave through his immediate area. He sensed concealment, deception. Not by Current of Diversion; through more mundane means.

"Aha!" Bailey found a large stack of crates against a wall that his Wave told him wasn't actually a stack of crates. The Wave gave him sort of a mental image of what hid behind the faux-surface—some kind of lock mechanism and an incredibly heavy door. A door thick enough to stop turbolaser fire, if he remembered his Trans-Galactic Republic weapon specifications correctly. Using an Undertow Current coordinated with a Wave, Bailey triggered the device to remove whatever hid the door.

"Oooof!"

He landed hard on his feet—the crates weren't just fake—they didn't even exist!

"Hard light, huh? That ain't new."

A door rivaling those found on volus banks or the Citadel's Archives appeared before him. After giving it a huge shove with an Undertow Current that took him to his knees panting, the lock mechanism disengaged, revealing a long corridor. A vehicle with no windows save the cockpit sat at the end opposite the door.

"So that's why it takes so long to get to the training arena!"

Stepping over the threshold, he got the distinct feeling of gravity tugging in a different direction. Centering himself, he entered a state of Tranquility, and met the end of the corridor in a flash. Another door, another lock to beat. This time, he drew his lightstaff and cut through after sensing this obstacle to be much less hefty than the last.

Another huge hallway. Wherever he was, they sure loved ominous-looking, foreboding architecture. Many similar doors to the one Bailey had just cut through led to the left and right, equally spaced along both sides of the very long rectangular room. Turning around, he noticed giant lettering above the door he'd just sliced. Being that it was in Aurebesh, he couldn't read it right away—the internal translator implanted in virtually every citizen's head after the Trans-Galactic Republic's arrival had to call up databases as it wasn't a frequently used language. Even then, it couldn't translate, calling on an omnitool program that scanned, then reported in a readout what had been written.

"VAULT 3: REVENANT"

"RVNT-01"

"Wait, what?" The confused copper didn't understand at first, until it dawned on him. The long rides, not being able to see where he was going, probably taking a longer route than actually necessary, before arriving at the RISE facility. RISE—the sneaky bastards! They were operating out of the hulk of _Revenant_ right next to the Citadel! No wonder the Trans-Galactic Republic demurred on what to do with the massive piece of space junk. They were using it for secret purposes!

At the end of the hallway, he saw a strange symbol. A figure, presumably a man, stood in a rectangle. The rectangle's left and right sides had curved arrows on it pointing in the same clockwise direction with the left arrow's tip touching the top of the rectangle and the right arrow's tip touching the bottom. The whole thing sat within a circle. Approaching it, a disembodied male voice informed him: "Warning—gravity reversal is being employed as a security measure. Please follow instructions carefully, as failure to do so may cause injury." Stepping into the opening created as the pictogrammed door disappeared into the ceiling, Bailey found himself in a cylinder with hand rails around waist height.

"Please grasp handrails and prepare for transition. Secure all loose articles and items. Counting down: 5-4-3-2-1."

Red lights flashed. "Unauthorized user detected. Please remain calm. Military police units will assist you shortly."

_Assist me in going to jail for breaking ten laws that I didn't know existed, plus the one that probably says I'm not supposed to be out here. Hell, no._

Assuming a power stance best suited for employing the Undertow Current, the grizzled veteran "grabbed" the cylinder he stood in. Placing his hands in front of himself as if holding a small ball, he twisted hard clockwise. Some screeching, grinding, and twisting metal (he presumed) later, he found himself upside-down. Or perhaps right-side-up given what he could see through the transparent door. Another door with a pictogram.

"Have a pleasant day. Remember, think security!" chirped the computerized voice as the door to his cylinder opened.

_Must not account for Current Channelers. If capsule is right-side up, assume authorized user. Ha!_

Leaving the sparking, messed-up gravity reversal capsule behind, Armando Bailey continued his self-guided "tour" of parts of _Revenant_ he'd never seen nor heard of. Trying to call up a map on his omnitool, he got a response of "Classification Level Required: Alpha-Three. User Level: None supplied."

"The interior of a ship is classified? Really?"

He felt the Current Channeler's presence again. Whatever s/he was doing, it required a lot of focus and s/he wouldn't be expecting him, nor would his presence be noticed. Trying an elevator, he got the same message about classification levels and his not having one.

"I'm not getting stuck in here" he huffed.

Feeling around like a kid looking for his favorite toy in a box, he sent Wave after Wave into the surrounding ship structure. The Trans-Galactic Republic could classify things as much as they wanted, but that didn't stop a Current Channeler from getting information. It appeared some vessels were stored further ahead.

Suddenly, the presence he'd noticed earlier surged. Like an echo-locator, he could tell whatever it was decided to move toward him. He threw up a quick Current of Diversion, but felt it pushed aside as if it were a shower curtain.

Drawing his lightstaff, he readied himself for whatever came.

A stick is never ready for a horse's hoof to step on it, though, and he snapped just as easily as Urthula, the tank-like Lady Finger, crashed into him. Her vicious, heavy attacks recalled a "Form VII" Bailey recalled hearing from one of the many Whirlpools. It called upon the user to embrace the fight, relish winning, and skirt very close to what the Maelstrom Guardian called the "Undercurrent." Within minutes, Bailey found himself on his back with a lightstaff blade at his throat. Straddled by his unknown assailant, he managed to gasp out words.

"Who are you?" 

"The instrument of your destruction" snarled the woman.

"Excuse me? I just found out that I've been training…"

"…aboard the Trans-Galactic Republic's old battleship. We knew there to be a RISE facility here, but didn't know what it was for. In the interest of keeping ourselves hidden, we refrained from attacking it. Now, it appears we don't have to—the prodigy has ventured out to fly on his own."

Straining to keep the blade from removing his head, he panted "What have I done to you?"

"Your society is a blight!" she hissed. "You destroy space itself without thought! Your entire civilization tears apart reality!"

"And how is this productive?" wheezed Bailey. "You act as if we're children and seek to punish us, without telling us what we did wrong!"

The constant squealing sound of lightstaff-on-lightstaff pressure had begun to irritate him, almost as much as being pinned to the floor.

"He's right, you know" said a new voice. "Let him up, Urthula. Now."

"Yes my lady."

Armando Bailey quickly climbed to his feet, and found himself staring at a woman taller than any he'd ever seen before. Taller than most humans of either sex he'd ever seen before for that matter.

Both lightstaffs retreated into their hilts.

"I just finished explaining to others how damaging your lightspeed technology is" lectured Sarah, simultaneously bored and annoyed. "Perhaps if I just post a video on the extranet, I will no longer have to speak endlessly about this topic."

"Your, um, assistant seemed pretty confident that we're somehow destroying the universe" responded Bailey. "Look, I know you don't like talking about it, but could you explain it again?"

"I am not her _assistant_" growled Urthula.

"This is Urthula" added Sarah with an air of introducing a friend, rather than someone who'd almost chopped his head off without explanation. "She does, in fact, assist me in various tasks." Grinning at Urthula's annoyance, the Amazonian woman continued her speech.

"Your basic lightspeed drive is destabilizing to the fabric of space-time. It's not normally an issue when travel remains within one galaxy, but some people, like the Trans-Galactic Republic, go and jump between galaxies. All. The. Time!" Her tone again diminished the seriousness of her allegations—sounding more like scolding a child who got caught with a hand in the candy jar…again.

"Somehow, you're sounding as if this isn't a big deal, except if it's true, it is" replied Bailey.

"Of course it's a big deal, silly!" She ruffled his hair, again with the seeming-motherly concern. He ignored it.

"Now, your average Element Zero drive is cutting _through_ space-time every time it is used. Regular travel along predictable routes makes the problem worse—hence why one of the first crossovers occurred at the Arcturus Relay here. Your ships leave a dark energy trail in the subspace between universes that makes crossovers even more likely."

She huffed and kept going.

_This is sounding like bad science fiction. Which this most certainly isn't_ fumed the Citadel officer.

"And these combination drives that run on both hyperdrive technology _and_ Element Zero? One run is all it takes to open a tear. Accumulation of subspace particles creates unstable rifts between universes. Unstable, because they don't connect to the same place, or same time, for very long. They just jump around."

"RISE dropped some hints that weird things were going on" said Bailey, as everything started to make sense. "People appearing or disappearing, items showing up in places they weren't supposed to be. An entire group of _Curators_ disappeared a month or two ago!"

"We are not blind" came Urthula, more pleasant but still monotonous. "We noted the disappearance of some of the Trans-Galactic Republic's ships. They were prototypes with even more spatially-disturbing drives than the Mark II's. These were pretty much guaranteed to end up in another universe as soon as they fired up their lightspeed drives."

"We do not know where they went" continued Sarah, "but suffice to say, they may have ended up thousands of light-years away from where they jumped in, thousands of _years_ off from the current timeframe… Who knows what their presence will do to the place they end up in?"

"So by jumping around, we're messing up time and bringing people to places they're not supposed to be" breathed Bailey.

"Yep!" replied Sarah. "And we're here to end it."

"By voiding all living things in this galaxy" added Urthula, with a disturbing amount of enthusiasm.

"Uhh, what? That's rather extreme. Also, I don't know what your name is." He pointed at the armored tower with purple hair and green eyes.

"Her name is really embarrassing" giggled Urthula. "Unlike all the other Sirens like Maya, Lilith, Helga, or Angel, she's kind of special."

"I swear, if you…"

"See, all the other Sirens get cool names. She got stuck with _Sarah_."

It took a few moments for Armando Bailey to realize why this might be funny. Or might irritate the bearer of the name.

"So, what's the big deal, _Sarah_? You just told me what's going on without any explosions—why can't you tell everyone else?"

"Could your society function at all without faster-than-light?" she demanded. "What would happen if the mass relays blew up tomorrow?"

She hadn't mentioned the Forebears yet, the ones who left their relics all over Pandora as their "exit world…"

"If an animal is suffering, the best practice is to put it down as painlessly as possible" she continued. "Your societies cannot, from every projection we have, function without the very faster-than-light travel which will eventually lead to their downfall."

"I think…"

"Let me show you."

A whooshing sound surrounded Sarah, Bailey, and Urthula. Arriving on the very-much-different-than-standard bridge of _Revenant_, a massive computer image projected itself onto the forward viewports, creating a bridge-wide heads-up display.

"Did you…"

"Teleport? Yep. Boring" said Sarah in a tone matching her words.

"You'll have to excuse her mind-reading" enthused Urthula, as if mind-invasions were completely normal. "She just, does that, kind of like you breathe air."

"Okay, what else?"

"You're wondering why you can't try to invent something else. Like the turians and salarians came up with the genophage to solve the krogan problem or the quarians created the geth to solve their labor issues. You recall what happened in both cases, do you not?"

"So you've also decided…"

"…you can't invent anything in time. There are possibilities, but they would require an overnight advancement in quantum physics and intervention currently not possible."

"So…"

"You're doomed. Want to be the first to go?" She spoke as if offering a free pass to the asari Consort's chambers.

Sarah held up her palm where a large amount of blue energy gathered in a ball.

"No, thank you, and if you insist on killing me, I'd rather die fighting." Bailey ignored his lightstaff.

Sarah burst out laughing.

"You've got spunk. More than I've seen since I was released by, apparently, a blast of energy set off when someone crashed a ship into the Altar."

Her own hand never moved toward her lightstaff.

"The Cosmic Cleansing Sphere?" questioned Bailey.

"You people have such weird names for things."

"Says the Siren named Sarah."

Instead of responding, she phaselocked the Citadel's finest, leaving him dangling in a bubble while she adjusted controls. Whistling while she did so, she almost seemed happy, sashaying and prancing as she activated various haptic and physical buttons.

She showed no sign of letting him down.

He swore he saw things light up across the bridge, well out of the gargantuan woman's reach, despite her not being there.

_Then again, she's apparently a very powerful Channeler, so her Tranquility might break the light barrier_.

"Nope!" she chirped. "Just really good at Undertow manipulation."

"There" she said with an air of finality.

A large, pink button apparently made out of some form of crystal was revealed by a sliding panel.

"You would not believe how difficult it was to get exactly the right shade of Eridium" complained Sarah. "It's apparently very rare!"

"Drythlyn, do we have a connection?"

Whoever "Drythlyn" was responded in a way that Bailey could not hear.

Sarah put her admittedly large palm on the button and pushed. The levitating cop winced, awaiting some kind of huge explosion.

It glowed brightly, flashed, then became less bright but steady.

A large greenish-hued hologram of the ship appeared in front of the command panels surrounding Sarah's podium. It looked a bit like the _Normandy_'s command center, except everything was, of course, bigger. Much of the projection appeared red, though small portions were slowly turning green.

"Once this ship is fixed, I will sing the song of death for all the galaxy to hear" came Sarah's almost sing-song voice.

"I think there's a problem with that" shouted Bailey, not sure if he could be heard outside his bubble.

"Not really" replied the Siren, sounding bored again. "It doesn't matter that this ship doesn't have a crew—I'm more than enough by myself. Once the digistruction finishes, I will press that big button again and disable every lightspeed drive within ten thousand light years."

"What about this ship's lightspeed drive?"

"I don't need a hyperdrive to move myself, or my ship."

Resigned to watching his civilization and others disappear under the gun of an entirely-too-happy-sounding Siren named Sarah, Armando Bailey figured he might as well learn as much as he could lest there be a weakness somewhere.

"Weakness? Me? Now I'm insulted." Sarah's face took on the smallest pout as she put a hand on her hip.

"Ugh. So what will you do after you condemn society to death by lack of FTL?"

"Why, finish putting down the animal! These turbolasers are magnificent for that!"

"Hoo, boy…"

"Looks like we didn't need that spoiled brat Jackie after all… Must remember to do something nice for Drythlyn…"


	23. Say What

**Chapter 22 – Say What?**

Jack, Brick, and their students had all received a very patronizing, but also extremely detailed sermon from Sarah the Siren on the disaster unfolding in their galaxy due to reckless use of faster-than-light travel. Despite not liking what they heard, none could come up with any reason why what Sarah said wasn't true.

"I'm an asskicker, not a physicist" boomed Brick. "Let's leave this to the experts. She couldn't have picked a worse audience" he complained.

"Yeah. If you're going to try to justify blowing up the fucking universe based on some physics mumbo-jumbo, maybe talk to some scientists instead of people who are trained to punch baddies in the face?"

"Priority transmission coming in" intoned Joker.

"Ugh, can't a girl play games in peace?" Samantha Shepard shut her personal computer and returned her attention to duties.

"It's marked for you…and Tali."

Since departing Tuchanka, Shepard basically roamed around looking for things that needed doing if the Council and the newly-formed InterSpec Command (often represented through Athena…who she didn't want to think about) had nothing for her. Once, she'd found a single credit chit in a couch after checking out allegations of fraud at Nos Astra Spaceport. It so happened that Gianna Parasini caught yet another smuggler with parts that seemed suspiciously like those used for superlasers.

Now she had some engineering problem dropped on her and Tali's collective heads, but it would have to wait.

"No, I'm sorry—if you're looking for items like that, well, you won't find them here" replied an asari sales clerk nervously.

_She's dirty_.

A feeling hit Sam that she hadn't experienced in a long time: she missed Liara. The asari Shadow Broker would have been able to easily acquire the information Shepard needed now. It looked like whatever was going on at Nashan Stellar Dynamics would be more difficult to investigate. First, it was strange that a company with ties to Terra Firma would employ an asari, second, Legion tipped off Shepard to the asari's rapid changing of several screens upon noticing her approach.

Knowing that she'd need to break into computers, she chanced bringing her walking geth hack-machine. Since the quarian-geth détente, seeing certain types of advanced geth (similar to Legion with higher runtime counts and programming intended to interact with organics) poking around society trying to learn more about organics was not uncommon. It did shock many, and in several cases these otherwise-innocent geth were outright attacked by members of other races. Strangely, the greatest distrust came not from quarians, but from the turians and salarians.

James Vega offered to "work some magic" since he and Ashley remained only cordial after the SETTLE shipyard attack. While he chatted up the clerk, Shepard discreetly checked to see if any exposed terminals might let Legion break in. She also missed EDI. Half the time, if there was any form of computer trouble all someone in the squad had to do was patch through EDI and watch the problem(s) disappear.

No computers appeared vulnerable. Despite the likelihood that she would only make herself sad, she paid a visit to Liara's old (remote) office. It had been converted to a storage area—many boxes stacked floor-to-ceiling. Not even a stray datapad or random box of medi-gel.

Hearing laughter, Shepard turned around. There, with a doe-eyed asari on his arm—James Vega.

"Now, I hope you don't mind, _Commander_, but I had to promise Elsmeni Lyria here that she could have a tour of the ship."

_Since I don't think she's honest, I'm going to have to make sure someone watches her. Preferably someone not vulnerable to cleavage or breathy voices_.

"Uhh… Okay. Do you want an autograph too?"

Elsmeni froze for a split second—the same woman who came by asking about exotic parts. Just like she accepted working "special assignment" for a Terra Firma-aligned corporation because she smelled an opportunity to enrich herself, Elsmeni saw a chance to grab some unique hardware.

"Sure!" she replied, entirely too enthusiastic and fake for the Commander's taste.

_Just play along, and pretend to suspect nothing_.

After the two left, with his hand on her rear, Shepard covertly contacted Legion.

"Shepard-Commander. How may we assist?"

"Legion, remember how you liked observing organic behavior before?" 

"We do not experience emotions. However, we did find our time at the Kaidan Alenko Banquet Hall to be beneficial to our understanding of organics. We also disseminated this information to the Consensus."

She had to keep herself from sighing, face-palming, or stamping her foot in frustration.

"Return to the _Revenant Phoenix_ immediately. James Vega is accompanying an asari named Elsmeni Lyria who is not trustworthy. You are to observe her at all times during her stay, through the ship's computers if necessary, _without alerting her to this fact_. Can you do that?"

"Affirmative. We will track the movements and activities of the asari designated Elsmeni Lyria. She will not become aware we are doing so. Should we concern ourselves with activities taking place while James Vega is also present?"

"Yes, Legion. His ability to recall or observe might be…compromised at times."

"Affirmative. We project James Vega's ability to observe the asari may be limited by hormonal responses related to his desire to engage in sexual activity. We will provide detailed reports…"

"Too. Much. Information" hissed Shepard. "I don't need to know about that—all I want is to make sure she doesn't steal anything or sabotage the ship!"

"Well will retain this information regarding James Vega's sexual activities to address any situation in which this information becomes relevant."

It only just now dawned on her that she'd removed her only ability to hack into the terminal now that the asari clerk departed.

_God damnit, Sam, think things through! EDI's not here to do it remotely_.

She walked over to the terminal anyway—it did have encryption, but she let her omnitool loose on it nonetheless.

[[ BCKDR—INTSPEC/CDR|SHPD ]]

[[ PASSWORD: _ ]]

"Uhh…"

[[ SPECTRE STATUS RECOGNIZED :: ACCESS GRANTED ]]

Scrolling through, she recognized an attempt to hide things—mainly specialized forms of Eridium whose only purpose was to act as a focusing agent for an energy weapon. Imported all the way from Gamma-Three, such items were ruinously expensive. Other listings confirmed lambent crystals which could also focus energy beams, and a substance called hibridium, which she'd never heard of before.

"Step away very slowly. Keep your hand where we can see them."

_Sam, really? That's two strikes today!_

At least she hadn't taken to wearing casual clothing while ashore. She reached for her concealed pistol, but didn't get far before seeing the three would-be hostage takers' heads explode one after another.

A voice entered her headset.

"Scoped and _dropped_. Better watch yourself, Shepard!"

"Garrus! Remind me I owe you one when we get back to the _Phoenix_."

"That's cheating, Commander—those drinks are free. Nice try though!"

Quickly copying incriminating evidence to her omnitool, she also took note of who ambushed her. All plainclothes, no information that would show any group affiliation—just standard ID cards.

Catching up with the turian in a secure location aboard _Revenant Phoenix_, the two swapped notes.

"So that's why you left my ship's main battery without much explanation" she teased. "You know, if you walk out on a woman like that, she's not going to invite you back."

"I'm hurt" he replied, mock sadness in his flanging voice. "Special orders from Adrien Victus himself. He thinks the Council is returning to old habits out of fear—fear of being seen as anti-human by cracking down on Cerberus."

"What about Cerberus?" asked Shepard. "Don't they just mostly write angry letters to the editor nowadays?"

"Well, they do that, but they also seem to have gotten into some shady technology deals… Here, have a look."

Sam almost dropped the datapad in shock.

"I diverted as many hibridium crystals from the _Destiny Ascension_ refit project as I could—people were starting to ask questions. I made up a story about space pirates; I do hope they don't check too deeply! I'm never good with cover stories!

Next shipment of hibridium coming in on TGR resupply fleet. Will ensure some comes your way.

Elsmeni"

The message had a Cerberus logo as its background.

Both looked up at the same time, for different reasons.

"I was right!" Shepard crowed. "That asari is up to something!"

"What the hell is hibridium?" asked a perplexed Garrus.

"Either way, it looks like both of our suspicions were right—Councilor Victus about Cerberus doing more than sending protest letters and me about that asari" replied Shepard. "We should check with Legion to—"

"Shepard-Commander" blared Legion's voice from the secure comm. "We have data relevant to your request."

A video began playing.

"Oh, James…"

Various moaning and grunting noises commenced, but in a most un-Legion like fashion, that wasn't the geth's focus. Whoever took the video (she couldn't be sure if it was internal surveillance or Legion itself due to not knowing what part of the ship the tryst took place in combined with semi-darkness) zoomed in on the asari's discarded bra. It had been tossed over a computer console, whose screen was strangely active for not having a user.

More sounds.

"Legion! How recent is this?" snapped Sam.

"We can patch you through to Maintenance Bay 34; the events shown are still occurring. The beginning of the video feed is five standard minutes in the past."

"Shepard-Commander?"

"On our way to the maintenance bay!" panted Shepard. "If they try to leave, don't let them out! But don't tip them off!"

"Affirmative."

Grabbing a shotgun out of a weapon locker, she was dismayed to find it to be a Trans-Galactic Republic weapon—one she'd not used. Realizing she needed something else, she pivoted on the spot to grab several boxes of shells lest the weapon be useless after three double-barrel blasts.

"Physical ammo?" breathed Garrus. "Weird!"

"As long as it works!"

Ten minutes later, the pair arrived outside Maintenance Bay 34. They could hear faint sounds coming through an air vent that both serviced the bay and the corridor. She thought she heard something about "machine" and "insatiable" in a very feminine voice.

"There's only one way in and out of here, right?" Garrus took up a combat stance.

"Yeah—this is the one door."

Said door hissed open at the command of the ship's captain. For a split second, everyone involved froze. James, mid-thrust, Elsmeni, wide-eyed with pleasure…

Then several things happened at once. Elsmeni hurled James across the room biotically and by the sound of it, he hit something. Hard. Garrus fired a warning shot; Sam skipped the warning shot and pulled the trigger on the boxy weapon.

BA-BA-BOOM.

Three double shots exited the barrel one after another, and the magazine stuck out the right side of the gun ready to accept more shells. Grabbing another clip, she fumbled to get the six-shot aligned into the magazine—apparently, this gun didn't actually swap mags when reloaded.

"You bitch!" screeched Elsmeni. Barriers deflected the first round of shotgun blasts, but Garrus pounded round after round from a high-speed semi-auto sniper rifle into what was left of the biotic's protection. Suddenly, Shepard felt herself unable to move. She saw straight ahead that everything froze.

Several seconds later, she realized she'd topped over, the magazine never loaded, clip on the floor, gun knocked away.

"Oh, if you're going to interrupt my fun, you're going to die" panted Elsmeni. Sam became aware that the asari's legs were crushing her head, though given heavy cybernetic upgrades it wasn't working as well as her assailant had hoped. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Garrus grappling with James.

_Wait, what?_

"James, what are you doing? Let go of me—she's killing Shepard!"

Acting on instinct and training as she began to black out, Sam pulled out the palm-size disruptor that had been built into her new InterSpec armor.

WOOOO—FSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!

"Aaaaaarrrgh!"

Squealing in pain, Elsmeni tipped off Shepard as her barrier overloaded from the sheer energy carried by a disruptor blast. Though the Trans-Galactic Republic banned the weapons as "cruel, inhumane, and uncivilized" since InterSpec didn't officially report to the Trans-Galactic Republic, nothing was said about the fact that InterSpec agents just so happened to receive military-grade DK-577 Disruptor Pistols upon promotion to sufficient rank within InterSpec.

Fully returned to her senses, Sam Shepard climbed to her feet. The asari had gone catatonic, not moving or making sounds, but with blood pouring from her nose. James and Garrus were no longer tussling—as a matter of fact, Garrus could be seen helping the N7 operative to stand.

She quickly knelt to check the asari's lifesigns. Flat. No breathing, either.

"Good riddance." Sam resisted the urge to kick the corpse.

"Do you know how long I had to keep at it to keep her here?" demanded James.

"I think that's the least of our problems" replied Garrus. "What did she get?"

"That whole terminal, there." Out of breath, James sat down again while pointing at the computer that a bra still covered. Shepard kicked the garment aside—it felt heavier than a bra should even to her armored, now-fully-powered foot.

Picking it up and scanning it with her omnitool, she fumed. "Hacking programs built into a bra? Seriously? You have got to be kidding me!"

Taking stock of the computer, she noted down what had been stolen. Not that much, thankfully, as the ship's computer firewalled the terminal as soon as unusual behavior was noted.

_Not as fast as EDI would have been, though_.

Noticing the same strange term in the ship's files, she turned to Garrus. "Hibridium again. We really ought to find out what that is."

"I'm sorry!" James was saying. "I didn't attack you on purpose, okay!"

"You're sure? Because it seemed pretty purposeful to me!"

"Guys, guys! Remember that Ardat-Yakshi Morinth? Samara warned me asari like that have mind powers—they can take over someone's brain for a brief period and force them to do their bidding. I'm not sure how you tell if an asari is an Ardat-Yakshi, and the way Samara talked about it, it's kind of a touchy subject. But if she was one" (at this point, Sam relented and kicked the body), "it would explain why James attacked you, Garrus, _and_ why he doesn't remember it!"

Both turned to Shepard and nodded.

"Seems reasonable enough" panted James.

"Makes sense" added Garrus.

Garrus offered his three-fingered hand, which James shook. He'd learned this gesture among humans meant, among other things, "I trust/accept you" and employed it appropriately.

"You did kind of…fall over" remarked the turian. "As if you were frozen—you'd gone all white like you'd been painted."

"Temporal stasis" replied the Spectre. "Pretty common among more powerful asari biotics, actually. That would be why my gun never got reloaded, and is all the way over there…"

Hefting the weapon again, she read the text painted onto its side.

"3X-SHIELDSLAMMER"

Passing her omnitool over it, the trio found themselves listening to a long explanation about the weapon.

"…designed to overwhelm energy-based particle defenses, it utilizes a design that staggers shots. The optional burst mode…"

"Anyway" interrupted Garrus loudly. "Let's see if we can get this…unwanted cargo…identified."

Shepard loaded the fallen clip into the 3X's magazine, then slammed it back to the left. It made a satisfying "thunk."

"This is how guns should sound" she said with an air of a child who got her favorite dessert.

[…]

_Revenant Phoenix_ returned to the Citadel shortly after the dust-up with Elsmeni Lyria. Crew cleaned up the maintenance bay while the body got zipped into an appropriate storage bag for transport. During the relatively short return journey, Sam contacted the asari Councilor, Tevos.

"Yes Commander?"

"I have a bit of a, shall we say, sensitive question. How do you tell if an asari is an Ardat-Yakshi?"

"Commander, that is not an issue we generally discuss with others" scolded Tevos. "What makes you think you encountered an Ardat-Yakshi? If you bonded with her, you would surely be dead, despite your impressive collection of cybernetic implants."

"Do normal asari biotics exhibit the ability to take over other people's minds?"

At this, Tevo's demeanor changed. "It is a rare ability, and yes, it does mostly manifest itself among Ardat-Yakshi."

"We just fought off an asari who took over the mind of one if my crew" hissed Shepard. "I'd really appreciate it if you or someone with the proper knowledge could tell me if that's what we just dealt with."

After receiving coordinates to meet a doctor at Huerta, Shepard got off the comm to let Garrus talk to someone in private.

"I take it you've managed to learn more about Cerberus and their attempts to acquire very destructive technology" started the Councilor.

"I'm transmitting what we found to your terminal now."

After browsing over the data for a few minutes, Victus spoke again.

"This is good, very good. Unfortunately, the rest of the Council won't take this as evidence. Tevos and Clethon want something pointing to an actual, functioning superlaser, not parts. It doesn't help that Councilor Grayson is refusing to confirm or deny the types of hardware needed to construct these superlasers."

Garrus could see the irony here—he had the exact same problem Shepard did, except the only Councilor on his side was turian (who in Shepard's situation served as an antagonizer). Still, it remained broadly similar—the allied member matched the race of the frustrated investigator.

"I mean no disrespect, but hasn't this happened before?" asked Garrus. "Waiting for big evidence to come in, and then when it does, people ask why we weren't prepared."

"Indeed" replied the turian Councilor. "I am afraid that is exactly what is happening. Two of the other Councilors fear going after Cerberus will fan the flames, unless someone in a position of authority admits that not only did the Council make a mistake, but so did the Trans-Galactic Republic in allowing these superlaser pieces to fall into the hands of terrorists."

"And of course, no one will do that."

"Politicians. Posturing first, positions second, results third" sighed Victus.

"I cannot believe Grayson" huffed Garrus. "Hasn't _he_ learned what happens when key information is kept from allies?"

"I wouldn't be so quick to blame him. If people were asking about the genophage, before it got cured anyway, would we want to say exactly what the Special Tasks Group put into engineering it?"

"We are very close to the Citadel, Councilor. If you would like to continue this conversation, I'd request to do so in person."

"Of course."

Adrien Victus cut the transmission. He was playing a dangerous game, treating Garrus like a Spectre with access to privileged information. Some actual Spectres didn't even have information about this Cerberus plot, much to the frustration of InterSpec Auditor and Coordinator Athena. She would just have to deal with it—Garrus' vast experience alongside Samantha Shepard made him almost a Spectre based solely on having shared so much involvement with the galaxy's greatest paragon. He also had a certain fondness for disregarding rules that made it more difficult to do one's job—a trait Victus admired as unconventional thinking.

Samantha Shepard, Spectre, brought a covered gurney with her to Huerta. An asari she did not recognize waved her over.

"This isn't standard procedure, Shepard" whispered the doctor. "We're going to do this quickly, quietly, and without any records. None of us were ever here. Wait outside."

Thirty minutes later, the doctor returned. Discreetly handing Shepard a datapad, she said "The package was successfully delivered." Meaning, the body had been incinerated.

"I should go."

Reading the datapad as she went, Shepard smiled. She'd totally called it. Ardat-Yakshi, and a powerful one at that. Morinth had been able to match Samara, her mother and a matriarch 500 years her senior in terms of powers simply due to her excessive meldings. This Elsmeni Lyria outdid Morinth in defying "age = power" that normally accompanied asari biotics. At the age of only four hundred seventy two, she managed to deploy a full stasis field (which was what trapped Sam during the battle) on top of taking over James' mind for a good six to eight seconds. At the same time.

"Good thing we got rid of another space vampire" she said to no one in particular.

[…]

Upon returning to _Veritas_, Maya slept again. She'd been kept awake to entertain Handsome Jack and his favored men at the "Daddy's Club" at virtually any time they wanted. She'd also not been fed very well, though, they still found her attractive enough anyway. Maya wasn't sure whether to be disgusted, complimented, or both. After seeing (then merrily destroying) Opportunity City with a Trans-Galactic Republic blastboat appropriately named "Liberty One," she thought nothing could get any weirder than suddenly stepping into freedom.

Then _she_ showed up.

"Hi."

She'd dyed her hair a deeper shade of blue and wore a green uniform, but she was still…the same.

"Hello."

"This is weird!" exclaimed the original Maya.

"Just a bit" replied her carbon-copy counterpart.

"I hope you're doing well" said the first, "as I've heard your life wasn't exactly fun."

"That's putting it mildly" Maya said bitterly. "I really, really, hate my old life—I'd have followed Moxxi out if I could."

"Follow me where?" Moxxi and Jackie walked into the lounge where the twin Mayas were sitting.

"You" hissed the original Maya. "You bitch! You horrible, evil…"

"Maya!" shouted Moxxi sharply. "Be quiet! Look what you've done!"

Jackie's face buried itself in her hands and she wept quietly.

"Oh, _no_" continued the same Maya mockingly. "Are you telling me that whore has _feelings_ now? Or that she might _cry?_ Feel _bad_ about things like _normal_ people?"

SLAP.

Maya's mouth dropped open.

SLAP.

She should have seen it coming after the first, but stood like some kind of target dummy on a gun range instead.

"You want to talk about being a bitch?" seethed Moxxi. "Do you even _know_ what she's been through? What she's fought against? And you! Of all people! You were the one Lilith spoke to when she decided to turn her life around!"

Maya forced herself to not laugh. It was very difficult.

"You're telling me" she spat through bated breath, "that this heartless, twisted, spoiled _slut_ pulled a 180?"

"It's weird" countered Moxxi, acting for all the world as if Maya said nothing, "you all haven't seen me in over a year. Do you call? No. Do you wonder where I am? NO. Some of us have better things to do than strut around the galaxy acting like we own the place."

The second Maya stood as speechless as the first after being double-slapped.

"Should I leave?" she asked timidly.

She didn't get a response as Moxxi resumed her tirade. "If you'd been this way with Lilith, we'd all be Harvester food by now, and your front would have been splattered with her blood. And by doing that, the blood of quadrillions of others that her sacrifice saved. Would you feel better?" she simpered. "Superior? More moral? More upright?"

"Or maybe upright's not your thing. Perhaps you'd enjoy being on your back with one of Xytler's thugs on top of you" she said accusingly. "That's what you were for, you know, even if it never happened. That's the only reason they let you on board Shepard's ship!"

A nurse hurried over.

"Please, _please_, you're disturbing the patients! Out! OUT!"

Jackie cried into the second Maya's shoulder. Not knowing exactly what happened, who this woman was, or why she was whimpering, the imported Maya awkwardly put an arm around the black-haired woman.

"They…they hate me! I'm supposed…supposed to be better, but she didn't care! All she saw was the old me! I HATE THE OLD ME!" she screeched, causing Maya to jump at the noise in her ear.

"Uhh… I'm Maya? I didn't get your name."

The other woman mumbled something Maya couldn't understand.

"Are you twins, or something? You look pretty similar" said the crying woman.

"I still don't know what your name is" replied Maya pointedly.

Another mumble. Maya leaned inward.

"Jackie. It's Jackie. Jakobs."

The last word came out as if she was ashamed of it. Unlike her counterpart, this Maya recognized that she needed to tread carefully around Jackie, regardless of what thoughts she might have on the woman in question. In her universe, Jackie had been one of Jack's many conquests, but at the same time, the Jakobs Corporation controlled a good portion of the galaxy, a massive fleet, and significant resources. Feuds between Jakobs and Hyperion, generally played out between their two public faces, spilled into the ECHONet all the time. It was actually amusing to read because Jackie more often than not ended up "winning" by embarrassing Jack in some way or another. He never seemed to learn, and fell for her every time she begged to be "taken back," not realizing it was all her game, not his.

"Do you hate me?" she whispered.

"There was a Jackie Jakobs where I'm from" Maya began. "And she…"

Jackie broke into a fresh wave of tears.

Realizing she'd stumbled, Maya backtracked fast. "Whatever she is or was, you're not her" she said reassuringly. This quieted Jackie slightly.

"Judy—she warned me this might happen" began Jackie in a voice that was still almost inaudible. "People are so used to who I used to be, _what_ I used to be… Telling them I'm different… A lot of them will react like Maya did."

Seeing a questioning look, Jackie added "the other Maya. The one that got shooed out."

_Well, if I'd built up an image of someone as an awful person who did atrocious things, it would be hard for me to believe they changed_ thought Maya. _But I am not going to say that_.

"How…how do I get them to give me a chance?" she asked. "Instead of just assuming…that I'm…I'm HER?"

"You know" replied Maya, "some people just rush to judgment because it's easy. They're lazy. They don't want to have their preconceived notions challenged or be told they might be wrong because someone or something changed."

"So, so Maya's a _bad person!_" hissed Jackie confidently. "She's _judgmental_ and _lazy!_ She doesn't…"

The other Maya put a finger on Jackie's lips.

"Shhh. Listen to yourself. Have you ever talked to the other Maya?"

"No" said Jackie in a small voice.

"So what are you doing now, by saying she's awful without even meeting her?"

"But she _is!_" Jackie protested. "Or do you think it's okay for her to call me a _slut_ and a _bitch_ even though I'm not?"

"What if you were? Would you want someone calling you that before they actually knew you?"

This caused Jackie to remain quiet for a time.

"Look, the other Maya was wrong to speak to you that way. But do you want to be like her, or better than her?"

"Better" responded Jackie, with a confidence other-Maya had never seen in her, let alone women in general where she was from. Especially among those "employed" by Jack.

"Then be better" answered Maya. "Don't let people who refuse to see the new you get under your skin. Ignore them, and prove that the old you is indeed gone—the people who see only the former Jackie will look like idiots on their own!"

[…]

It wasn't often that a _Vorknkx_ appeared in any place remotely public. It was even less often that the ship would engage/disengage its cloaking device in a place where any passer-by could see it doing so. However, in this case, the Trans-Galactic Republic (specifically RISE) did not care.

Disembarking from the stealth ship were a large contingent of krogan, probably twenty or so.

A gathering of people who had been walking by the elevators leading to the Council's chambers began to swell in size at this development. Curious onlookers strained to see what was going on. They could not hear the directions Wrex gave his accompanying compatriots, though.

"Keep quiet, let me do the talking and ask the questions—yes I know it's unfair that they see me as the only krogan who doesn't think with his gun—remember we're not here to demand anything or make ridiculous requests."

The gawkers could see one krogan clearly in charge, and whatever he said caused some disgruntled looks on the faces of the others. That said, no aggressive moves were being made. Plus, why would the Trans-Galactic Republic drop off a contingent of krogan to attack the Council when if they wanted to, their Star Dreadnaught _Ultimatum_ could simply fly through the tower during a Council meeting?

"Is that Urdnot Wrex?"

"I heard he tamed the clans…"

"…krogan business classes…"

"…rebuilding their homeworld…"

Since the genophage cure precipitated rapid reconstruction, starting with a massive fortress in the Kelphic Valley, tourism to the krogan homeworld (previously forbidden, and not all that attractive) suddenly became quite popular since so few people set foot on the enigmatic world and survived. With travel time measured in hours, it became very simple to "see Tuchanka for a day." Curiosity drove more tourism than anyone (especially the Trans-Galactic Republic overseers) expected.

Without acknowledging the throng of onlookers, krogan proceeded in a single-file line into the elevator. Well, some of them, anyway. It took seven trips to get all the krogan to the upper chambers. Thankfully, a newer magnetic-based rail system replaced the old cable-and-hydraulic-assist that had resulted in such slow travel times between the base of the Council's tower and its crown.

The Council had only agreed to this after much badgering from Samantha Shepard, who, it was correctly pointed out, managed the near-impossible with her Collector Base and Saren missions. Interestingly, Victus played the part of advocate—pushing the Council to at least hear what the krogan had to say.

"You don't see everyone judging the humans by Udina or us turians by Xytler" he insisted. Never mind that neither of the example races had hundreds of years of aggression nor tried to push anyone else off their own colonies—sound bites were important!

"The thing is" began Wrex once the audience began, "I know personally I won't live to see this. That's okay. We're not even asking for associate status—just give the krogan a good behavior plan that will get them to associate status in a millennia or two!"

Roles changed somewhat as Victus found himself agitating for an expedited process, while Tevos applauded this "long view."

"Even if your request was granted today," she said, "it would obviously take time for this Council and society as a whole to find out whether the krogan as a whole are able to steer themselves onto a more productive path. We will consider your proposal."

That was it. Not a no, but not a yes either.

In private session, the Councilors expressed some surprise at Wrex's move.

"If all krogan were like Urdnot Wrex, I'd say move it up. In fact, if all krogan were like him tomorrow, I'd say give them an embassy tomorrow. The problem is, most krogan are _not_ like him. Krogan are a long-lived species with long memories. Many of them will act in ways detrimental to themselves in an attempt to send a message to us or others who they believe have committed wrongs against the krogan race."

Clethon clearly didn't like the idea, and was trying to find ways to show how unworkable it would be, though he lacked the borderline-racist venom of dalatrass Linron. He strongly suspected the Special Tasks Group had something to do with the genophage cure even though no information on the topic could be found. It was simply assumed that someone at STG involved themselves at some point. Mordin Solis still refused to comment.

"Said before. Cure appeared without notice. Unaware of origins."

Technically, some of the Trans-Galactic Republic's work hadn't been shared with the STG, nor had anybody involved bothered to let the rest of the galaxy know what they were doing.

"I still am finding myself having difficulty believing this" replied Tevos. "The only thing we haven't seen yet is Cerberus willingly demilitarizing and stopping with their anti-alien propaganda."

"Well" said Victus, "sometimes it takes a little unconventional thinking, a little willingness to take a chance no one else will, and a concept humans like to call 'faith.'"

"Caution is still warranted" interjected Clethon. "There is a key difference between faith and recklessness—the former rests on a body of established evidence, the latter is a haphazard guess."

"Uhh, that's not what it means" said Grayson. The other three ignored him.

"If we don't move now while there are feelings of goodwill, we may not get this chance again" argued Victus. "If we table this, and say we'll reconsider it in five years, it may drive many krogan away from reasonable positions like those outlined by Urdnot Wrex."

"You're forgetting that five years is a blink for a krogan" interjected Adam Grayson. He'd remained mostly quiet so far, mainly due to this issue predating him and his faction's arrival in Gamma-Six.

"It's more about the feeling that they are being strung along" countered Victus.

"Perhaps a compromise" entered Tevos. "This may seem like a preparation for the preparation; really, that is what this would be, but we need to give the population management system built into the cure time to show whether it will work. If it does not, and we grant this process, we have set the krogan up to fail. If we assume that it does, we are, as Councilor Clethon suggested, being reckless."

"Appeal to Urdnot Wrex's own idea—the population control device—ask him if he knows that it will work without any doubt" suggested Victus. "The best way to get someone to go along with something is to have them believe they came up with the idea themselves."

"And if that doesn't work?" demanded Clethon.

"Then we ask him if the future of his people is worth betting on another intergalactic war."

"And if your cure fails?" asked Tevos, turning to the mostly-silent Human Councilor.

"If it doesn't work, I suspect my successor will do what is necessary since I doubt I will live that long" sighed Grayson.

The other Councilors shifted awkwardly.

Built into the cure, a series of normally-inert genes could be activated by appropriate external factors. Once turned on, they would cause cell multiplication to proceed uncontrollably, especially among cells that maintained redundant organs. The activation sequence required four separate pieces. Each race held one—so it would take a unanimous decision to condemn the krogan species to a very painful death.

As it stood, to permit "dynamic fertility adjustment" krogan would be confined to making permanent residences on certain worlds if the plan worked out. This would lock-in fertility rates to a manageable level—if all of them simply went at it on Tuchanka the old problem of too many krogan, not enough space, could recur. As Urdnot Wrex already considered dynamic control somewhat his idea ("even though I didn't actually do the science to make it"), he figured a way to incentivize krogan to learn trades other than war might be found through appeals to pride.

Since there were limited slots on Tuchanka, krogan residing there would have to meet certain requirements, such as attending various types of educational institutions or trade-craft schools. This might "bend the curve" away from conquest.

"So we recall Urdnot Wrex, and tell him that…"

"You can't just rely on Wrex, Grayson!" snapped Victus. "He may live another four centuries, but he will die eventually. His ideas must live on, and for that we need other krogan to accept what we're going to do!"

"Then the new course of action will be to assess the effectiveness of the cure before moving on the provisional associate membership" concluded Tevos. "This seems reasonable to me."

The krogan were summoned for the next morning.

[...]

It didn't take long for Sarah's comments regarding lightspeed travel to spread around the galaxy. Certain religious factions crowed about accurately predicting the end times. Combined with increasing numbers of Relocation Events (the new semi-official term for ending up in a far different place than one intended due to interspatial rifts), the citizenry began to experience minor panics.

This all seemed pedestrian once a rather large rift let through a massive ship matching no known configuration. Later analysis would confirm radiation from the rift's opening to be basically similar to that found emitting from the backs of wormhole threshers.

Over five kilometers in length, the rather rectangular vessel resembled a large gun, or perhaps rocket launcher, without a grip or handles. This ship possessed a brownish-grey hull covered in a putrid-yellow biomass extending tendrils hundreds of meters into space. Its erratic course drew the attention of nearby authorities. Scans could not penetrate the bio-electrical impulses running through the organic covering. Several vessels attempting to find docking were grabbed by the tendrils. Crews were presumed lost and the ships were declared irretrievable. Further approach was prohibited as the vessel drifted away from the Hourglass Nebula toward the Nemean Abyss.

Upon hearing of this abomination, Admiral Allison Nimitz checked historical records. Millions of years ago, the Trans-Galactic Republic's galaxy of origin had been invaded by a group of aliens who possessed sophisticated living analogues to many technologies including hyperdrives, turbolasers, and even deflector shields. These invaders were driven off, but the cost ran into quintillions of credits and trillions of lives. Fearing a resurgence of these fearful attackers, she jumped the _Ultimatum_ to the anomaly's last-known position.

"I guess the secret's out, huh?" she grinned, activating a sequence of buttons causing several large plates to retract over _Ultimatum_'s bow. Unlike its predecessor, _Ultimatum_ did in fact possess one of those superlasers Grayson could "neither confirm nor deny" the Trans-Galactic Republic having. Hidden behind mobile hull panels, the superlaser "popped" out of the ship's bow, its gargantuan focusing crystals partially exposed. A "multi-stream" superlaser, it did not require a focusing dish, rather it composited several parallel beams into one—hence the name.

"We're not taking any chances with those biological bastards!" To emphasize the point, Nimitz pounded a fist on the control console. "Full power—who cares what's behind? I want that entire mass vaporized and/or pulled into hyperspace! _Not one atom left!_"

At maximum output, the very efficient mega-cannon aboard _Ultimatum_ could crack a planet. It used far less power than historical superlasers, and were it better-cooled to handle even greater energy, it would have been possible to vaporize an entire world. As it stood, the superlaser ended up a slapped-on addition, so its engineering alternated between jury-rigging that would make a smuggler proud and manufactured precision.

To concentrate such vast quantities of destructive ability, the weapon required a fifteen-second warm-up. Since its main target was to be whole planets at this setting, designers considered this an acceptable trade-off. The slowly-drifting hulk, with its waving tendrils and thick bio-coating, would still be an easy shot despite the lag.

"Confirm that any debris will strike particle shields" barked the Admiral. "We don't want any of that biological goo getting on this ship!"

"Confirmed, Admiral."

This timing ended up being good—a blood-red beam emerged from the front of _Ultimatum_ and pulverized the drifting wreck. Being that the superlaser's firing had not been adjusted, it continued pouring energy into space for a good five seconds afterward. Due to mechanics of superlasers, this ensured the destruction of every last particle of the mysterious vessel as even the tiniest bits were pulled into the beam.

Unfortunately for the Trans-Galactic Republic, several vessels observed the display of raw power unnoticed as _Ultimatum_'s combat suites were powered down. Their video of the event went viral in hours.

Seeing this opportunity to call the invaders out on their hypocrisy, Jack Harper and surviving Cerberus elements elected to make a surprise strike using their own, similar-but-not-the-same technology.

[…]

Aboard _Amerigo_, science continued. Well, it continued as much as it could with some experiments ending up in the wrong labs, anyway. All the high-energy particle physics aboard the vessel seemed to encourage the formation of micro-rifts, leading to tools, flasks, notes, and in a few cases whole scientists disappearing from one portion of the ship only to reappear somewhere else.

In Kevin Filner's lab, the problem became quite acute. It seemed to correlate with the agitation state of his threshers—especially the black hole thresher. After yet another day of having note-taking disrupted due to his tablet flying around the room, Kevin prepared to feed the monster and leave. Unlike other threshers, its wormhole had gotten _stronger_ in captivity. Opening the tank to the thresher habitat in which several of the creatures lived (why the black hole thresher had not eaten its companions he did not know), he readied food pellets.

The recording rod in Kevin's lab coat pocket soared toward the big animal. He resigned himself to losing it (hence why it made wireless backups every five minutes) as anything that actually _entered_ a thresher's wormhole tended to disappear. Having let loose a fistful of nutrients, he turned to attend to smaller specimens. The recording rod he'd thought lost bonked him in the back of the head. Looking to the source of his pain, Filner saw a smaller wormhole thresher diving back into the mud that made up the habitat floor.

_Did those two threshers have some kind of temporary wormhole connection?_

Out of curiosity, he tossed a rock toward the black hole thresher. It disappeared. He ducked. Instead of avoiding a rock, though, he found himself dodging tentacles. The creature did not like having rocks thrown near it, even if they missed, and was slapping everything in sight.

Beating a hasty retreat, Kevin made a note to tell the geeks in the physics wing about his experience. He also kept forgetting to send them his notes about temporal anomalies found within thresher wormholes. That, too, would be shared.

Patricia Tannis' translations were going nowhere. The droids could not construct an appropriate translation matrix for the more numerous smaller script. She almost thought it changed every time she'd tried to translate it, but each photograph matched all the others whenever she compared anything.

As Tannis lay down in bed, wracking her brain trying to figure out why her immense intellect could not defeat simple language problems, she felt something strange in her mind. Whatever dreams she had were chaotic at best, nightmarish at worst. Upon awakening, Tannis found out she'd been "asleep" for over twelve hours despite two alarms. Her droids, noticing she had not returned to work (the woman almost never slept more than a few hours at a time), returned to her bedchamber to inquire about her failure to return. Unable to wake her, they summoned medical personnel who were similarly blocked from rousing the scientist until she woke naturally.

"If I am going to experience an inability to make use of what little rest I permit myself, I will seek treatment to force my body to behave as it should!" she vowed. Rebuffed upon requesting prescription sleep aids, she headed to the ship's commissary where over-the-counter versions could be obtained. Upon downing twice the recommended dose, the dreams returned, more intense this time, though she woke after only a few hours instead of the twelve she'd required previously.

"Telepathy is fiction and has no basis in reality" she huffed, upon hearing various responses to her situation. "That woman Sarah does not count—sample sizes of one are never acceptable! It is likely she possesses some kind of technological aid that permits limited probing of other minds—nothing supernatural, inexplicable, or mysterious about that."

Light-years away, Sarah twisted and turned in her bed from experiencing similar visions.


	24. Codes and Cyphers

**Chapter 23 – Codes and Cyphers**

Shepard finally took the time to forward the message from Jack/Brick to Tali.

"As you humans say, your head is in the sand, Commander!" laughed the quarian when Sam visited her in the _Phoenix_'s engine room. "I've gotten so used to this engine that I've been spending most of my time reading material on the extranet. I saw this issue pop up weeks ago—and no, I don't have any solutions yet. I've been talking with Gaige at the SETTLE Center—you should visit her sometime."

"I will, Tali, just as soon as I figure out this hibridium, Cerberus, and superlaser thing."

Seeing the hibridium mentioned in the context of the Trans-Galactic Republic, she'd gone straight to the source, so to speak.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about" replied Adam Grayson. "I'm quite busy trying to oversee the last stages of First Flight." He chuckled at the juxtaposition of words.

Shepard never pegged Grayson as evasive or deceptive until now. A bit curmudgeonly when in a bad mood, but who wasn't unpleasant at that point? Seeing she'd not get any more information, she redirected energy to more productive pursuits.

Garrus' investigation of Nashan Stellar Dynamics turned up a thicket of leads. "Needle in a stack of needles" she harrumphed upon hearing these results. Terra Firma, a key backer of Nashan, and Cerberus had some links, but nothing concrete. Ordinarily, this would be cause for a long chain of missions ultimately culminating in storming a compound controlled by whoever was behind the whole thing. Shepard had no problem with this, but with the increasing number of interspatial rifts (her comb disappeared into one) it wasn't as if time was in abundance.

Returning to her quarters to plan the next step away from Nos Astra, she found herself not in her quarters anymore.

"Freaking interspatial rifts" she muttered.

"You're telling me" came a voice she didn't really recognize. "I've lost two cups, half a loaf of bread, and a slipper!"

"Alright, where am I?" sighed the Commander. This galaxy was just so _weird_, and she always ended up in the middle of every strange, unexplained phenomenon.

"Pandora orbit, Trans-Galactic Republic cruiser _Veritas_. Psychiatric treatment ward, room 50K" said the rather buxom, black-haired woman.

"I don't think we've met" began Shepard. "I'm Samantha Shepard. Call me 'Commander' and I may just airlock you, though—it's like I don't have a first name!"

The woman looked down, letting her shoulders slump.

"I'm kidding."

_I hope she's not as bad with humor as Garrus_.

"I'm Jackie" said the woman.

"I've only ever heard of one Jackie" mused Shepard. "Garrus Vakarian mentioned her once, didn't hear much. Not exactly…"

Before Sam could finish her thought, Jackie placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Please… Don't… I…"

A flummoxed Shepard found herself watching a grown woman putting her face in her hands and not saying a thing. She couldn't hear any crying, but something she'd said apparently didn't go over well.

"Did I say something that offended you?"

The woman looked up again.

"I'm going to tell you a story. You can believe me or not. Leave any time you want."

Jackie's voice rose as she continued speaking. "I'm not going to let my past define who I am anymore, and I'd hope you won't either."

"I'm listening…"

_I've attracted some pretty crazy people, what's one more?_

"I hope it's not too long" said Sam. "With the universe kind of falling apart with these stupid interspatial rifts and all."

"I'll keep it short" said Jackie quietly, clearly hurt by Sam's attempt at humor.

Realizing what she'd done, she backpedaled. Jackie perked up slightly, remembering what the second Maya had told her.

For the next half-hour, Samantha Shepard said not a word as Jackie Jakobs laid bare her life story, from her childhood through her stint as the Queen Bitch of Jakobs to her transformation in the present. When she was done, she looked up. She chanced a smile, hoping this Samantha Shepard might be less prone to snap-judgments than others. Jackie had taken a risk, sending short messages over the ECHONet to Athena, Axton, Garrus, and Maya asking their forgiveness and informing them that she wished to make amends. Athena and Garrus said nothing, Axton wrote a one-word reply ("Sure"), and Maya lit into her again.

"I don't know why I did it" she wailed to Judy Hann. "It's like I just want to give people opportunities to cut me down!"

"You did the right thing. Maya reacted badly, but there was nothing wrong with what you wrote."

Jackie clenched her teeth, mentally willing Sam to see beyond what Garrus likely told her.

When Shepard spoke, it was the resigned, seen-it-all, half-sigh that came to predominate the Commander's response to just about everything these days.

"Jackie, I've flown from one end of the galaxy to the other. Both of them, actually. Everywhere I go, I meet people of all races, occupations, intellects, and backgrounds. No one's perfect. Some people have parts of their past they'd rather forget. Others cling to it as if it's the only thing they have left. We all have our own personal issues we have to deal with the best we can. Learn from the past, but don't relive it. Who you were then doesn't have to be who you are today unless you want to live your life that way. If you change and someone can't get past who you were to see who you are, it's their problem, not yours."

"So you aren't worried I'm going to shove my tits in your face and have my way with you?"

Shepard looked shocked, before realizing the joke and bursting out laughing.

"Well," she replied after regaining control of her voice, "if you were to try, remember that Shepard serves under no one!"

"Give as good as you get, huh?" chuckled Jackie. She hadn't had a normal conversation with anyone that she could remember. That sex humor now passed as normal was not lost on her, though it seemed to lack the _depravity_ that her previous encounters with all things sexual possessed.

"You mentioned the universe ending earlier—I think I might have some ideas about that." Jackie pulled out her tablet on which she'd devised formulas surprising Moxxi with their depth.

"You're a theoretical physicist?" This time, genuine surprise as Sam's eyes went wide.

"Only in my spare time" replied Jackie. "When you're cooped up in the psychiatric ward, there's only so much ECHONet you can see, only so many videos available, and a really lame video game library."

"Amen on the lame games, sister. The Systems Alliance military wasn't too fond of my gaming habit either. Thankfully, Spectres can do whatever they want. Including playing DiplomoCraft at 0400 hours!"

Sam quickly explained the mechanics of the game to a confused Jackie. Unfortunately, omnitools and the ECHO system weren't compatible on more than basic communications.

"Besides, we need to try to save the universe" remarked Shepard. "So that we can pretend we did something useful today."

She winced. She hadn't meant to imply Jackie's story wasn't important. However, the other woman ignored the possible slight.

In a universe of eleven or more dimensions, Jackie's equations explained enough that determining why hyperspace and Element Zero were dangerous was trivial. What was more difficult came in the form of finding an alternative method for "breaking the light barrier." No ship could accelerate anywhere close to the speed of light without horrible time dilations and massive energy expenditures in "real" space.

"Fort Jakobs has a lot of information on this" said Jackie happily. "Our family's weapons use some technology from the Eridians to increase their damage without relying on promethium or elemental additions."

"And where is that?" inquired the Spectre. Anything that could help keep civilization going without letting it spill everywhere would be welcome.

"Plutus. Big corporate planet. I'm not sure if I'd still be able to get in though—I've been gone so long that my family may well have shut off my codes!"

Why "red alert" lights existed in every part of the ship including the medical bays made no sense to Samantha. Some people didn't need to be alerted that the ship was headed for combat, especially not psychiatric patients.

"Shepard showed up—mandatory battle!" she crowed. Jackie smiled again.

_Ha. Beat you, you dumb, useless, self-centered brat. Thought I couldn't make any friends or relate to someone who wasn't lying under me while naked? WRONG, bitch!_

Grabbing Jackie's arm, Sam hauled her off in the direction of what she hoped was the bridge. Due to her progress in therapy, Jackie's privileges included, aside from a private room, not having to wear a locator bracelet. Checks were infrequent—only at night. Since the chronometer read 1150, she would not be missed.

Over the strenuous objections of Clayton Jakobs, a small task force arrived at Pandora to investigate Jackie's disappearance since all attempts to penetrate using HUMINT or other less-obtrusive methods had failed for almost two years. Sales dropped by around 5% a quarter without new ads promoting Jakobs products—apparently, Jackie's cleavage sold more guns than expected.

"At this point, the Trans-Galactic Republic might have built a space station around the planet and garrisoned it with all the time we've given them" remarked Bill Arkansas. "I plan to negotiate for an orderly transfer if she is in fact aboard one of their ships."

Using an ECHO patch-through, Bill would be able to appear alongside the commander of Jakobs' sole dreadnaught, the _Montgomery Jakobs VII_. Long and lean, but with more protection than previous designs, _Montgomery_ resembled a kitchen fork with three engines at the back and a massive gun at the front. With energy shields borrowed (leased) from Hyperion, the ship might have a fighting chance against a Trans-Galactic Republic fleet. Might.

"These jokers again?" whined Isabelle Long. "Do they _ever_ get it through their thick skulls that we're going to destroy them if guns start firing?"

Shepard (dragging Jackie) ran onto the bridge, only for various weapons to be pointed in her direction. Wearing casual clothing (as she was turning in prior to being transported) she didn't look the military officer she was. Waving her omni-tool, she asserted InterSpec authority, commandeering the ship.

"Under the authority of…"

"Save us the lecture" huffed Captain Long. "Just do what you need to do so I can have my ship back."

Pushing Jackie and others out of view so she would be the sole individual to open communication, Sam tried not to let her annoyance show. "Just so you know" she began, putting as much force behind her voice as she could, "you people are already on pretty thin ice with us!"

"We mean you no harm" replied the bespectacled individual she assumed to be the captain of a ship identifying itself as JSS _Montgomery Jakobs VII_. "We have been in search of a family member who—"

"What do you degenerate monkeys want?" shouted Jackie, pushing her way in front of Sam. "You know full well I will do as I please, and you'd best not get in the way!"

Shepard blanched.

_Was it all an act? Did she come this far only to revert back as soon as an opportunity presented itself?_

"Jackie, we only wanted…"

"What you want doesn't matter" she pouted. "I have my own life and plans to worry about, so unless this is about more advertising dollars, I've had enough of this conversation already!"

Captain Nigel Harris inwardly cursed his lot.

_Why did I have to be the one to deal this oversexed, overindulged brat? She manages to look sexual in a hospital gown, for heaven's sake!_

In a voice tinged with an accent of refinement, he tried to parry the relentless barrage of self-indulgence emanating from Jakobs' next heir.

"Miss, advertising was actually part of it. If you would permit me to speak, I could…"

"I don't want to hear it!" she roared. "You know I'm alive, now go away!"

"As you wish. We will report back to the board that you are well, and rather…unsettled, shall we say?"

"You will tell them only that I'm not dead!" screeched Jackie. "Say anything else, and your head is mine!"

Shepard closed the channel before any other exchanges could take place. Turning to Jackie, a thundercloud gathered over the Captain of _Revenant Phoenix_.

"So, that story of yours—was it just made up crap?" she raged in a low tone. "Because you did a pretty good impression of the woman you said you don't want to be anymore." Shepard looked ready to tear someone or something in half.

Her response seemed far too chipper to be normal. "I know! I bet it looked pretty stupid, though, since I'm wearing a hospital gown…"

Jackie grinned at Shepard, until she realized the other woman wasn't laughing.

"Wait, you didn't think it was funny?"

Shepard didn't say anything, instead settling for an ice-melting glare.

Withering under a furious gaze, she saw a return of the girl who'd barely grown up, the tortured woman who never learned to live. She saw it in Jackie's downcast, dejected eyes.

_If she wasn't actually joking, I'm going to seriously regret this. Sometimes, you have to have to take a leap of faith, though…_

As quickly as the Spectre pulled her charge onto the bridge, she yanked Jackie away. She slammed the other woman up against a vestibule some distance from the nerve center of _Veritas_.

"If you ever…if this was all an act…if you turn back into that…that heartless _bitch_, I swear to you, I swear, you will regret being _born_" breathed Shepard, more hatred than she'd felt in years coursing through her veins. She wanted to believe in good, believe in better people, but was also prepared to deal with someone who had played a long fake game. "I will hunt you down. I will destroy everything you hold dear, anyone you care about, assuming that's even possible, and your entire family. No one will remember you existed at all."

Jackie didn't cry. She didn't fight, and she didn't convey any type of arousal either (if she had, that would have led to Sam decking the deceiver then and there—"liking it rough" and having partners angry was definitely "old Jackie" based on reports from Garrus).

_I know arguing will only make her more suspicious._

"Are you going to say anything?" asked the furious Captain. "Are you?"

Jackie remained silent. What could she say in the face of someone who could scare the living daylights out of you without even raising her voice?

"I'd begun to think you worthy of trust and another chance until that little outburst. Now, you have to earn it back. Break my trust again, and I'm through with you."

Doing her best level impression of a soldier's salute, Jackie acknowledged the new requirement thrust upon her. Thankfully for her, Shepard decided to leave the situation as it was.

"We're done here."

Shepard released the other woman and walked away. She needed to return to her ship, stat. Using InterSpec authority, it would have been within protocol for her to use the _Veritas_ to take herself back which would have required a week or so, but she felt that to be an abuse of authority. Instead, she hitched a ride on an outbound supply convoy. The slower engines would take a couple weeks or even more than a month to get her back to Gamma-Six, but she wasn't complaining—crossing hundreds of thousands of light years in weeks instead of months, years, or decades was hardly something to sniff at!

Sam decided to keep the episode between herself and Jackie. She'd suitably intimidated the bridge crew who'd witnessed the incident into keeping their mouths shut. She dearly wished to run the whole thing past Judy Hann, Jackie's therapist, and Moxxi, her surrogate-mother and erstwhile advocate. However, she had a feeling doing so might actually cause Jackie to retrench whether this was actually originally done in jest or not.

Sam surreptitiously copied Jackie's notes with her omnitool during their initial conversation, and vowed to study them en-route after forwarding them to Tali. Calling ahead to prevent a (wo)man hunt for her apparent missing status, she only half-jokingly told her crew "not to get involved in any huge fights while I'm away." Miranda Lawson took over as acting-Captain in the meantime.

Jackie sullenly returned to her room. She knew what she'd done wrong from Shepard's perspective. The fact that Sam's reaction actually bothered her would be noted by Hann as a good thing, a development toward having empathy and understanding of others rather than being purely selfish. That didn't make it any less painful—a possible friend and she might've thrown it away.

"But the family can't know" she spoke aloud to no one. "They have to think I'm still the old Jackie—because it will make getting access to Fort Jakobs much simpler."

[…]

"Is it just me" said Tali to Gaige over the extranet, "or does Shepard always seem to walk into the middle of every weird thing that ever happens?"

"Hey, at least it isn't boring" replied Gaige. "This place is cool. It's gotten even cooler since the attacks, even! It's awesome! But sometimes, I get bored of sitting at a computer all day designing stuff. Especially because it may not even be built or used!"

Tali wasn't sure to what Gaige referred, or how terrorist attacks could have made things "cooler." She would soon find out.

"I believe the humans have a saying, 'lovely company in misery' or something like that. I'll be joining you soon—we're on our way and will be arriving at the place in a few hours."

Gaige snickered. "It's 'misery loves company,' Tali."

"Also" continued the quarian, "she tends to drag us right into it with her!"

_Revenant Phoenix_ arrived, only to find her former construction gantry missing. In fact, the whole facility was missing, at least from the perspective of anyone who'd traveled to the station before. In reaction to not one, but two attacks by the human-supremacist group Cerberus against supposedly-secure locations, the SETTLE Facility's four platforms were taken away and replaced by a single large entity. That entity was then plunged into the atmosphere of the gas giant the base orbited, in order to hide it from visual and passive scans. This new station possessed larger digistruction bays (three total), heavier defenses, and improved crew comforts (not that the previous setup had been bad by any means).

The only other bay in use had the partially-complete _Elizabeth Booker_, which needed some repairs from being sliced in half before construction could continue. Even with rapid digistruction, it remained likely Shepard would return before _Booker_ launched.

Once _Phoenix_ adapted her shields to operating in the upper reaches of a gas giant's atmosphere, the ship was able to dock. "Tali!" Gaige ran to hug her quarian friend. She still thought it strange that a whole species lived in sterile bubbles, but with geth/Trans-Galactic Republic cooperation the quarians would shed their suits eventually. She hoped to be one of the first to see Tali's actual face. With a voice like that, Gaige figured she had to be just the cutest thing ever.

"It's certainly been less eventful than I'm used to considering where Shepard's last set of assignments took her."

"You mean the fight against the giant squid, followed by what could have been a Bunkers &amp; Badasses plot in space?"

"Sure, Gaige. Uh, what's Bunkers &amp; Badasses?"

After Gaige launched into an extremely rapid, very enthusiastic, and loud explanation Tali regretted asking. Interrupting, she suggested "Can we talk about this later? I wanted to go over this data I received from Shepard!"

"She sent you cool shiz and didn't copy me? Lame! Laaaaaaaaaaaame!"

Tali chortled at the hyperactive teenager's response. "Gaige, you have to realize Commander Shepard doesn't know you very well. She's well-aware of your contributions to the Reaper War, but she hasn't really connected with you on a personal level. I don't want to say she doesn't trust you, but in a way she doesn't."

"That doesn't make it any less lame. So what'd you bring?" Gaige practically bounced through the deck plating with excitement.

"It's a bunch of equations. She said it wasn't her own work but didn't specify where she got it. It's supposed to be related to all these interspatial rifts we've been—"

A pyjack flopped onto the deck, complete with a brief view of Tuchankan sky.

"If that's not motivation, I don't know what is" remarked Tali. "Just imagine! Random animals dropping on your head, not knowing if you might step through a door to somewhere you weren't going, your most intimate moments ruined…"

"If someone walks in on me, they're welcome to join" replied Gaige, "I could use the company! Especially if they have blue hair…"

Tali's helmet tipped to the left in a vague gesture of annoyance. "Uhh, _anyway_, let's give these writings a look, shall we?"

"Well, first off whoever wrote this overcomplicated it a lot" huffed Gaige, as if offended. "Seriously dude, you don't need eleven dimensions to make this model work! It'd probably work just fine with seven!"

"That leaves a small uncertainty over here though" countered Tali. "I know that not everything you've built has been, how shall I put it, exact, and it's worked out fine, but you can't just cut corners on quantum physics!"

"Who cares? It doesn't change the fact that we're ripping the universe a new one!"

The pyjack tried to yank the tablet out of Tali's hands.

"Stupid, silly animal! Let go!" Swinging the tablet back and forth, she flung the pyjack across the lab.

"So, as I was saying, just because eleven dimensions make this complicated doesn't mean we should simplify for convenience."

"Wait a minute!" Gaige grabbed the tablet and plugged it into a large projector. Pointing at a series of equations, she started yapping incoherently.

"Slow down!" insisted Tali. "You're making no sense right now!"

"This uncertainty that you pointed out—it gets smaller with eleven dimensions but it's way cooler. It might let us use those extra dimensions implied by these formulas! Dimensions that could be used for space-warps!"

"How is warping space any different than cutting through it?" Tali's specialty was the workings of actual engines, not propulsion theory.

"Look, these don't point to space ripping as the only solution."

"Hmm, you're right Gaige. Let's see what the simulator can show us…"

[...]

The vague yet compelling images flashing through Patricia Tannis' dreams would not go away. Each night, some combination of both still and moving thoughts stormed through her skull. She always awoke only partially aware of their contents. They seemed to be getting more intense, even though it was usually similar each time. As if there existed some urgency to them.

"Another event, Captain."

Bill Ricker had been chosen for his military experience, not love of science. He couldn't understand the command logic behind refitting a huge, expensive vessel as an even more costly mobile science lab. And here it was, tearing itself apart while trying to do the job it was now assigned.

"What section do I need to call an evac for now?" he groaned.

"It's…actually not that type of event for once" replied Science. "Some kind of energy surge, it dissipated rather quickly too—doesn't appear to have damaged anything."

"What do you mean, energy surge?" demanded the Operations officer. "The physics section is all the way over here" (he pointed at the front of the ship), "the surge hit here!" (he pointed at the back port quadrant).

"I definitely would have known if a conduit ruptured" he finished. "So it can't be that."

Captain Ricker smiled. For once, his team methodically _ruled out_ parts of the old battleship blowing up, self-destructing, or otherwise causing trouble. "So if this old bucket of bolts isn't going to shake apart on us, what caused the spike?"

Patricia Tannis received first-hand evidence of the cause in her quarters via a large pinkish flash, followed by the appearance of a towering woman.

"You are the other" thundered Sarah. "The one who also receives vision from beyond."

"And how would you know that?" demanded a shocked Tannis. "It is not as if…"

"…I can read your mind? Your cracked, damaged, yet potentially brilliant mind? I can read it as easily as you read lab charts. You primitives amuse me." Sarah took on a smug smile.

"Well. You may be taller, more muscled, and…" she paused to think before continuing. "…better looking. But you seem very human to me" huffed Tannis.

"Oh? I'm human, now? Do humans do this?"

The sheets flew off the nearby bed, arranged themselves into a star shape, and then fell on the floor.

"Or this?"

Sarah dashed around the room, so fast her purple armor left blurry afterimages in the scientist's eyes.

"I'm sure you've met others like yourself who can manage this feat."

A book pored over for hours with carefully written notes zoomed toward the intruder, who pulled something from her belt. The book vanished in a bright flurry of strikes from a cylinder that appeared to generate some kind of contained light shaft.

"What are you doing?" yelped the Eridian expert. "You have destroyed weeks of effort, I hope…"

At that moment, Tannis ceased to speak, as Sarah subjected her to a Current of Drowning while lifting her high off the deck.

"Your mind has been gazed into by the Forebears. _WHY?_"

Response: incoherent gurgling.

"Answer me, infidel!"

Tannis landed in a heap, taking in huge breaths of air.

"If you wish for someone to communicate orally—which I am more than happy to do in multiple ways—obstructing breathing is most counter-productive" lectured the gasping scientist as if speaking to a child.

"Yadda, yadda, yadda" mocked Sarah. "You have the mark of possible greatness, if you could get your mental faculties in order. Right now, it is wasted on thoughts of chairs and hatred of bacon."

"Possible? Potential?" screeched Tannis, mortally insulted. "Who do you…"

Feeling her windpipe closing, she wisely desisted. As if an invisible puppeteer moved her limbs, Tannis felt herself being forced into a kneeling position. Sarah stood over her, placing both hands on short brown hair.

Blackness. Emptiness.

*FLASH*

A planet with a very mono-colored biosphere: a sickly yellow-brown.

*FLASH*

Buildings coated in what looked like some form of bio-matter, pulsating and writhing. Similarly-colored lifeforms moved about, though they seemed uncoordinated.

*FLASH*

A massive ship careening out of control engaged some kind of engine, creating a light blue ring surrounding a pure black circle into which it vanished. The ship had the same appearance of being consumed by bio-matter as the planet and its buildings did.

*FLASH*

Something exploded as a massive red beam cut through it.

*FLASH*

A view from the perspective of a person, likely aboard a ship or inside an installation hallway. Firing a primitive projectile weapon against hordes of the ugly life-forms. One jumped, chewing through the person's face. Laboratory tanks were visible—they contained long, tubular animals of some kind.

*FLASH*

A room full of humans wearing armor. No visible eyes or features behind gold-colored faceplates. A massive cylindrical structure occupied the center of the room. The humans apparently guarded the entryways into their chamber.

*FLASH*

Whiteness.

Sarah returned to the present, suddenly aware that she'd dragged the scientist over as she'd fallen to the floor from the intensity of the contents of Tannis' mind.

"We have larger problems" harrumphed Sarah. "It appears the Forebears intended to send a message through the Veil to me, but for some reason" (she mashed her hands into and pulled on Tannis' hair as she spoke) "the message got garbled. You got half, I got half. Now I have the whole thing."

"Will you share this knowledge with me, or will you amuse yourself by taunting my lack of this information?"

"Patricia Tannis, you may yet be of use. You shall be given the complete transmission. Kneel before me."

"The laboratory!" she shrieked upon receiving a complete copy of the images that haunted her dreams. "The lab! We have to stop them!"

"This is why I said you _might_ be useful. At present, your usefulness is diminishing fast. Best change that." Sarah's smile was not kind.

"There are individuals of lesser intellect aboard this vessel whose research, if it can be called that, involves the worm-like animals native to Pandora called threshers. I believe this is what we saw." Tannis grabbed a tablet and roughly sketched out the contents of her imagination.

"Perhaps you might rise above the station your species normally occupies after all" replied Sarah. "This is an acceptable approximation of what I myself witnessed. Take me to the place in which these apes may be causing our doom with their ignorance."

"Now arriving at Biology and Life Sciences Wing. Have a pleasant day, and please do not touch anything without first consulting the scientist whose project you are viewing."

"So your fellow humans are mentally deficient enough to need warnings like this?" demanded the Siren.

"I suspect it may have something to do with the Trans-Galactic Republic's Standardized Regulations of Military Law…"

"…though you cannot recall which because the document is lengthy and cumbersome."

"Must you?" sighed Tannis.

Sarah put on that nasty smile she'd worn earlier when warning the scientist her usefulness hung by a thread. Tannis was not one to be frightened easily but this woman did all that and more without even apparently trying.

"Surely you do not expect me to afford courtesy to laboratory animals now, do you?" she mocked.

Knowing no victory could come of this debate, the short-haired scientist kept her mouth shut.

"Good girl."

"Ah, here we are" said Tannis, happy to have something that would distract her ever-superior companion from making light of the apparent stupidity of her entire species. "Fletcher, Fidren, Filner."

"He is the one conducting experiments involving the creatures?"

Lights in the corridor flickered. A new sign on one of the Life Science annexes caught Patricia Tannis' eye: "Warning: Thresher Wormhole Testing"

Seeing this, Sarah drew her strange device. "So this is where I get to start trashing things? Fun!"

"How unscientific of you" pouted Tannis. "You ought to at least find out whether the vision was correct."

"Your insolence aids me, else I would run you through with this lightstaff!"

Large doors slid into the walls on either side, revealing a monstrosity—Filner's black hole thresher quadrupled in size to over seventeen meters. Its wormhole had also become far larger both in measured size and with proportion to its body, though paradoxically it attracted _fewer_ items to itself when activated (Filner's original formula predicted a wormhole that size would crumple the lab). Its great diameter permitted the insertion of many instruments and a significant amount of measurement not possible on smaller specimens.

Several men and women Tannis had not seen in the Life Sciences wing clustered around Dr. Kevin Filner. Stepping closer, it became apparent the researchers were deep in discussion about propulsion theory.

"Whatever this animal does, it could revolutionize how we beat the light barrier" said one with a military buzz cut.

"If we could figure out how it works" griped another whose long blonde hair definitely didn't fit regulations. She dressed like all the other scientists, but despite the lab coat it was clear her body was worth writing home about even while covered.

"It uses practically no energy compared to our current star-drive systems" gasped a third, this one with a head on fire from flaming orange hair and a generous dose of red freckles. He made excited motions toward a set of equations on a display behind the conversation participants. "It's entirely biological—and as advanced as we are, cribbing off nature can often offer useful ideas, if not a flat-out blueprint."

"The only problem is the damned temporal flux" added Filner. "Sometimes, two clocks come out relatively similar, other test runs show hours, days, or even week-long differences! To top it off, the clocks inside don't ever follow the ones we have out here! And these are atomic!"

"Hey, at least the universe won't get warped" remarked the blonde. "Some of these suggest space might heal itself if left alone long enough."

"Except, just like planetary-scale climate changes, once you reach a tipping point there's no going back" interjected the freckled scientist. "And we're rapidly approaching, if not past, that point! Even if we used thresher-drives on all ships tomorrow, it might be too late."

Sarah stood quietly, not making any snarky comments about the stupidity of _Homo sapiens_.

"Not so unintelligent, Miss Superiority?" gushed Tannis. "Judge us all by the brainless troglodytes on Pandora and undoubtedly you would come to the conclusion that we are all simply apes who have learned to use tools."

"Technically, that description is still correct" sniped Sarah, "but the tools in your hands are extremely advanced."

The gathering of boffins realized simultaneously someone had been observing them for the past few minutes.

"Well, who are you?" asked Filner. "Tannis—I've seen you around occasionally, but who's your Amazonian blue-haired companion?"

"It can't be" insisted buzz-cut.

"Not Sarah the Soothsayer Siren of Doom?" giggled the blonde.

Said Siren decided to have a little fun with these intelligent monkeys. Unleashing a very mild Current of Pain, she had them all on their knees in moments.

"Is this not where you belong?" she intoned smoothly, as if a royal speaking to subjects. "Is this not your natural state of being?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" demanded Filner through clenched teeth. "If you're here to ask for help wiping all life out of the galaxy, I've got news for you, Titan Purplehair—your nihilism isn't even necessary anymore! Not with the work we're doing!"

"Oh, that's what you would like to think" she replied icily, "but there's so many more variables than the ones you can see."

"Oh really?" snapped freckles. "Do enlighten us, oh supreme lover of death, how do we primitive screwheads have our craniums in our asses?"

"Your lesser minds cannot comprehend this knowledge" replied the towering Siren, as if telling scientists to take a monumental claim without any supporting evidence whatsoever represented a solid debating tactic.

"She is being as honest as I am when I say that social interaction gives me great anxiety" interjected Patricia Tannis. This caused turned heads, as Tannis would usually beat a hasty retreat from the cafeteria if a single other person entered it, even if that person made no attempt to interact with her or occupy space near her.

One of the undergrads remarked how dashing Tannis looked while in the cafeteria line, causing the scientist to vomit into the salad bar and make a run for the ladies' room.

"She's not kidding" whispered the blonde to the ginger. "She won't tell me if she actually made it to the toilet in time or if she had to do some extra laundry…"

"My bet's on the laundry" replied the ginger.

"The Forebears have left specific instructions that what you are doing will unleash a force that makes death by Ancient Machine vastly preferable."

"You mean Reaper?" replied Kevin sardonically. Why did everyone have to come up with different names for the same purple murder machines?

Sarah pulled Tannis away from the scientists. "I have matters of great consequence requiring my attention in your quarters. You shall assist me."

"Ooooooo" said the scientists in unison.

"Your thoughts regarding her and I make zero sense" snapped Sarah. "I have no idea why what you are thinking about would possibly be interesting."

She did not elaborate or suggest she had no idea what, exactly, these activities imagined by the scientists (involving her and Tannis, minus clothing) were.

The doors hissed shut behind the pair.

"You know" remarked Kevin Filner, "that just makes me more motivated to show up that insane purple-headed nutjob."

[…]

Prior to the departure from the Citadel for the SETTLE Center, Garrus spoke with Councilor Adrien Victus in the latter's office regarding recent events.

"The Trans-Galactic Republic is hiding something again" he insisted. "This hibridium stuff seems to matter a lot to Cerberus and the Councilor won't talk."

"He may have his reasons, but I do agree with you. Complete refusal to comment undermines the genophage analogy I made earlier when discussing superlasers—if hibridium is some kind of offensive weapon intended to deter, it is generally required that those involved know what the weapon will do if it is used in order for the deterrent to be effective" replied Victus.

"Well, we know what superlasers do." Garrus seemed a bit too excited about this, but then he always sought to calibrate absolutely every weapon to perfection. He'd admitted as much when pressed by Shepard prior to her unexpected departure—there were so many parts to calibrate on a superlaser he'd be at it all day!

"Indeed. And it would be absolutely disastrous for everybody if Cerberus managed to acquire one aside from that which we destroyed at a certain battle." Despite the supposed secure nature of a Citadel Councilor's office, neither wanted to discuss the SETTLE facility if they could avoid it. The place had already been trashed and infiltrated.

"You saw the videos" pushed Garrus. "What do you think? Does the Trans-Galactic Republic actually have superlasers, or was that some clever video-manipulation?"

"As a member of the Citadel Council, my opinion is that of my ally Adam Grayson. But from one rogue to another, they have them—they use them, and the high-minded talk about avoiding setting dangerous precedents is just that—talk. The precedent is already set. Get in the way of the Trans-Galactic Republic and they will smash you."

"I have a possible lead on hibridium, but in order to pursue it I may cause a diplomatic incident" responded the Spectre-in-all-but-name.

"As if your old Commander hasn't caused enough of those in her day? Most of the time, her judgment has been sound and the messes worth it. Do whatever you have to do. The less I know the better, but try not to blow up any star systems. That's a record I don't want to see broken!"

[…]

"We have not heard from Venera or The Lady in a significant amount of time" fumed Jack Harper. "I might well take back my old moniker if there are no domineering individuals around who insist I use my old name."

"Sir, we will use whatever designation you wish" replied the scientist. "Cronos Station remains undetected, and hibridium shipments are pouring in quickly. The Citadel Council is aware of our efforts relating to 'super-lasers', but as usual has jammed up on political considerations."

"Very good. This means our image of a letter-writing pressure group is cemented in the public consciousness. No one wants to appear overly worried by a bunch of angry humans writing letters on the extranet."

"Also, lack of information flow between the Trans-Galactic Republic and the Citadel Council is working in our favor" replied Evee Corde. "The Council does not know what the purpose of hibridium is, and their so-called friend Adam Grayson isn't talking. For all they know, hibridium is another mythical male enhancement product."

"It is certainly an enhancement, but not for that. How much more before the station can be made to disappear?"

"That's part of the problem, sir." Corde hesitated.

"Don't be afraid to give me bad news. People who berate their employees for daring to tell the truth often find themselves blindsided by lies created to placate them."

"Well, the hibridium we're getting isn't exactly pure. We need several hundred kilograms of it in a very specific form—crystals that meet a very high standard of precision. If the hibridium isn't the right shape, we can attempt to refine it again by turning it to powder, melting it down, and re-crystalizing it, but that takes time. It also only yields around 37.325% as usable crystals when the rest turns to slag, so we're losing over 60% of the small shipments we can receive through smuggling."

"What about the power units?"

"Those have already been installed along with Trans-Galactic Republic-derived sublight and lightspeed engines. We're not going to use the mass relay network because that would attract attention—if we want to strike at the Citadel and _Ultimatum_, we're going to need the element of surprise."

"Have you figured out why the smugglers insist we cannot use the cloak and the hyperdrive at the same time?"

Harper took on a pensive look. This was a challenge, just like rebuilding Samantha Shepard had been. Despite their parting-of-ways, Harper didn't regret spending billions of credits to bring the woman back to life—she was what humanity needed at the time. No other could have done what she did: build a team, travel through the Omega-4 relay, destroy the Collector Base, and bring everyone back alive. Her refusal to preserve the base, of course, was a major sore point. Still, humanity survived.

"As you know, currently if we engage the hibridium cloak and the hyperdrive at the same time, there is an 85.7% chance of a critical overload in the cloaking matrix. The crystals would shatter, and an energy surge back into the main reactor would follow. The reactor would detonate."

"How are we attempting to solve the problem?"

"A surge suppressor of sorts could protect the reactor, but the crystals would be lost. Sir, there is something fundamental about these crystals and a reaction to faster-than-light travel—they cannot survive it. So even if we did survive, we'd lose our ability to cloak after one jump, likely _during_ that jump."

"Study those crystals! Even if it delays the project by six months, I want every feasible option looked into for making the stealth system work with faster-than-light travel."

"Yes, sir."


	25. Mission

**Chapter 24 - Mission**

"Garrus. I wasn't expecting you."

"Thane, you remember being recruited by Samantha Shepard for a crazy, suicidal mission?"

"Of course" buzzed the drell. "Well, I remember everything, but even if I did not, that is a hard thing to forget."

"I have a bit of a crazy mission of my own. Can't say who gave it to me, but it definitely has that galactic connotation to it. Would you be willing to assist?"

"You have undeniably picked up some of her style—showing up in a person's home bringing tales of impending doom that only we can solve, without going into much detail."

Garrus laughed. "So is that a yes, or a no?"

"Well, since this isn't about an impending Reaper invasion, I would like more information if you can share it" replied Thane. His answer spoke for itself, however, as he reached for a sniper rifle kept on his mantle.

"A certain human-supremacist group has done a very good job of convincing the galaxy they are no longer a threat. Under this cover, they are doing something big—here, look."

Garrus pulled up the infamous video. Mostly-black space plus a vast, but putrid-yellow ship. A thick red beam appeared in the right side of the frame and obliterated the ship.

"If Cerberus has that kind of firepower…"

"That's not Cerberus" cut in Garrus. "That would be our erstwhile allies, the Trans-Galactic Republic. They have insisted that these so-called 'superlasers' are banned from use, but they've also refused to comment on whether or not they actually possess them. Well, here's the proof."

The image zoomed out, revealing the great grey bulk of a _Revenant_-class Star Dreadnaught.

"It would have been wise for the first vessel like this one to have used this weapon against the Reapers."

"I agree" flanged the turian, "but that ship didn't actually have a superlaser. The replacement, _Ultimatum_, appears to possess at least one."

"Fitting name" replied Thane. "Obey us or be blown to bits."

"Needless to say, Cerberus wants to construct one of these for themselves. They're collecting all sorts of parts—the main component being rare gems from the Gamma-Three galaxy that can focus a laser with significantly lower heat buildup than traditional crystals."

Thane shouldered and unshouldered his rifle repeatedly. "You want to stop them."

"A small squad might be helpful there."

"Where do we start?"

"We need a ship. While I could just borrow Shepard's, Cerberus already knows it—the _Maxthon_-class is pretty obvious since there are only two flying examples in the entire galaxy. My source pointed me to Arcturus Station. Didn't say what, but supposedly there's a solution."

"That's a human station—the seat of the Systems Alliance. You're sure they'd help a turian and a drell?"

Garrus raised his omnitool again.

"Whatever you need with that ship, since it no longer has a commanding officer, you can use it. Just don't scratch the paint. Hackett out."

"Who is that?"

"This is Admiral Steven Hackett, Systems Alliance. My informational benefactor received the message from him a few days ago" answered Garrus.

"Sounds like we have ourselves a ship."

One uneventful hyper-zero jump later, the pair arrived at Arcturus Station. Miranda had been kind enough to drop them off and told them that Joker was free to go with them if he wanted. Jumping at a chance to fly what he thought was his old ship, Jeff "Joker" Moreau immediately accepted.

"Now, if you still have that stick up your butt…"

"Do I need to tell the joke about why the Alliance hires pilots with brittle bone disease again?" The turian glared, in a friendly way.

"Besides, I don't have that problem anymore, remember?"

"So we're taking the _Normandy_?" inquired Thane. "That ship is a museum."

"This one isn't. It's complicated—I'll tell you once we're inside."

As the hatch sealed, a hand tapped Garrus on his armored shoulder. Spinning with a pistol drawn, he found himself sticking a gun in the face of none other than Kasumi Goto.

"Paranoid, are we?"

"You startled me. Sneak up on someone who's been in a dozen battles and this reaction surprises you?" He looked openly relieved to see who it was, however.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, Mr. Green, you seem to be going on a mission. A mission that could use some help."

Garrus was torn between annoyance that his super-secret plans had been spied upon and impressed at the thief's cunning.

"Thane, you remember she's the best thief in the galaxy, right?"

"Come with me to the cargo bay" added Kasumi, a hint of seductiveness in her voice. "And I'll show you what being the best thief can get you."

"If I recall correctly" remarked Thane on the elevator ride down, "we only ever came down here to fight off that Oculus that punched through the shuttle bay door—otherwise, we were never allowed into the hanger except to board the shuttle."

"Makes you wonder what kind of secrets Shepard stored down here" chirped Kasumi.

"Uhh, yeah, this is a hundred kinds of awkward—this isn't the _Normandy_ you knew" replied Garrus.

"No duh" said Kasumi, rolling her eyes. "What I would give to steal the _original_ _Normandy SR-2_… Upgraded powerplant, enhanced weapons…" A gleam came into her eye.

She pointed at a device on a sled toward the front of the cargo bay. "I checked this out from a Trans-Galactic Republic freight shipment coming back from Gamma-Three. Apparently, it's a device that will hide a ship from all known sensors—even the Trans-Galactic Republic's. It doesn't risk the crew getting cooked alive either. Switch on, switch off!"

"Let me guess, that thing won't work in this _Normandy_" sighed Garrus.

"Not without those." Kasumi pointed at two cylindrical-shaped objects behind the stealth generator. "I snared us a completely self-contained system!"

"You realize if those power generators are just down here in the hold, they could come loose, explode, or something else unpleasant, right?"

Kasumi pouted. "Now that sounds a bit like you're ungrateful…"

"Not at all" replied Garrus. "Just thinking of a reason to go for this very crazy, very Shepard-like plan…

"While you come up with that, I'll be breaking the codes locking down the cloaking device." Kasumi's omnitool lit up and she began her work.

"We're probably going to need more than just the three of us" remarked Thane.

[…]

"Of course" replied the soldier, in a creepily monotonous tone of voice. "We can definitely get what you need."

"Good. Your service will be rewarded."

The video feed cut off.

"Your hunger has gotten the better of you, and I will exploit that fact to put an end to your reign of terror" vowed the justicar. Her prey eluded many previous attempts at capture. The most recent fell apart partially due to Samantha Shepard's over-enthusiastic role-playing—but Samara could not blame the human for doing as instructed. It did keep Morinth's attention, at the cost of then having to choose between the escaping Ardat-Yakshi and allowing an innocent life to be imperiled.

That Morinth now operated openly in a greyport near the Trans-Galactic Republic's main fleet had as much to do with them not realizing the dangers of Ardat-Yakshi as with Morinth's increasing compulsion to feed on the minds of others. As far as she could tell, Samara's troublesome spawn had taken up some kind of contracting position with a company called "Stellar Dust and Echoes." It had been founded very recently, exploring "cutting-edge imported technology," though exactly what wasn't made clear. So far, Morinth displayed incredible control, an uncanny ability to hide deaths, or likely both as no suspicious passings appeared in any records for months. She kept stringing both men and women wearing the ten-pointed star along with promises of fantastical fulfillment—granting her access to unimaginable amounts of Trans-Galactic Republic war materiel.

"Ma'am, station security will see you now." A private motioned for Samara to follow into an office dominated by a huge wooden desk and the gigantic man who sat behind.

"Commander Schmidt, this lady claims to have information about a security threat to our operations here." The private left.

"Sit down. What have you seen?"

Samara summoned the video she'd viewed earlier.

"This asari is a very dangerous individual. She lures with her body, entraps with her words, and kills with her thoughts. You must allow me access to this facility so I may remove this threat."

"You're going to have to be more specific than that" growled Commander Wolf Schmidt. "If I let anyone who came up with a cosmic horror story run loose on my station, it would be a warzone. And I'd be willing to bet half our hardware would mysteriously disappear."

"You are not familiar with the Ardat-Yakshi, Commander. I have hunted this one for over four hundred years. Speak with your cultural and integration experts, they will verify what I have told you about the dangers of these asari."

"I'll look into it. We're through here."

Another soldier returned to show the asari out.

_She sure dresses weird_ thought Schmidt. _Red armor that looks like something pulled out of a knights and dragons tale…_

Punching the words into his terminal, he searched for "ardot yakshi" only to be asked "Did you mean _Ardat-Yakshi_?"

Scrolling through what little information he could find (mostly unofficial accounts, news reports, and the occasional photo), his findings did nothing to assuage his suspicions as very few official sources existed. There was something about a monastery for these "Ardat-Yakshi" but other than a list of products available for purchase (via third-party shippers) it didn't say anything about what Ardat-Yakshi were or why they might be dangerous. It did indicate that Ardat-Yakshi were not allowed to leave the monastery, but that seemed fairly common for religious orders—nothing out of the ordinary.

"Sounds like we have a naughty nun on the loose!" he chuckled.

At that moment, Morinth dragged the body of a young man into the darkness of a corner. It would look as though he'd had a stroke, collapsed, and hit his head on a container as he fell.

"Workplace hazards" she sniggered. These Trans-Galactic Republic types were so thick—here they were in the middle of some of the most secure space in the galaxy, and no one seemed to notice or care about an uptick in "on-the-job accidents" that just happened to be fatal. Or that a larger body than statistics would support of young men and women were dropping dead of unusual maladies usually affecting those far greater in age.

"Another fall" sighed the morgue intake. "Process it."

"Whoa, whoa, that's the third one this month!" protested his assistant. "How could this many people possibly be tripping and _dying_ on a military space station?"

"They don't pay us to figure that out, Jake" droned his superior. "Just tag the body so next-of-kin can be notified."

"That's just it Bob—there are no known next-of-kin! That's the sixth one we've had come in dead with no family."

"Look, if you've been reading extranet conspiracy theories again…"

"He has not" came an assertive feminine-sounding voice. "The pattern he has noticed is indeed noteworthy, and should concern you."

An asari. How strange. It wasn't like the morgue was a secure area, but who wandered around in such a depressing place?

Samara endeavored to keep a very low profile, and so far she'd succeeded at sneaking around the station without attracting attention. Knowing full well that her deadly daughter could pass for her in an instant, she didn't want to risk Morinth becoming alerted to her presence and either disappearing or sowing confusion by pretending to be Samara.

"What, are all these deaths connected, or something? Like those crazy HoloNet vids that you can rent for five credits and have nightmares for weeks afterward? 'Cause if that's it, I'm outta here!" protested the one called Bob.

"Quite the contrary, you should remain. Your and Jake's testimony would be invaluable in convincing the head of station security here to see the pattern."

"You think Wolf would listen to _us_?" demanded Jake incredulously. "We're just morgue workers!"

"Your position does not invalidate the data you would be bringing to his attention" countered Samara. "My name is Samara. I am an asari justicar—and I would vouch for your findings."

"Samara?"

"Just-a-car?"

The two looked very confused.

"We must move quickly" intoned the asari, "lest Morinth make another move."

"Morinth?" piped up Jake. "That asari chick who likes to hang around the dockworkers?"

"You have seen her?" Samara's voice took on even greater urgency.

"Yeah!" added Bob. "She comes around any time a freighter docks to unload fancy military hardware. She seems to have been stringing the foreman along for a while—dunno what makes him put up with it. She's just like any other asari…it's not like she's more attractive than the rest."

"In this you are mistaken" replied the justicar. "While all asari possess mental abilities when melded with a potential mate, Ardat-Yakshi such as Morinth may exert subtler influence even without making the full connection."

"The people she talks to always seem to be spaced out. Like they're hypnotized or something" said Jake. "It's weird!"

"Do you have any idea how many of your people she has influence over?"

"Hard to say. Though, Carl did seem a bit dejected last week—and now he's here." Jake pointed at the body.

"Your medical scanners do not know what to look for. I believe he may have been a victim of the Ardat-Yakshi mental overload which takes place when an Ardat-Yakshi connects with another. The only guaranteed method to ascertain the cause of death is to have the body examined by an individual trained in asari physiology. Would it be considered disrespectful in your culture for this body to remain unburied for several days while tests are run?"

"You said your name was Samara, right?" inquired Jake. "See, that's the thing—all these dead guys—"

"—and gals—" interjected Bob. "Two women had weird accidents too!"

"—they all had either no family or very distant family" finished the morgue worker.

"This fits Morinth's pattern" responded Samara thoughtfully. "She seeks out those with few connections, reserved manners, and little desire to socialize. She pretends to empathize with them, drawing them in with stories of similar experiences and empty promises to 'make them better' or punish those who 'wronged' them. Then, she strikes. You must realize that each time an Ardat-Yakshi melds, she becomes even more addicted to the process. Unlike most chemicals, whose effects fade over time and require higher doses to achieve the same altered state, the melding of an Ardat-Yakshi produces an ever more intense pleasure each time."

"Geez, the Trans-Galactic Republic is so big and bureaucratic that all these things went unnoticed" gasped Bob. "They only see something if it's really out of the ordinary!"

"The whole 'everyone forward, everyone upward' motto sounds nice in campaigns, but even if they did want to 'lift up' everyone, people would be left behind because the Republic is so damn big!" replied Jake.

"I am sorry that your government cannot show greater concern for its citizens. However, what is important right now is that we present this evidence to the chief of station security immediately."

The three headed away from maintenance and back toward the more brightly-lit central administration section.

"Will you be able to summon the death records of each individual you have mentioned?" asked Samara.

"Yep" volunteered Bob. "My supervisor code should let us see anyone who came into the morgue in the past year."

"You're telling me Connor Ventura just _fell off a freight loader?_" shouted Wolf Schmidt. "The foreman, with _thirty years_ of experience handling cargo, just _happened_ to fall off a freight loader?"

"Well sir, that's what the accident report says. We're lucky Morinth was here though—otherwise we might have never found him!"

The Ardat-Yakshi could not keep the glee off her face as she spoke into the video feed. Her voice was syrupy and sickly sweet. "I'm _so sorry_ to have to tell you about Connor's death. He was _such_ a good man—in more ways than one" (she winked) "and I would be _happy_ to arrange a suitable tribute for him, with your permission of course."

"I'll keep that in mind" replied Schmidt gruffly before turning off the feed.

"This doesn't add up. That ain't no normal woman—she doesn't seem right given what's happened!"

The realization hit him like a cruiser coming out of lightspeed—the asari he'd dismissed only hours earlier who'd warned him about "Ardat-Yakshi." Maybe that was a fancy asari word for murderer.

"…you can't, he's on a very important call, I'll—"

WHUMPF. A body slammed into the glass door of Schmidt's office. Morinth's image disappeared.

"When we spoke hours ago, I only had suspicions. Now, I have irrefutable proof and you will listen to me. By the Code, if you attempt to restrain me or otherwise hinder my mission, I will be forced to kill you and anyone who assists in your attempts to interfere." If it hadn't been an asari justicar saying these words, they probably would have been shouted and punctuated with gestures. Not Samara.

"Look, lady, I told you—"

"You spoke from a position of ignorance then—as you do now. Your two morgue workers can explain." She pushed the pair forward.

"S-s-sir."

"Since I'm going to be forced to listen or apparently this red-clad asari will feed me my own ass, there's no need to stutter or be afraid. Out with it!"

"Well, I've been analyzing the incoming bodies at the morgue" began Bob.

_Liar,_ fumed Jake to himself. _I pointed that out, and now he's taking credit for it_.

"What's there to analyze?" snapped Schmidt. "They're all dead!"

"Yes, but surely it doesn't seem weird to you that all these people are dying in very preventable accidents in some of the most secure space in the entire galaxy? And a bunch of 30-somethings having strokes one after another? Or two lethal trip-falls in _one week?_"

"I'm sorry—my job is _security, _not workplace safety. How is this relevant?"

Samara cut in. "You said yourself that you were being forced to listen or, in your own words, you would be 'fed your own ass,' yet you continuously interrupt him before he can finish his report. It is not helpful."

Schmidt sat back and remained quiet.

"Not only that, but all these people—Jake spotted a pattern—they either have no family or father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate is all the family they have left and they live all the way on the other side of the galaxy" finished Bob.

_Loners work the docks. Who gives a shit?_

"The individual I spoke of earlier preys on these people" continued Samara. "She deliberately seeks out those who few will miss before she satisfies herself with their deaths."

"So what?" exploded Schmidt. "We have a murderous prostitute on the loose, and that justifies you barging into my office?"

"You still do not understand. By limiting yourself to your own worldview and refusing to broaden your sources of information, you remain unaware of the many dangers that call this galaxy home which you have never been made aware of" shot back Samara, again, maddeningly calm. "If you had spoken with your cultural and integration officers as I had suggested, this misunderstanding might all have been avoided."

She launched into a lecture.

"Morinth is no mere prostitute, as you insist on calling her. She is an Ardat-Yakshi, a sufferer of a rare genetic disorder. Given your previous attitude, I will operate under the assumption you do not understand the asari mating process. Asari may reproduce with any other race—the act itself is almost entirely mental. Physical pleasure is optional and not required to impregnate the asari. For asari who suffer from the condition of Ardat-Yakshi, the mental joining is different. Instead of a gentle union, the Ardat-Yakshi's nervous system overpowers that of her mate, burning it out and causing excruciating pain. Most die from the resulting cranial hemorrhages, though a few survive as empty husks. Your medical science has not been exposed to Ardat-Yakshi, nor do they know the symptoms of an Ardat-Yakshi-induced death. Thus, I would not expect you to recognize it when you saw it."

"Geez lady, no need to be so sensitive" responded Schmidt. "Get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

"The only wrong in this situation is your refusal to cooperate. I will give you this chance to either assist me or step aside. After that, the Justicar Code demands I take action to rein in a murderer."

"This is exactly the sort of shit I didn't want to wade into by talking to the cultural integration officer about."

Schmidt tapped his terminal.

"Just don't cause too much damage. Do whatever you want otherwise. Report back to me when you've killed or driven off this space-succubus."

Outside the office, Samara thanked the morgue workers for assisting her, then warned them to stay out of the way.

[…]

Athena hadn't received reports from several top operatives in days. InterSpec certainly had rough edges, but this was slightly suspicious. Those contacted to check up on the agents (not agents themselves, just otherwise-ordinary citizens) were unable to locate their charges. They'd finally begun closing in on this "superlaser" thing that Cerberus apparently backed. As if the universe decided this wasn't enough, a "Stellar Dust and Echoes" appeared, accused of smuggling extremely heavily classified Trans-Galactic Republic military hardware.

"This is of utmost importance" intoned Admiral Allison Nimitz. "You are not to speak to anyone about this—and should these issues become public we will deny all knowledge."

_Yeah, yeah, toss us away and destroy the key—but expect us to do the job anyway_.

"Shipments of a certain material from our home galaxy are coming in five to seven percent lower than we anticipated. The amount lost is almost so random it's a pattern—it's always between five and seven, usually on the low side, but sometimes on the high side. The reason for this concern is that the material is both commercially valuable and strictly controlled. I cannot reveal its use to you."

"Does it create Current-Channelers like that wacko Sarah?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Nimitz laughed. "No, it definitely doesn't do that. It does offer another type of enhancement, though—not one we'd want our enemies to have."

"Are you or Grayson or someone from your galaxy who might know what the hell is going on working on apprehending this purple-haired doomsayer?"

"Athena, you have to realize we have bigger problems than errant Current Channelers. They're rare, sure, but so far this 'Sarah' hasn't done anything big enough to merit investigation. Making lunatic rants about the end of civilization for some reason or another doesn't count!" laughed the Admiral.

_She's not cleared to know about Operative Bailey and RISE, who are quite pissed at his disappearance_.

"Okay, so you want me to track down a material you refuse to describe to me, send you information on whoever is stealing it, and if possible put a stop to it. Got it."

_How the hell do people actually accomplish anything around here?_

"Your omnitool will now recognize the asset tags the Trans-Galactic Republic places on containers of the substance in question. You may disseminate the asset tag type to the following list of operatives under your command…"

A series of names began scrolling across Athena's terminal while a small rift swallowed her stylus.

_Damn it_.

"If you have any other issues during the assignment, let me know. Nimitz out."

She wondered if she might ask Garrus about this. After all, he seemed to have way too much information about the problem despite its supposed high level of classification and his lack of a clearance. As it turned out, the turian she sought walked into her office at a most fortunate time.

"I hate to ask after all you've been through—you sought out a paper job to avoid combat, after all—but…"

"Yes. Let me gather my things."

"Wow. That eager? I didn't even tell you what we're doing yet. For all you know, I could be scheming to cram you into one of those machines that makes duplicates of paper to see if I can duplicate you."

She smiled.

_Is he trying to be funny?_

Simultaneously, Garrus wondered _Does she actually like me? She's never met aliens before!_

"Come back to my ship and I'll explain."

Athena's eyes widened. "You have your own ship?"

He put the palms of his three-fingered hands up. He'd picked up on many of these gestures during his brag-matches with James Vega when the latter had been briefly serving on the _Normandy_.

"No, no, it's not mine—not permanently. I've been put in charge of a little mission, though."

Upon boarding, Athena's confusion deepened.

"Isn't this ship a museum on Earth? Samantha Shepard used to command this ship!"

"That's another part of this that's totally nonsensical. This ship came through one of those interspatial rifts, near Arcturus Station."

Athena gasped. Being a paper-pusher, she missed many goings-on that were old hat to military and special-agent types unless it was noted in a report.

"There are rifts big enough for ships now?"

"Yep" replied Garrus. "They're not very widespread though."

"Plus" he continued, "smaller rifts are so commonplace now people don't even talk about them. Vanished pen? Rift. Missing hovercar keys? Rift. Lost button on your suit? Rift!"

Athena found this all highly amusing, despite the dangers. "I kind of feel sorry for whoever gets bombarded with lost pens!"

"Well, perhaps they need writing devices of their own!"

"Who else is on board?" inquired the InterSpec desk agent.

"Here's a personnel list. Most of them are either crew or duplicates of crew from the original _Normandy_, though there are a few notable personalities. Kasumi Goto is the best thief in the galaxy. Thane Krios a top-notch drell marksman (he didn't want to use the word "assassin" around Athena). I'm trying to find more people since a ground team of the same three people all the time might not be able to handle every situation."

"What about the KOMBT School? Their offices are on another one of the Citadel's arms, but it's not that far from here if you take a hovertaxi."

Fifteen minutes later, Garrus stepped into the lobby that led to the Kinetic-Oriented Multiple Belligerent Training School. Ordinarily, after an incident like Sarah's unexpected visit, security would have been upgraded in reaction to the event. But what do you do about a woman who could almost appear and disappear at will, ignoring all attempts to keep her out?

"Hello, I'm looking for Jack or Brick."

"So are a lot of people" droned the receptionist. "Who are you and why should I care?"

_This is the part where I wish I was an actual Spectre…_

"Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec Special Agent." He had to admit, "special agent" kind of sounded badass, but not as badass as "Spectre."

"Both instructors submitted sworn statements on the Sarah incident already" replied the obviously bored receptionist. "I can give you a copy if you want. Is that all?"

Sarah herself had finally given up on trying to prevent people from finding out her actual name, as embarrassed as she was about it. Once it started to spread, there was no way to keep it off the extranet, ECHONet or HoloNet. So she just went with it.

"Actually, I'm here for a different reason."

The receptionist straightened up and her eyes snapped into focus.

"All legal summons should be submitted on this form." She pushed a datapad toward him. "If it's about class scheduling, that's not something they meddle in. If it's an enrollment appeal, use this form." Another datapad.

"Try again!"

"What do you want?"

"To know whether I could speak to either of them in person."

"Oh! Scheduling! Then, you'd be advised that Brick is booked until…"

Taking a cue from his old commander, he got in the receptionist's face. "Look—I came here to speak to Brick or Jack, and I'm not leaving until I do. You can either help me with that, or things can get unpleasant. Are we clear?"

"Use the directory over there by the door." She resumed her bored demeanor.

_Could've told me that and saved me all that unnecessary arguing_.

He jumped in a mercifully-fast elevator that took him to the top of one of the spires that made up the school.

"Wow. That's definitely conforming."

The two head instructors opted for a sort of shared office—a main sitting room with doors to the left and right leading to the formal chamber of each person. The entire thing looked very utilitarian.

_I wonder what convinced Jack and Brick to have such modest, drab appointments?_

Brick wasn't in his office, but Jack sat in hers, looking over reports.

"Garrus! What brings you here? I hope you haven't been experimenting with biotic implants or Minagen X3! If you are, I'm not gonna give you lessons—but I will drag your sorry ass to the nearest hospital ward."

"Welcoming as always. I know my limits—I'm not a biotic. But the mission I'm trying to put together could use one. Or more."

"And I thought Shepard rubbed off on _me_" cackled Jack. "Now _you're_ rounding up people? How suicidal is it on a scale of one to ten, with ten being 'worse than the Collector Base because we actually survived that?'"

"I don't think it's suicidal, but it is going to involve stealing a highly advanced warship."

"Garrus, you know me." She lowered her voice. "I still love stealing things. Even if it's students' pencils. They blame rifts. Suckers." She grinned nastily.

"Are you in?"

"You're really sounding like Shepard now. 'Come with me to do this thing but I'm not telling you what.' You said I get to steal things, so of course I'm in! You don't think this teacher thing means I can't have fun anymore…"

She tapped some controls to alter her schedule; Shiala would have to handle the more advanced students now. The green asari had negotiated Trans-Galactic Republic help for the colonists on Feros, so found herself freed up to pursue other tasks. While her biotics had mostly stabilized thanks to advanced asari meditative techniques, her skin retained its green pigmentation.

"Unspecified personal leave of absence. Ha. Wonder what they'll say to that one?" she snarked as the two left her office. "Let me get some of my personal stuff and I'll be right out."

Jack retreated to her quarters, which were several floors down from the office. Garrus waited for her to return, amusing himself by reading the news on his omnitool.

"More rifts," he mumbled. "Quarians still unable to raise contact with ships sent to Gamma-Three… Trans-Galactic Republic still has no comment on the 'superlaser video'…Systems Alliance chooses commander for SSV _Maxthon_…"

"Alright, let's go!" Jack's excited voice broke Garrus out of his trance.

"Whoa. You got the _Normandy?_" she asked upon reaching the docks.

"No, it's the copy—the one that came through Arcturus Station."

"Huh. They've been keeping any discussion of that ship so damn vague so you don't know if it actually exists or not. Looks like it does. You said we were stealing another ship, though."

Garrus glared at her.

Once aboard, he turned to Jack.

"Okay, now—this _Normandy_ is still a solid ship. But it's not as powerful or as adaptable as the original _Normandy_—the one we used to serve on. That ship got refitted with a ton of technology once the Trans-Galactic Republic showed up."

Jack's lips turned into a thin line. "I dunno, Garrus—that ship is a museum for war dead. Isn't stealing a monument kinda a dickish thing to do?"

"Would you rather steal a monument, or let Cerberus build a superlaser?"

Jack's eyes lit up like a child told dessert could come before dinner.

"FUCK Cerberus!" she shouted. "If you'd told me this mission was about Cerberus earlier I would've been in right away! Also, not having the kids around means I don't have that fucking swear jar…"

"What's a swear jar? How do you put words in a jar?" Garrus let his curiosity show.

"You can't put words in a jar, moron! The point is to get me to clean up my language. Basically, if I cuss in front of the kids, I have to put money in a pot that Brick has in his office. Every time it gets full enough, he goes and buys something he knows I really like—usually steak, and then eats it in front of me. Asshole."

Despite the profanity-laden tirade, Jack wore a bigger smile than Garrus had seen in a long time.

"I take it you're enjoying the teaching, then."

"Yeah. It's weird. Shepard really must have rubbed off on me. I don't hate being dependable. Or being depended on. The kids are cool—though of course I had to make sure they understood I am the biggest badass here. _No way, Jóse_, James, you're not the big shit around here. I think I've been a bit of an influence on them too—they got busted for playing _strip beer pong_ at that party in the Alenko Banquet Hall…"

She gazed off at something, seemingly in the distance.

"You yelled at them, though."

"No shit. I had to. You can't let fourteen year olds show their tits in public—someone had to do something. Still, I wasn't too hard on them. Kids are gonna rebel anyway. Better this than drag racing shuttles or joining gangs."

"True" replied the turian pensively.

"Garrus, you know how fucked up my childhood was. Shit, calling it childhood seems wrong! Let kids have some fun. Just don't be one of those overindulgent idiots who turns their kids into mush that can't wipe its own ass."

"Have you ever talked to Thane?"

"Krios? The assassin? Not really. He here too?"

"Yep" replied Garrus with a note of pride. "Him, Kasumi, and Athena."

"I heard she pushes paper instead of pulling triggers now. What'd you have to say to her?"

"I volunteered." Athena appeared alongside Garrus. She resisted the urge to put her hand on him somewhere.

"What is this, the sniper convention?" asked Jack. "Usually handling loadouts is a Shepard thing, but Brick taught me a bit about it—and it seems like all of us except me like to use guns with scopes! You're gonna want more close combat specialists…"

"Damn, you have changed" remarked Garrus. "Never heard you talk tactics before. It was usually 'I will destroy you' or 'I'll kill you' plus charging in the general direction of the enemy."

"Bite me, Garrus! It comes with having to learn how to defeat some very good, very quick people with guns, using only biotics" she replied.

"Well, there's always Ashley or James…"

"Don't get me started on those morons" exploded the tattooed woman. "I don't know what happened exactly, but something went wrong with the two of them. Used to catch them kissing in the hallway—I think I heard them fucking in a closet once—and now they won't even look at each other!"

"That's...more than I needed to know" said Athena.

"Oh, I'm sorry—does your girlfriend not like it when people say 'fuck,' 'fucking,' 'shit,' 'fucker' and the like? Too fucking bad!" Again, she grinned through the swears. "Damn, it feels good to be able to say 'fuck' without buying Brick another steak!"

"Must've worked, though."

"Yeah, yeah, Garrus. Whatever. When do we get to blow Cerberus up?"

"How _is_ Brick these days?" inquired Athena. She'd worked with the giant man to blow up an Atlas storehouse on Pandora a while back. "Also, Garrus and I aren't dating."

"Brick is what you'd expect" replied Jack as if she'd just been asked whether Samantha Shepard was a badass. "He thinks he can motivate his kids better than I can motivate mine—obviously not. The Psychotic Biotics always win! Well, most of the time. Okay, a little more than half."

"Wait, you're a _teacher_ now?" Athena couldn't believe this foul-mouthed, tattooed woman could actually be responsible for young minds.

"Yeah. Gonna make something of it? As much as I think the Citadel Council has their heads crammed so far up their asses they can see the daylight out the other end, they offered me a job. It involved making kids tough. Helping them learn how to fight back instead of being witless victims like the Council always was when it came time to fight. I wasn't going to say no. Especially not after Captain Samantha Perfecthair asked me to."

Garrus chuckled. "Her hair never did seem to be disturbed by battle."

"Who else are we going to add to this little reunion?" Kasumi, of course. Snuck up without anyone noticing. Really, she could have been there the whole time, with her cloak and all.

"Well, as I said earlier, Ashley or James would be a good addition since their skills would work well with those of everyone already present."

Jack made another "disgusted" face at the mention of the pair.

"Dude, do you live under a rock?" she demanded of Garrus. "James got command of the _Maxthon_. Doesn't make any fucking sense—sure, he's an 'N7 certified asskicker' but he's never had command of that many people before."

Garrus flashed back to his news reading while Jack had readied herself to depart the KOMBT School. "Systems Alliance chooses commander for SSV _Maxthon_…" He hadn't opened that headline.

"If you're looking for Ashley, I can dial her on the school frequency" Jack offered. "Ought to get her attention right quick when she sees it's me." Another one of those not-nice smiles that suggested Jack might eat your eyeballs.

"Williams here. What do you need, Jack?"

"It's not about what I need. An old friend stopped by and could use your help."

"Not Shepard? She's weeks out from getting back from that rift she stepped in!"

"Hi Ashley. It's Garrus. I'm not Sam, but I sure am starting to feel like it. You up for some extended personal leave?"

"Get out" shot back Ashley. "You're organizing missions now?"

"You up for tearing Cerberus a new one?"

The tiny projection of Ashley from Jack's omnitool took on a look of shock. "Cerberus? All they do is write nasty letters to the editor! I mean, I know some of their stuff is extreme, but, free speech, you know?"

"That's what they want you to think" countered Garrus. "They're building something. A weapon. They're going to use it against the Trans-Galactic Republic fleet near the Citadel. They might even turn the weapon on the Citadel itself."

"Can you show me what you're talking about? Or is that inevitably going to be classified?"

"Come by, see what we're up to, decide for yourself."

Ten minutes later, Ashley Williams walked onto a _Normandy_ that hadn't ever seen her presence in its own universe—she'd set up the bomb on Virmire and had been honored by multiple species for her sacrifice.

"Damn, Garrus, nice ship! How'd you get it? Though this was a museum back at Earth!"

"It's a bit complicated" he replied. "You're also not the only person to say that about the whole monument-to-the-war-dead thing. Do you want the short version or the long version?"

"Stick with short. Less likely to get confusing—this galaxy's gotten weird enough lately!"

"This is only gonna make it weirder" added Jack. "Just wait."

"So, you remember all those interspatial rifts that have been opening up. If you heard the rumors about a second _Normandy_ appearing at Arcturus Station, well, this is it."

"Ha! And I thought that was just stupid extranet speculation. It's really easy to make fake photos, or even fake videos…"

"Well, that's kinda awkward" replied Garrus. "If you're going to wonder about fake videos, this isn't going to help—watch it anyway."

The infamous "Trans-Galactic Republic demolishes a weird ship" video played, again.

"You know what?" said Ashley after the short clip finished. "That video's almost too crappy quality to be faked. Most made-up videos go to great lengths to be hyper-realistic. That looks like it was shot with a low-end omnitool."

"Probably because it was" piped up Kasumi. "I've seen security footage better than that."

"Now imagine Cerberus having that kind of power" added Thane. "Not a very good time to be anyone on their target list."

"You still haven't shown me how Cerberus is actually connected to any of this" retorted Ashley.

"Here" said Garrus with a hint of irritation.

_If I were Shepard, she'd have believed me without question_.

"This is a shipping manifest—high-grade focusing crystals, huge power generators, massive heatsinks… With Cerberus digital signatures."

"Exactly" cut in Athena. "They're trying to get their equipment smuggled in on Trans-Galactic Republic freight shipments. As careful as they are, the Republic can't keep track of absolutely everything on their freighters. I mean, you try inventorying over three hundred thousand tons of cargo perfectly. Times fifty. These people do not move small amounts of stuff."

"The truly small vanishes in the mountains of incoming hardware" concluded Ashley. "So if they only needed a few parts…"

"…they'd be really easy to sneak in by having one or two parts per freighter, paying off the freight crew through intermediaries, and leaving no trail whatsoever" finished Kasumi, looking rather pleased with herself.

"She gives this way too much thought" said Ashley suspiciously. "Who is she, anyway?"

"The fact that you don't know who I am despite the considerable number of high-profile heists I have pulled off means I have done my job well" replied the thief. "I'm the best thief in the galaxy, not the most well-known. Do you know who arranged for the sale of the Mona Lisa? Twice? Or where the Koh-i-Noor Diamond is currently located?"

"Let me guess: you're the answer to both" replied Ashley sarcastically, as if this was a big revelation.

"My name is Kasumi, by the way. Kasumi Goto. I've been a fan of Shepard's for a long time, and I'm happy to help her friends."

"The officer in me wants to arrest her and send her to prison. The Mona Lisa? Seriously? The renegade in me wants to know how many other pieces of reappropriated merchandise there are in the cargo hold, and whether they will help us on whatever insane mission Garrus cooked up."

Ashley, too, affirmed her desire to participate without saying anything as an assault rifle expanded in her hands as she checked it over. A mech dropped a duffel bag inside the airlock before departing.

"I'm still a Marine. I pack light" she said when Kasumi gave her a curious look. "Besides, I'm not always filling my pockets with whatever's not tied down."

"We are going to organize an elaborate heist" began Garrus. "We could really use the souped-up powerplant and extra weapons on, well, our _Normandy_, not this one."

"Or, you could just ask Phillip Fury if you can borrow it" said Kasumi very innocently.

"Wait, you, the thief—you know the guy who runs the museum?" replied Ashley incredulously.

"He and I—we've done business. Let's leave it at that" she responded.

"Ugh, now I'm trying not to imagine him having things stolen—I can never look at the Systems Alliance War Memorial Center the same way again! Thanks for that" she added, glaring at Kasumi.

"Let's try asking nicely" said Garrus, doing the human surrender-shake-of-the-raised-palms gesture. "Sam might blow your head off if you got in her way—but then again, sometimes she'd just appeal to your better nature and you'd end up giving her exactly what she wanted, and extra credits plus a weapon mod to boot."

[...]

"You never let me live my life!" shouted the wounded Morinth. "I am not the one who made myself an Ardat-Yakshi! _Mother_."

"Do not call me that. You made your choice—you chose a life of crime and death as a fugitive instead of accepting the care offered to you!"

Her assault rifle overheated to the point of unsafe deformities, Samara had to pick up a Trans-Galactic Republic shotgun to continue the pursuit. When security chief Schmidt gave her access to the station, he also unlocked all Trans-Galactic Republic armories for her use. The "3X ShieldSlammer" came highly recommended—and indeed it had torn through Morinth's barriers despite the latter's prodigious skill. Her years of Ardat-Yakshi hedonism made her almost more than a match for Samara despite being over five centuries younger.

"I fight for freedom!" bellowed the limping asari. "You and your rules! Your regulations, morals and Code! Why force everyone else to live like you do?"

"I am truly sorry for this, Morinth. May you find peace in the embrace of the goddess."

BA-BA-BOOM.

A triple-burst of fire from Samara's weapon put an end to Morinth's rants, as well as removing most of her head. The corpse toppled over and a few spurts of blood issued from the neck as Morinth's heart pumped its last few beats.

Samara dropped into a meditative position to re-focus herself after what she'd just done. It was both necessary and just by the Code, but that didn't make it easier. Upon the cession of Morinth's heartbeat, sensors hidden among crates at the docks went off. Rigged to improvised explosives, no ominous beeping or countdown timers would alert the station's occupants that something was about to go very wrong. Least of all the inbound alternate _Normandy SR-2_.

"'Go check out this supply station' he said. I am now starting to understand Samantha Shepard's frustration with acquiring help" huffed Garrus. "Looks like we're nearly there. Since this isn't a combat mission, let's all go stretch our legs and see what there is to buy."

He turned to Kasumi. "And no, forgetting your credit chit isn't an excuse to clean out half the shops on the station."

Her face fell slightly.

"Let's go!"

Garrus and his team disembarked. He'd read the files kept by the yahg Shadow Broker after Liara T'Soni had taken over that role.

_Exceptional tactical and team-building skills. Leadership potential overshadowed by Shepard. Unlikely to fully develop under Shepard's command._

He couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of resentment toward Sam for that. It wasn't even her fault, but he still felt so much freer in this assignment than he had with her—despite the fact that they were on a first-name basis and she often sought his advice.

"Well, at least we haven't gotten into a firefight yet" he said to himself. "With Shepard, as soon as we set foot anywhere, someone was always gunning for us!"

His team (so strange to think that!) crammed into a large elevator, headed up the tower where this friend of Phil Fury's could be found. Like the Citadel, it seemed to have been designed to minimize frustration—it moved very quickly. The Trans-Galactic Republic had an eye for aesthetics, permitting a stunning view of the docks as the elevator zipped up the station's main spire.

"What was that?" Ashley caught a flash in the corner of her eye.

"Oh no…" moaned Athena.

Explosions of varying sizes ran along one of the docks, headed straight for the ships berthed there. Fortunately, the _Normandy_ happened to be berthed in a different area. Unfortunately, the explosions within the first section propelled a significant amount of debris into other ships. Garrus turned just in time to see a massive chunk of a Trans-Galactic Republic freighter shear off the _Normandy'_s nose. Plus at least another twenty meters. Another piece of flying metal that none could identify sliced through the left wing, cutting both engines loose after which they tumbled uselessly through space.

[[ EMERGENCY STOP ]]

"Okay, seriously?" shouted Jack. "There's a huge fucking explosion, so let's stop the elevator!"

"You had to say something" muttered Kasumi as fire-suppression systems filled the elevator with water and foam.

"God damnit!"

Ashley using that phrase caught everyone's attention—as the only human adhering to a major faith among the crew, she tended to avoid using that particular sequence of words.

"From a superstitious perspective, it would have been wise to avoid commenting on Shepard's poor fortunes" added Thane, annoyingly calm. "You seem to have brought them on us."

Garrus inwardly cursed himself. First mission out, and they'd already had their ship blown up, gotten trapped in an elevator, and were wet to boot. While none of this spawned from poor decisions on his part, he still felt as though he was being judged for it.

A signal crackled weakly in his visor.

"…gone EVA…heavily damaged…so glad the Trans-Galactic…fixed my legs…ond if you can."

"Well, Joker's alive. That's good news" said Garrus to the rest, though he didn't sound happy that this was the _only_ good news so far.

Kasumi began working on the elevator controls. They could see other elevators on the left and right stuck in their tubes—but with Kasumi's prodding, their own elevator resumed moving upward.

"Let's hope no one yells at us for that" she said.

Upon arriving at Schmidt's office, they found him talking to an asari that most recognized—Ashely did not.

"Looks like that Ardat-Yakshi was more trouble than I thought. I am truly sorry I did not listen to you sooner."

"You did what you believed to be right in your culture according to your own code. I cannot fault you for that, even if my Code would have forced me to kill you." Somehow, Samara could discuss killing as if it were as ordinary as breathing.

"So she wired her body as a deadman's switch?" he asked incredulously.

"Morinth was addicted to more than just melding" replied Samara sadly. "She also wanted to ensure everyone would remember her and what she did, so this explosive exit from our world does not surprise me."

"We're too late, aren't we?" said Garrus bitterly. "Phil Fury sent us here because he figured we might be able to help you."

"You still can" insisted Samara. "Gather evidence from what remains of the docks. I will join your team if you have need of me."

"With your permission" (Kasumi turned to look directly at Wolf Schmidt) "I would like to conduct a forensic investigation into the station's computer systems, specifically shipping manifests, to see exactly how deeply Morinth was involved in smuggling."

"I will check into the administrative angle" added Athena. "I would like to determine if there were any patterns in her behavior, especially with those she killed, so we might more easily learn what she was up to."

"Since the rest of us aren't exactly computer geniuses, we can just provide cover to keep you geeks from getting shot at" offered Jack.

"Joker to shore party, do you read?"

"This is Garrus, go ahead."

"You're not gonna believe this Commander—that thing Kasumi shoved in the cargo hold? It's still intact and floating just inside the shuttle bay."

"Wait, did he just call you 'Commander?'" asked Ashley.

"Commander Vakarian on deck!" said Athena, a little too enthusiastically.

"Oh just get a room!" snapped Jack. "Everyone can see it…"

"We need to stay focused" intoned Garrus. "First: recover that device! We could use it, and I don't think the Trans-Galactic Republic would take kindly to finding out we had it in the first place. Second: we need a ship."

Wolf Schmidt added himself to the conversation. "We know you have a cloaking device—they all have serial numbers, tracking systems, self-destruct codes… Once the seal was broken—which is quite impressive by the way—it started broadcasting a phone-home signal across narrowband S-threads. Ordinarily I'd be obligated to take you into custody, debrief you, and repossess the device, but under the circumstances I'm inclined to leave you be. Phil put in good word for you since you're Samantha Shepard's old team, so I'll tell you what. You help us investigate at the docks, and we'll say you were never here, we don't know anything about any specialized hardware the _Normandy_ might have, and you'll be free to continue on your anti-Cerberus mission."

"Were you going to assist us in fixing the _Normandy_?" asked the turian squad leader. "It's kind of in pieces."

"Now why would I do that?" boomed Schmidt, "when there's a perfectly serviceable better-equipped _Normandy_ sitting unused in Earth orbit?" Schmidt smiled, a seeming oddity considering the situation.

"That's a museum!" protested Ashley.

"Not anymore" replied Schmidt. "You think all the questions you've been asking about hibridium and superlasers have fallen on deaf ears?"

"It sure seemed like it" sputtered Garrus. "Every time I asked, I got the brush-off."

"If we came asking you about your fancy genophage, would you expect the Council to send us the blueprints?"

"You seem well-versed in things that exceed simple security" cut in Athena accusingly. Here she was trying to get _her_ operatives who were cleared and authorized information on these very topics only to be stonewalled. Then, Garrus comes along uncleared, unauthorized and suddenly gets all the information dropped in his lap!

"Well, congratulations, you figured out the obvious. As long as we're all spilling secrets and knowing things we shouldn't" (he glared at Garrus), "why don't we just root out all the secrets? I'm not just some dumb hick even though that's the part I play most of the time—Fury and I go way back to the time we both served in RISE. I may or may not still have something to do with them."

Schmidt manipulated his terminal.

A cool monotone voice filled the chamber. "Room secured."

"If the Trans-Galactic Republic makes a public move against Cerberus, they'll notice. It looks like the corruption runs far deeper than we thought—all the way back to the Home Galaxy and possibly into the core of the Trans-Galactic Republic there. It would have to be, if they're smuggling superlaser pieces and hibridium on flights into Gamma-Six."

"So you want us to" replied Garrus. He was starting to see what was going on. "If we attack Cerberus, it's normal—this galaxy doesn't like them to begin with, and whoever's running that place will think it might be some black-ops Council thing."

"Precisely" enthused Schmidt. "Also, it's a very good thing you happened to stop by. That cloaking device you have is not what you think it is. It was allowed to be discovered in the hopes we'd be able to figure out for sure who was stealing our hibridium shipments—and then someone else swiped it!"

Kasumi pointedly made no movements that would finger her as the party responsible.

"So if we used it, our ship would have exploded?" Ashley took on a look of disgust.

"Not quite. What it would have done is appear to work, while sending out a signal to half the fleet. You would have had _Ultimatum_ on top of you before you could blink. Then it would short out, disabling your engines and ensuring you could not escape."

"So that's why all the intelligence pointed to it being something special after it got pulled off that giant laser." Kasumi immediately cursed herself.

"Well, what do you know about that?" Schmidt bored into her with his eyes. "You're the one who grabbed it after we recovered it on Pandora? Now _that_ we didn't know."

"I do my best" replied Kasumi, swelling with pride. "Said something about being able to cloak and go to lightspeed at the same time, plus no 'double-blind,' whatever that means. Why it was being shipped in from Gamma-Three I have no idea."

"All part of the plan to use the perfect cloak as bait" explained Schmidt. "Most modern cloaking devices impose a two-way blindness—no one can see you, but you can't see anything either. Furthermore, if you try to make a hyperspace jump with the device enabled, you have a good chance of blowing yourself to bits!"

Garrus imitated the gesture he'd seen Samantha do sometimes when indignant by placing his hands on his legs near his waist.

"Let me guess: hibridium has something to do with cloaking. No other reason to use a decoy cloaking device to draw out hibridium thieves."

"Right again!" Schmidt seemed way too happy for a man whose most valuable secrets had been spilled everywhere like a pile of varren-sick. "Now, either we don't know or they didn't tell me, but whoever's pilfering our hibridium is stealing a cruiser-load of it. So far, we count hundreds of kilograms missing—and that stuff sells for twelve million credits a kilo!"

"We do have ships that use hibridium cloaks because other cloaking materials are extremely hard to find" added Schmidt. "The one you have? Probably only a hundred of those left in the galaxy that haven't burned out or been destroyed. Stygium hides you without the problems associated with hibridium. Well, minus the problem of inbound communications needing roughly 20% higher transmit power to get through, but that's a nonissue compared to the double-blind…"

"So now that we're in…" began Ashley suspiciously.

"…you can't ever leave! You've just become RISE operatives. Any of this leaks, we'll know who to run down with Star Dreadnaughts."

"Star _Dreadnaughts_? Plural?" Athena stood aghast. That these outsiders had one ship that size was insane enough—then a second one showed up. And now they had more?

"A certain faction within the Home Senate funded the construction of several behemoth Star Dreadnaughts. One's here, next to your Citadel. It's kind of broken. We brought another, and there are more in undisclosed locations."

"Well, let's get rolling then…" Garrus simultaneously experienced excitement at an even more deep-cover, crazy mission than before and utter terror. He knew they'd been pulled in way over their collective heads, and he wondered if anyone would end up regretting it.

[…]

Upon being released as Sarah went elsewhere, Armando Bailey found himself a prisoner of the Lady Fingers. They were not unpleasant captors, neither torturing him nor forcing him to do hard manual labor. What really got him was the boredom. There was nothing to do. At all. Whatever held the key to rebuilding _Revenant_ continued unabated as more and more of the system displays turned green instead of red, yellow, or orange.

All save Sarah now resided on the Star Dreadnaught. That meant he might see Urthula maintaining a Current of Diversion, Drythlyn checking the progress of reconstruction, or Zera skulking about (she'd killed Bart Jakobs and left the facility on automatic production once it had been determined it could produce the necessary components).

Venera ended up being gone more often than not. It was rumored she was still working with Cerberus on something, but no one would say. Occasionally Sarah herself would return, similarly cryptic as to her whereabouts or current task. With women who apparently needed no ships to move themselves from one place to another, it became routine for him to find out one of them had simply appeared in the thirty seconds he wasn't paying attention.

Sometimes, the ship shook or rocked, seemingly due to the high-speed construction occurring outside. He wasn't permitted near any windows in any case, so Bailey had no clue what was actually going on. At one point, he stumbled upon all the Current-Channeling ladies in one room having a lively discussion.

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear!" cried out Zera.

"Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?" He felt like a child who found his parents talking about what he'd just been caught doing.

"Well, we were just debating whether or not your abilities could be of use to us" replied Venera.

"You don't seriously expect me to help you stamp out all life in this galaxy." He glared at them.

"Perhaps it's time we brought our friend up to date with the current state of the mission" said Sarah, again with that annoying tone suggesting the destruction of the universe was of no greater consequence than dinner plans.

"What's changed now?"

"Many things" hummed the meditating Urthula.

"All the things!" added Zera.

"Oh, boy…"

[…]

In the Council Chambers, the krogan delegation had been summoned again to hear the decision of the Council regarding Urdnot Wrex's "good behavior plan."

"Thus, we will not approve the plan as submitted" finished Clethon with an air of finality.

"What?" Wrex couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Why?"

"Can you guarantee that the genophage cure will work as intended?" questioned Tevos.

"Yes, a thousand times yes!" bellowed the Urdnot leader. "My wife birthed two healthy newborns already!"

"Two. Not a thousand. Two."

Grayson looked the krogan up and down. They were certainly a strange race.

"You told us yourself" continued the admiral-turned-Councilor, "that cure contains a variable-fertility-factor. An adaptation that takes _time_ to show itself."

_Will he get the hint?_

Wrex appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, before bursting out laughing.

"Ahahahaha… You don't trust your own work! The Council wants to make sure the fancy genetic science the…"

He stopped. He'd almost mentioned "the pyjack Mordin" but realized outing the brains behind the operation could lead to things like imprisonment or death for that individual.

"…scientists designed actually does what it's supposed to! Ha! At least with krogan science, you know it worked if the target exploded."

Several Councilors exchanged significant glances.

Grayson leaned in. "He does that. Thinks explosions can always be turned into a joke—my captains say he actually has his scientists working on agriculture and urban planning…"

"So, what, you'll take us off the blacklist after a few centuries of good behavior, assuming we don't have so many babies that we take over the galaxy again" (harsh laugh, uncomfortable shifting from Councilors), "then a couple thousand years more and we'll be back on the Citadel!"

The Councilors communicated quickly but privately using their terminals.

GRA: Bingo

CLE: He thinks he came up with it, exactly what we needed

TEV: I approve

VIC: Concurred

CLE: Agreed

GRA: Approved

Grayson spoke for the Council in this matter, since he had no claim for or against the krogan and thus would be hard to accuse of bias. "The Council approves a plan to monitor the state of cured krogan residing on pre-approved worlds. Should this period prove to be positive, the krogan will then move to a track culminating in Associate status once more. This is the decision of the Council."

Immediately following, Wrex composed a message to Sam Shepard.

Shepard,

Looks like your leaning on them worked—not only did they hear me out but they approved my plan with modifications. Doubt either of us will live to see it, but the krogan shall return to the Citadel and to the ranks of civilized species!

It's hilarious how they think they're manipulating me—I know they want to hear their own ideas come out of my mouth so they can turn around and say "That wasn't us!" if something goes bad. Still, it works to both our advantages because it gives everyone political cover. No one can accuse me of bowing down to the Council, either.

Wrex

PS: Don't share this message

Signed by Verified Key


	26. Objective

A/N: Warning—contains Torturer!SPOILER. Mostly punching. Leave to your imagination to fill in the rest.

**Chapter 25 – Objective**

After the dust-up with Shepard, Jackie skulked about a bit, before re-focusing.

"Jackie, think! How do you get to Plutus from here without anyone in the family noticing?"

_I can't do this on my own. So who can I count on to help me? Right now, who can I call a friend?_

She ran down a mental checklist. Moxxi, the second Maya, Hann… Well, the last one wasn't really a friend, but she didn't hate Jackie either.

She pulled up other-Maya on her communicator.

"Hey Jackie, what's going on?"

"Can you come to my room? 50X in the psych wing."

"That sounded dirty" smirked Maya up on arriving.

"You'd be on your back already if it was the old me" replied Jackie. "But that's not who I am, and not why I need your help."

"You're not plotting an escape, are you?"

"No, quite the contrary I need to stay on this ship. I just need the ship to be somewhere else!"

"Well, have you tried calling Isabelle Long and asking nicely if she'll take us out for ice cream?" remarked Maya sarcastically.

"First off, I don't like ice cream" (Maya's jaw dropped), "but second I can't be the one to suggest it. She'll never go for it. Everyone's still suspicious of me."

_With good reason_ thought Maya. _You have to earn trust_.

"So make the captain herself want to move the ship" replied Maya. "Give her a reason to leave Pandora."

"So, what makes a Trans-Galactic Republic captain jump her battle group to a planet she's never heard of?" wondered Jackie aloud.

"A giant war?" suggested Maya.

"We just ended a war two years ago, though" Jackie protested. "And getting people to kill each other isn't something I really want to do anymore."

"Jackie, listen to me. I know you've grown and changed since the Trans-Galactic Republic brought you here. That's amazing, what you've become since then, and what you've overcome. I don't really know how to say this so I'll just spit it out. Sometimes, you might find yourself needing the old Jackie just a little bit."

"Old Jackie? What about the old Jackie?" Like clockwork, Moxxi stepped in—the chrono read 1400 hours, which was her usual visiting time.

"Why would you want any of the old Jackie?" asked Moxxi, looking at the other Maya with more than passing disbelief.

"You of all people should know" replied Maya. "I'd imagine even though you killed yourself in the place I'm from, that you two were pretty similar. You both knew that there were times for kindness" (she indicated Jackie) "and times to kick ass. Playing nice is fine, until the other person shoves a gun in your face. What's the backup plan?"

"What's the plan is more like it" said Moxxi. "What exactly are you trying to do that requires digging up that nasty piece of work?"

"I need to get to Plutus and Fort Jakobs" insisted Jackie. "All these interspatial rifts—there may be a solution but I have to confirm it against the contents of the Jakobs family vaults."

"If you guys keep guard monsters there, I think I'll pass." Even this Maya didn't shy from fights, but the last time someone mentioned "vault" it hadn't gone well.

"No, no, silly!" chided Jackie. "Just a bunch of computer passcodes requiring Jakobs DNA, thick blast doors, laser tripwires, automated defensive turrets, security Loaders, grav-plating, explosive traps… Nothing unusual!"

The other two stared.

"Oh, right" she admonished herself. "It's that thing where it's normal for me but everyone else thinks it's crazy. Anyway, there aren't any monsters down there—not that I know of anyway. But we can't exactly fly away since I'm still technically a patient here in this ward."

"That still doesn't explain why Maya just said we should turn you back into what you were before." Moxxi wasn't about to see almost two years of growth undone for the sake of some mission.

"First, it's Maya-2" responded the Siren with some hint of annoyance. "It sounds really dumb, I know, but I'm not going to identify with that, that cruel, heartless person who came here to insult Jackie. Second, I'm not saying we need to resurrect the whole beast—just the tiniest part of it that has the skills Jackie needs for this particular objective to succeed."

"She's going to need to handle weapons again" continued Maya-2. "And accept the fact that no matter what we do here, people are going to die in ways that will conceivably be her fault, so to speak."

Jackie's face hardened. "I don't have to be her again, _ever_. I need parts of her, just not all the atrocities that came with what I used to be."

"So how do you get a psychiatric patient weapons, again?" asked Moxxi. This plan sounded more and more implausible with every passing minute.

"That's where this starts to get ugly." Maya-2 used the computer in Jackie's room to bring up a chart. "This is where we are."

A green light appeared.

"This is where we need to be."

A gold light appeared.

"Isabelle Long" (her picture slid into the corner) "is not stupid. I'm guessing won't be easy to manipulate, and we really don't want to cause any more of a mess than we have to. We just need her to think she needs to jump to Plutus."

"The technology originating from Jakobs' vaults is probably causing some of these rifts" began Jackie. "So what happens if we tell all the _other_ corporations this is Jakobs' fault? They're going to be unhappy about that, right? They're going to demand a meeting. They think most of our valuable secrets are on Themis, because that's where everyone else keeps them, but they're not. Jakobs practically controls Plutus but not many people know—so we stash our stuff there. But the person who gave them that data about Jakobs' secrets might also let slip the real information is hidden on Plutus. So…"

"They may all want to try to grab it" mused Maya-2. "They'll send in their fleets to demand a settlement."

"That's what I'm hoping" replied Jackie brightly. "And when that happens, all someone needs to do is start the shooting…"

She suddenly looked down again, as if she'd said something inappropriate.

"This is the part of the old Jackie we need back" consoled Maya-2. "She may have been an evil, soulless woman but she could definitely make plans and carry them out."

"And more than plans of who to get into bed" added Moxxi. "There's a reason Jackie Jakobs controls seven percent of family stock that doesn't all involve a bribe of the flesh."

"I…I guess" said Jackie hesitantly.

"Come on, you can do this. Don't let your own doubts sink this ship before it even launches. You're the only one who knows Jakobs security, vaults, fleets…" prodded Maya-2.

"I wonder how anonymous I can make myself over the ECHONet?" wondered Jackie aloud. "Wait a minute…"

"What?"

"I get one try with this" replied Jackie through gritted teeth. "If it works, I have one chance to check my personal codes before the system realizes I'm accessing it and someone notices that I've tapped into Fort Jakobs. If it doesn't work, it'll be because someone blocked my codes after I vanished years ago."

"You remember the ECHONet speeds in here are absolute crap, right?" warned Maya-2. "You're not going to be able to get very much—maybe ten gigbits per second at best."

"I need the ship's primary communications transceiver" concluded Jackie. "Yet another tall order though—Jakobs security will only let me through, I can't just give my password to someone else. That still requires getting me access to an access-controlled system…"

"So make something up" said Maya-2 as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Fake a reason to need to talk to someone who's really far away."

"Make something up…make…make up…wait… GOT IT! I need to call Samantha Shepard to apologize for my outburst on the bridge. She thinks it means I might be turning back into _her_" (Jackie shuddered at the thought) "but I'm not! I had to do it to keep the family scared, thinking I'm the same total bitch they always kiss the feet of."

"Sam's on a freight convoy on its way back to Gamma-Six, though" objected Maya-2. "You can't call ships that are between galaxies, can you?"

"Yes, you can." Jackie held up her tablet with its equations again. "Modify the phase variance of the transceiver and you can get a basic audio-video signal through. It'll only be a low-def video link—probably 1920x1200 pixels at most, but it'll do the trick."

"Why now?" asked Moxxi. "Why not apologize earlier?"

Jackie's eyes drooped. "Have you ever seen Samantha Shepard angry before? I don't think you have" she said, answering her own question. "It was a feeling—that if I tried to argue, apologize, explain, she'd just think I'd validated her belief I'd turned back into _her_."

"Okay, that makes sense" conceded Moxxi. "So you talk to the ship's comm officers, and we'll vouch for you."

"Let's get it on!" said Maya-2 fiercely.

[…]

Samantha Shepard poured over the equations she'd swiped from Jackie. They seemed to suggest another form of faster-than-light travel was possible, but only with technology no one had. It involved uncurling some of the Planck Length dimensions hidden within the universe and using them to shorten the distance between the ship's present location and its destination. Unfortunately, there were possible side effects, including but not limited to time differentials between those within this space and those in real space, and also temporal inconsistencies between two ships that made a jump together. Still, no equation for this "new space" had any remainders that would suggest damage to space itself, unlike with hyperdrives, Element Zero drives, and hyper-zero combo drives.

Generating the required resonance field needed some type of machinery she could imagine, but not build. It was akin to knowing how to plot a course on a computer aboard a ship but neither the ship nor the computer had even been invented yet.

Her omnitool beeped. Incoming S-thread transmission from RNS _Veritas_.

"I bet I left my coffee mug behind."

"Shepard."

"Jackie? What?"

_Why is she calling me?_

"I…I wanted to apologize if my acting offended you last week. I have to…the family…they have to believe I haven't changed. They can't know."

_If she'd tried to tell me this when I dragged her off the bridge, I wouldn't have believed it. Somehow, it seems more believable now._

"And why can't they know?"

_If she cracks, I know it was an act._

"The formulas I showed you…. I don't know if they're exactly right, but I can confirm them if I have access to Fort Jakobs on Plutus. Usually, only shareholding entities with ten percent or more family-class shares can access those vaults. I have seven percent—and I basically yelled and screamed my way in. None would dare cross the Jackie they know—but me… They'd think I'm a pushover!"

_Whoa, this is about double-checking math? That would be a hell of a thing to act for._

"Jackie, one of the biggest things I've learned from all my missions and travels is to never assume you know someone because of a first impression. That's why I don't fully trust you. That's why I'm keeping you at arms' length."

Jackie looked crushed.

"That being said, I also understand the need to bluff. To pretend you're holding an ace when all you've got is a two of clubs. Or, in our case, pretend your hand is garbage when in reality we have a royal flush. I get your plan, and I won't argue against it. This doesn't mean I'm ready to invite you for dinner and add you to the holiday cards list just yet, but we're better off than we were before this call."

The image on both ends flickered and stuttered. Jackie squinted and clenched her jaw, as if that would make Shepard's signal clearer or easier to understand.

"…having some…cation problems. Something about….transceiver. We may have to…zero to rep…talk to you when we reach Gamma-Six."

The signal dropped completely.

"Damn it!" cursed Shepard on the other end. Not that Jackie could hear her.

An announcement came over the public addressing system.

"Several ships in the convoy are experiencing engine and communications trouble. We're going to have to revert to realspace to effect repairs."

"I've done this run a couple times—these drives don't just break down" grumbled Samantha. "Something's up." She did her usual quick-change from civilian clothing to battle-ready in under two minutes.

"You know Sam, the fact that you can do this so fast with only emergency lighting says something about your life."

She grabbed both a Carnifax and a Trans-Galactic Republic ShieldSlammer. The latter didn't fit very well on her armor, but she managed it. Alarms began blaring and the freighter she was on shuddered as it reverted from hyper-zero back to normal space.

RMS _Space Cow IV_ hailed from a class of super-sized container transports. It literally consisted of a container transport ship built out of other container transport ships arranged in a line. Up to twenty five modules of six ships surrounding a central spar could be connected end to end, which was the exact configuration in use at this point. The smaller ships were arranged bow to stern, so it resembled a large snake or other legless animal, as the assembly had the ability to flex to a limited degree.

"Engine room, report!" barked the captain.

"Looks like we had a problem with the zero-cores sir—a couple of them dropped offline for a few seconds, causing the ship's mass to fluctuate. Safeties took us to realspace as a precaution."

"Are those zero cores going to spin up again, or are we looking at three extra months' travel time?"

"That's the thing sir" came the confused voice of a male engineer. "The zero cores are totally fine! It's as if we hit a cosmic speed bump or something!"

"Coordinate with other engineering staffs. See if everyone else who had this problem had the same issue as we did, or if something else is off."

One by one, convoy vessels checked in. Given the relatively pedestrian nature of the haul, only a few blastboats served as escorts. Had this been some kind of pirate raid, the fleet would have already begun transmitting silent distress calls while placating the pirates with as little as they could be bought off for.

Sam stormed onto the bridge, tracing her Carnifax across every person in front of her.

"Next person to move is breathing through a new hole in their skull! InterSpec authority—I'm taking charge of this situation. Who's in command? Who do I need to negotiate with?"

The bridge crew tried incredibly hard to maintain composure, but once one cracked a giggle the rest couldn't help themselves. Gales of laughter swept across the bridge until the captain, sides heaving, caught enough breath to explain.

"Ahahahahaha… There's no problem, Spectre! We just hit a cosmic speed bump of sorts. Hahahahahah….ahahah. The engines will be back online shortly and we'll resume our trip. Did you think there was some kind of hijacking going on?"

_There are code phrases for being under duress—and none of them were used_.

Red with embarrassment, the Spectre leaned against the nearest bulkhead, sliding noisily down it until she landed in a half-sitting position. She then tipped over.

The captain moved to help her up, but couldn't really do much against a 75kg woman wearing heavy armor. The mortified Commander climbed to her feet on her own.

"Uhh, yeah. So can we not mention this when we get back to Gamma-Six?"

"Oh, I guarantee they won't hear it from me…"

_Figures. I hope no one took video of this. First Reaper Problem, now Shepard Fights Hijackers That Don't Exist._

"Then again, I did ask Liara if a taxi had guns once, so…"

[...]

On the other end, Jackie worked feverishly to connect the _Veritas _to Fort Jakobs' ALAMO. No one remembered what it stood for, but the name fit with the whole "western" motif the family loved so much, so the name stuck. With throughput exceeding fifty terabits per second from the primary transceiver, she'd easily be able to pull the information required to both check if her access remained valid and generate a new ID if it was.

"Wouldn't be too secure if you could just pull it all over the network" remarked Maya-2. "Would be convenient though."

The killer remained latency imposed by translating Trans-Galactic Republic computer protocols into the ECHONet format used in most of Gamma-Three. The worst part? It would have been even slower trying to connect to Pandora or some other borderlands world that had very little in the way of infrastructure.

"Come on, come on!" Everyone knew yelling at the computer accomplished nothing, but four out of five surveyed did it anyway.

[[ KEY EXPIRED ]]

"FUCK!"

[[ Please reconfirm identity by answering three of five security questions ]]

At least she hadn't been locked out. Jackie breathed again.

Favorite position

Best lover

Worst lover

Favorite weapon

That crazy woman

Jackie didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, she knew why she'd picked most of these, but on the other, they were reminders of a past she longed to escape. Since the answers had been written years ago, she was willing to bet that questions two and three would be impossible.

Being on top

N/A

N/A

Judge

Moxxi

[[ SUBMIT ]]

The computer processed the data, but hit an uncorrectable CRC error in transmission of one of her responses.

She typed "Moxxi" as answer five again and resubmitted.

[[ ACCEPTED ]]

"Key for Jacqueline Rose Jakobs re-issued. Expiry Length, two years" she read. She'd also have to undergo extended re-verification upon arrival due to inactivity, but neither her DNA nor eyes had changed since then so that wouldn't pose a problem.

Now she had to quickly upload the datastream implicating Jakobs Corporation in causing interspatial rifts, while pointing anyone looking for revenge to Plutus, but not too blatantly. Three minutes later, she closed out of her session and deleted everything that would show who used the terminal.

Several decks up in her cabin, Isabelle Long shouted at her computer again. The video stream she'd been trying to watch had been buffering for almost the past thirty minutes—someone was using a good chunk of the ship's data connection and doing so at a high priority. It had finally unstuck before buffering a second time.

"Guess I should do those mission reports."

[...]

"Looks like those explosives were placed every fifty meters" commented Garrus. "Would have had to have unfettered access to the docks to accomplish this."

"Easy enough if you have all the night-shift dockworkers in your pocket" replied Athena. "Most of those deaths were people who tended to work the night shift."

"The supervisor worked several different shifts" pointed out Thane. "It's likely that he was also selected to keep suspicion to a minimum."

"Speaking of suspicion" added Wolf Schmidt, "Phil Fury and I have come up with a reason for the _Normandy SR-2_ to disappear—we're going to be 're-arranging the museum to permit greater recognition of those who we felt were unfairly excluded from the museum as it stands.' How's that sound?"

"Plausible" replied Garrus.

"We're actually doing it, too—after you guys are done with taking out Cerberus we're going to put the ship back, better than ever!"

Jack paced back and forth with a shotgun in her hand. "You people done yet?"

Garrus had to stop himself from laughing, as much as a turian could. She sounded like a child asking if Mommy and Daddy were done talking to their friends so the family could go home after some long, boring dinner party.

Kasumi spoke. "I've dug up evidence that Morinth manipulated people other than dockworkers. She was essential in diverting significant quantities of Gamma-Three 'fire gems' and hibridium from their intended destinations to those favored by her employer—someone called 'Stellar Dust and Echoes.' Their corporate extranet site goes on with grand proclamations of dealing in advanced technology. Problem is, they never bother to say what they're selling. Their contact info leads to disconnected extranet addresses, and you only get a sales pitch calling their comm line."

"You said something about fire gems" replied Garrus. "I know Samantha has one in her quarters—it was a rare gift she got from Gamma-Three at some point. Schmidt tells me they're useful as superlaser focusing crystals—lower heat buildup and power usage than others."

Schmidt spoke up upon hearing his name.

"We have a shipment of those coming in later today. Big haul, but not as big as the one coming in next week."

"Let's stake out the arrival" suggested Garrus. "We'll see if anyone acts suspicious—seeming to look for a contact like Morinth even though no one would obviously answer."

"Why should no one answer? Can't someone play the part?" demanded Athena.

"Not really" replied Kasumi glumly. "They know exactly who they are looking for, and if they don't find Morinth they're to abort and disappear."

"That doesn't stop us from catching some of them and interrogating them" insisted Garrus. "Even Shepard had to rattle a few cages to get people to talk."

"This is correct. On the Citadel, she used enhanced interrogation techniques on Elias Kelham in order to elicit helpful information" intoned Thane. "I played good cop, she played bad cop, and we had one of the shortest interrogations ever."

"Sounds like a good plan" replied Schmidt. "Tell you what. Dinner on the house tonight—it's a business meeting."

"Ashley! Jack!" Garrus called his two patrolling squadmates over.

"Finally" snapped Ashley. "Jack and I were dying of boredom over here."

"Yeah! What were you doing, making dinner plans?"

"Actually, yes. Schmidt says we get fed on him tonight as a 'business meeting' for RISE agents."

"No shit? This ain't half bad as long a steak is on the menu."

"I don't think…" Garrus began.

"You're forgetting where you are, Garrus" cut in Ashley. "This is the Trans-Galactic Republic, not some Systems Alliance patrol cruiser. They get steak, fresh vegetables, chocolate cake…"

Several hours later and with much fuller stomachs, the squad set up a discreet camp around the docks which would receive incoming shipments from Gamma-Three.

"Remember, it's RMS _Bantha III_ that has what we're interested in. Once it arrives, start tracking the offloaded cargo and anyone who looks like they're trying to pawn something on the side" reminded Schmidt over the comm. "Let me know if anything happens."

Garrus couldn't wait to try out his new ForTek XC-97 sniper rifle. The weapon design had been created for the Trans-Galactic Republic and thus had a few unique properties not found on rifles in Citadel space. First, the OmniScope came standard—so it could see through fog, rain, low-light, and within certain range limitations, track heat signatures through walls. The rifle also could use specialized ammunition that consisted of rounds containing microphones and tiny wireless transmitters. At the longest range, it could provide up to two hours of uninterrupted audio in an omnidirectional three meters. Shorter ranges increased the run-time of the "sound rounds."

Of course, all these specialized gadgets meant the rifle required a power source, in this case a tri-lithium cell good for several weeks of heavy combat despite firing physical ammunition instead of blaster bolts. A brand-new rifle with a fully-charged battery posed no problems in this area.

"Guns with batteries? Seriously?" came an incredulous Ashley. "Stupidest thing I've ever seen."

"If it helps, I'm willing to use it" countered Garrus. "Besides, you have a standard version of the rifle—the scope is self-powered!"

"What will they have next, guns that shoot themselves?" she shot back. "What happened to skill and iron sights?"

Schmidt cut into the chatter. "Team, we have Banthas I and II coming in. Bantha III should be arriving in fifteen minutes."

"Affirmative." Garrus had a sneaking suspicion this mission would not go as planned—they never did, but he wisely kept this belief to himself. After the two container ships pulled alongside their docks, their triple-array of containers were unloaded, mostly mechanically. Many dockworkers were actually computer operators, only engaging in physical labor should the automated loading/unloading system have a problem. Even then, such "labor" generally involved the use of lifting rigs or other powered equipment to facilitate movement of heavy cargo. Several workers stopped outside, pulling out personal digital devices. No sounds emanated from the remote microphone embedded near the dock, so Garrus figured no commands were being relayed verbally. That didn't mean nothing shady was going on, though the quick dispersal of the few workers who'd been loitering dispelled most of his suspicion.

Switching his scope to heat-tracking, he watched as two boarded a taxi. One, however, had slid behind a stack of containers and from the looks of it was talking into a device on his arm. Or was, until his arm moved away fast and his left foot stamped several times.

"I think that's our guy" hissed the turian over encrypted tactical channels.

"Are you sure?" questioned Ashley.

"I'll keep watching him, but be ready to move in."

This individual disembarked from _Bantha II,_ but if he had no ulterior motive he was very bad at acting normally. He paced back and fourth behind the crates, repeated raised his arm to his mouth, and kept stamping around.

"Either his girlfriend won't answer his messages or we've got someone who was expecting to meet another person here and can't find them" broadcast Ashley across the team's channel.

"Move in!" ordered Garrus.

Despite orders to try to keep the apprehension quiet, the team went in full power. Jack bowled over the hapless pacer with a shockwave. Thane let the dot of his sight land on the fallen person's chest. Ashley and Athena stood over the person.

"Need it! Want it! Need her!" he babbled.

"Sounds like we found our man" commed Athena to Garrus. "Turian stud" she added on a private channel.

"Said she'd be here. Thirty minutes ago! Can't live without it! Must have more!"

"Schmidt to squad—_Bantha III _is coming in, be ready!"

"Sir, we think we've already found a perp" replied Garrus.

"Oh really?" came back Schmidt with more than a hint of surprise. "The fire-gems are on _Bantha III_, trust me—it'd take a hell of an effort and major lapse in security for someone to be working a smuggling ring with smugglers on different ships like this."

"He keeps saying he needs her, she was supposed to be here a half hour ago."

Ashley tugged Garrus over.

"He's going on about his next high, Commander. We may have found a druggie, not a smuggler… Listen."

"The magic spiders bring me new worlds! Must have the strands of their webs! Need it! Want it! She supplies it!"

"Magic…spiders?" Garrus definitely wasn't expecting this.

"_Bantha III_ and _Bantha IV_ are docking!" called Thane from his elevated position. "Everyone get back in cover!"

"Ashley—keep tabs on this babbling human. Everyone else, same routine!"

This time, many more individuals got off the ships, both of them. That made tracking targets more difficult, but the OmniScope obliged again, enabling Garrus to mark targets of interest, neutrals, and targets to ignore. This time, three large men gathered in a circle around one of the light posts.

They appeared to be speaking, but weren't in range of a microphone round. Firing a microphone round made the same sound as any other weapon, though, so he had to wait for cover. Suppressors only disguised the shot, and with the quiet idle of freighters at this hour, even muted sniper fire would stand out.

The men began to move away, looking confused. They were headed straight toward the concealed group but not aware of their surroundings as they looked to be arguing amongst themselves. Finally, _Bantha III'_s engines fired, providing Garrus with enough audible overlap to let off a round.

"…neither of them is here! Not the asari or the bagman. Even if we could find that blue bitch, we ain't got the scratch!"

Ashley saw the apparently-addled man's eyes light up as the three others passed.

"Hey! You guuuuuuuuuuuuys! I have the money!"

The three spun. Unfortunately for Ashley, she was in full view as they did.

Weapons came out. "Hey! 'Choo messin' with our man Chipmunk for?"

"You want a good time tonight baby? Let's get that armor off! Would look great on my floor."

Knowing there was no way to avoid it, Jack let loose a massive shockwave that toppled everyone, including Ashley. The blathering man handled it best—so relaxed the shockwave was more like a bumpy water bed for him. He kept going on about "his friends" and "my fix." Thane fired tranquilizer rounds, hitting two of three. The third man responded with some kind of energy weapon that cut through Ashley's shields very quickly. In response, Athena let loose a shotgun blast that lifted the man off his feet.

_These ShieldSlammers work wonders, even when the target has no shields!_

Schmidt overrode the automated response to weapons fire, avoiding creating overlapping jurisdictional issues by having regular Spacelane Police arrive on the scene too. Theft of cloaking devices or superlaser crystals was a RISE matter.

After Garrus' squad mopped up the mess, the interrogations started. One of the two conscious men demanded to know his rights.

"You're dealing with a Spectre" replied Garrus, hoping the bluff would both work and not get him in trouble for impersonation.

"My words are your rights. And I say you don't have any."

"That's bullshit man! The omnivids…"

"…don't have anything to do with how things really work here. Now, you can either tell us what asari you were talking about, or the questions won't be coming out of my mouth anymore."

"I want a lawyer!"

"Let's see…do I allow lawyers?" Garrus took on a pensive look. "Nope!"

"Look, let me go, man—I'm just a carrier, okay? I just make sure she gets what she ordered!"

"So if you only load stolen merchandise into shuttles, but don't actually do the thieving yourself, you're not a criminal? You know what Spectres can do to criminals."

"It's not me you want! So I fence stuff that ain't mine. But there are worse people than me! Can you, like, get me a reduced sentence or something if I tell on them? Please?"

_He's pathetic. Let's see if I can get useful info from him before we dump him in a holding cell._

"I'll think about it. Now tell me about these worse people."

"Okay, okay. First, there's Morinth. She was the one who recruited us for this. I mean, can you say no to her? This stuff she does with her mouth… It's like it's not even just her touching you—it's in your head! It's, like, amazing!"

Garrus debated whether to tell this man that Morinth no longer walked this plane of existence. On one hand, that could cause him to try to rat out others knowing his first trump card to be useless. On the other hand, he could also conclude nothing was to be gained by cooperating because for all he knew, everyone he might try to tell on could be dead and thus worth nothing to him.

"So that's the asari you were talking about?"

"Yeah! Oh man, one more night with her…"

"What other names do you have?"

"So that dude Chipmunk? He's addicted to glitter-stim or something—we mix it with Hallex and it's the best high ever. When I was on it and doing Morinth, I felt like I…"

"Please keep torrid details to a minimum. They do not add to your credibility or your attempts to assist in this investigation."

"You turians don't have any fun, do you? If you knew…"

Garrus glared.

"Okay okay!"

"Tell me more about Chipmunk."

"He's useless, man—he just brings us the money to hand off to Morinth. We give him his fix, and he leaves."

Garrus was always amused to see how fast criminals turned on each other once leniency was even floated, not even formally offered.

"So where does the money come from?"

"Man, I dunno… All I know is that Chipmunk brings the cash, we hand it over to Morinth and help her get what she paid for."

"Do you know what you're helping to sell?"

"I ain't the brains around here, you wanna talk to Simon—except you kind of shot him in the chest."

"He's being taken care of."

"Have I helped? Do I get something?"

"I'll consider what you've said after I speak with Simon and your other partner. Your name is?"

"Peter."

"Security will be by to take you to a holding cell, Peter."

Garrus moved to the next room.

"I'm only in this to pay for college, I swear!" said the man in a high-pitched voice. Ashley looked at him with disdain.

"I'll take it from here."

"Affirmative…sir."

The last word came out hesitantly. Garrus understood why, given the Williams family background—her grandfather had been the one who surrendered the human colony of Shanxi to the turians to prevent a mass slaughter before the Council intervened. Needless to say, it ran in her blood to be distrustful of non-humans, turians in particular.

"So you're paying for an education by taking classified hardware from the Trans-Galactic Republic?" started the special agent. "That doesn't sound like a smart choice to me."

"I grew up in the slums! This was my ticket out!"

"You didn't enlist, or try for the Civil Corps? What about looking for jobs in the extranet classifieds?"

"This was easy!" he wailed.

"Is the easy way always the best way?" Garrus drew his sidearm and buried it in the kid's temple. "The easy way would be for me to pull this trigger. Sure, I might not find out what you're doing or who you're helping, but I'll stop you from doing anything else."

"C'mon, can't I at least go to jail instead?"

"So when did you start thinking up alternatives to things?" The turian did not remove his weapon. "You came up with that pretty quick, but jumped in with gangbangers instead of checking job postings?"

"It was really cool! One day some guy came through and was looking for some help with a job that only worked nights and weekends, so I could still make classes! Said I'd be responsible for transporting important goods."

"Did he say who it was for?"

"Some company called Stellar Dust and Echoes. Owned by Nashan Space Dynamos or something."

"Nashan Stellar Dynamics?" queried the turian.

_This is new. If that pans out it might help connect some dots._

"Yeah, that's it! They're working on some project. He wouldn't say what, but he said if it paid off I'd get a lot of money!"

"What year of school are you in?"

"Huh? Oh, my second!"

"What are you studying?"

"I want to be Jordan R. Cellar, PhD! I'm still in undergrad though." His face fell at this statement.

"Well, Jordan" replied Garrus, "what classes are you taking right now?"

Jordan's face again showed confusion. From busting his ass about taking a shady job to talking about his courses?

"Well, there's Propulsion Theory 201… Applied Construction Methods 255, Intro to Starship Construction Management 215…"

"So how do you know that everything you learn in your propulsion theory class is true?"

"Well, the textbook says it" started Jordan. "Usually it tends to be right…"

"So if someone tells you something, you just accept what they say as being true without asking questions?"

"I hate proofs" spat Jordan. "They make us walk through all these really long math questions that show why Element Zero acts the way it does, how much energy you need to zero out this amount of mass… Did I mention I hate those problems?"

"And what's the purpose behind those proofs?" 

"You're supposed to learn why everything's the way the book says."

"So why would you take the word of some random stranger off the street, then?"

_You're smarter than this. You just need to see why_. Garrus removed his weapon and re-holstered it.

"Look, dude, I'm lucky if I get two meals in a day. My mom works two jobs, my dad is on disability and my sister has a kid. Life isn't as easy for me as it is for you lot."

"Life isn't always easy or fair. If you help me, I can help you—we have…"

"So you can ship me off to some state-run prison that pretends it's a school?" replied Jordan bitterly. "That's what my dad says happens!"

"And why is that automatically true?"

Jordan's face scrunched up. It was clear he was being forced to re-evaluate significant things he thought he had an answer to.

"I…I dunno!"

"Well, do you want to hear what actually happens?"

"What if I don't like it?"

"You can go to prison instead."

Jordan took a deep breath. Or at least as deep of one as you could strapped to an interrogation unit.

"Can it feed my family?"

"Not directly. The Challenge Oriented Reciprocal Education Program gives people like you help to make your lives better. You can attend almost any accredited school as long as you're studying a subject CORE has slots left for that year. Once you're in, you generally stay in even as the types of people they recruit changes."

"That's not what my dad said at all!" exclaimed Jordan.

"CORE gives you half the money no strings attached your first year. The other half is a loan. Depending on your grades, the amount CORE pays for you can go up or down. Say you get straight A's your first year. Your second year, you get sixty-five percent of the money as a scholarship and only borrow thirty-five percent. If you're still getting straight-A marks, your third year is seventy-five percent paid for, and your fourth would be ninety percent paid for if you earn the best grades."

"But what about the borrowed part? Loans are bad! If you don't pay them, people come and break your kneecaps!"

"You're dealing with some pretty nasty sharks" replied Garrus. "CORE doesn't do that. Depending on the amount you have to borrow, you can actually never pay back a penny of those loans if you sign to work for certain mostly public-sector employers and remain in good standing with that employer after you graduate."

"So the government will pay for my college?"

"You'd be a mid-stream enrollee so you wouldn't get credit for the years you weren't enrolled. But the other years could still be funded by CORE if you're accepted."

"And it gets me a job?"

"If you have high marks and impress the people doing the hiring, yes. Most students complete internships during their time with CORE, and interns are more likely to be hired for entry-level jobs than outsiders, so you stand a pretty good chance if you do well in your internship."

"Why didn't I hear about this? I should tell all my friends! It'd get them out of gangs too!"

"Apparently, the marketing department needs work" replied Garrus. He didn't say anything about the huge CORE billboards adorning the dock areas. Sometimes, it took a brush with the law to scare kids straight. And if Jordan was getting bombarded with unreliable extranet rumors from his father, it made more sense why he never looked into CORE, though it didn't excuse being a smuggler.

"So how do I sign up?"

Garrus chuckled. "Well, son, first you have to clear your name! Right now, I have you booked on charges of assaulting an officer, resisting arrest, unlicensed weapon possession, conspiracy to commit smuggling, and accessory to smuggling."

Jordan's face lost some color.

"Man, all I thought I was doing was moving stuff that asari wanted to buy."

"Which asari?"

"Her name's Morinth. Peter tells me she does really amazing things with her tongue. But she said I haven't earned it yet…"

_Great. More talk about how much of a she-devil Morinth is_.

"So how were you supposed to earn, whatever it is you wanted?" He hoped by skirting the subject he could avoid additional unwanted details.

"Well, I had to make sure five operations went off without a hitch. This was my second."

Jordan looked down.

"What were these operations?"

"Moving the goods and processing payments" he replied. "I dunno what they were shipping, but they said not to talk about it."

"What if I told you they were stealing super-secret stuff from the Trans-Galactic Republic?"

"Is that the ones with the really big awesome ships that look like triangles that smashed the Reapers?"

"The very same!" said Garrus enthusiastically. "And guess who runs CORE?"

"The Trans…Galactic Republic?"

"You got it. Now, let's see what we can do to get you out of this room and into CORE, shall we?"

"Yeah!"

"I'm going to go ahead and guess they didn't tell you what they were shipping" asked Garrus again, hoping the burst of positivity might get the kid to open up more.

"Simon was the one who they trusted" he admitted. "I was just there to make sure no one saw, or shoot them if they did."

Garrus submitted his interrogation and moved to the final room.

Simon seemed to be conscious and lucid—high-potency bacta tanks were wonderful things. In the hour or so that Garrus spent talking to the other suspects, the damage inflicted by Athena's shotgun essentially no longer existed.

"You can't make me talk!" he bellowed.

"Leave us" Garrus ordered the guard and medical personnel. Inwardly, they cringed as it was quite possible their patient would be back in the tank if the interrogator decided to put him there.

"You're right, I can't make you talk" replied Garrus.

"Yeah. Fuck you, I've got rights! Where's my lawyer?"

"I can, however, strongly encourage you to talk" retorted Garrus. "You ever hear of Spectres?"

"They're on the vids. They do all sorts of crazy shit."

Simon realized what the implication of Garrus' statement was.

"I ain't talkin' to nobody!"

"Alright then. Encouragement it is!"

WHAM. Three-fingered fist met the side of Simon's chest, still tender from the rapid healing enabled by bacta.

"Ow! My lawyer will hear about this!"

"Your lawyer will never know you were here, and even if you tell him, there aren't any records to support your claim" replied Garrus.

"Yeah? Well, Morinth doesn't take kindly to her operatives being roughed up. That asari will crush your sorry skull!"

Garrus decided to let this belligerent man in on the fact that Morinth perished at the hands of Samara.

"Excuse me a moment."

"Yeah! That's right! Run away, pussy!"

"Samara, if you would come with me please."

"Who's that?" demanded Simon. "She's not the blue bitch who was in my bed two nights ago!"

Samara said nothing in response.

Garrus pulled up evidence photos taken after Morinth's death on a large screen mounted on the far wall.

"You were saying?"

"Oh man! That ain't real! Morinth could…"

"…not withstand the force of a shotgun blast" countered Samara. "I have been hunting her for over four hundred years, and caught up with her on this station. She has earned a death sentence many times over."

"Fuck you!" screamed Simon. "You can't!"

"I did" replied Samara matter-of-factly.

"Now you have nothing to lose by talking!" Garrus accentuated his last word with another punch.

Samara pulled him aside.

"Has this man been sentenced to die?"

"No, but if he's convicted he will be."

"Do you believe that he will be convicted?"

"I'm positive. With the video footage and the testimony of his lackeys, he's going to have a date with an airlock!"

"Then the Code is satisfied. Were this man to be either innocent or subject to confinement, not death, I would be compelled to prevent you from physically harming him. However, the Code is silent on the treatment of those sentenced to die."

Samara stood back to let Garrus do what he had to do.

"They won't let you kill me" taunted the prisoner. "They'll just put me back in that tank, and I'll come out good as new!"

"And I'll be here waiting" replied Garrus as coldly as he could. "We can do this all day. What are you smuggling?" Each word now carried physical weight.

"When I get outta here I'm going to disappear!" yelled Simon. "You won't be able to find me!"

"You'll leave in a bag!" replied Garrus. "Tell me what I want to know and you might not."

"Oh, that's a great incentive. You _might not_ keep hitting me? Oh, let me tell you all about my secret plan…"

Garrus stopped punching.

"NOT! Fuckwad."

CRACK.

Garrus decided he thought Simon's nose could use adjustment. Since his hands were restrained, he couldn't do anything about the blood now pouring down his front.

"You ruined my shirt, you jackass! This shirt cost four thousand credits!"

"How are you going to disappear? You can't hide from us!"

"You intel operatives think you know everything. Guess what? You don't! Some of us are fighting back. You'll never find us, you'll never see our faces, and you'll never stop our signals!"

"I think your signal is pretty muted" countered Garrus. "I might just get sick of your inane babbling and decide to rearrange your teeth."

"They'll come and blow this station to bits! You won't see it until it sends your sorry ass off to whatever place you bird-heads believe in after you die screaming!"

_Nine out of ten his employer has something to do with the hibridium and cloaking stuff._

"You sorely underestimate the shielding on this station" mocked Garrus. "You'd need more firepower than…"

To his surprise, Simon cut him off, making fun of his tone and statement as much as he could.

"_You sorely underestimate the firepower my friends have!_ They'll blow this station away! Oh I hope you're on it when it happens, so you can shit yourself watching your death approach!"

_New guess: cloaked superlaser platform_.

"You're a moron. So you've told me whoever you work for has a hibridium cloaking device and a superlaser that they intend to deploy here against this installation. We'll have defenses ready. I appreciate your cooperation."

It was only a slight twitch, but Simon's face gave away that Garrus guessed mostly correctly. What Garrus hadn't said was that RISE really suspected the target to be _Ultimatum_ and/or the Citadel itself. But Simon didn't need to know that.

"Shepard would be proud!" said Garrus to himself as he exited the interrogation chambers.

[…]

"I will accept your word" replied a disappointed Jack Harper. Evee Corde and her team put in double shifts, blew up two labs, and used at least ten percent of the precious hibridium. They were still unable to stabilize the substance in the presence of an active faster-than-light engine. A station the size of Cronos, with its multiple cruiser bays (and even dreadnaught docking tube) couldn't move without being noticed by the Trans-Galactic Republic. That's what the cloak was supposed to be for. He supposed trying to use the mass relay between Horsehead and Serpent might not be out of the question—it was only one jump. That said, the superlaser still didn't work—more fire-gems were needed to increase its output to sufficient levels that it might slash through the shields of a Star Dreadnaught. Or cut into the armor of the Citadel itself.

Word reached Harper that Operative Morinth had been killed by the damnable justicar Samara. Her own mother! Asari had some strange notions of maternal caring. It wasn't a terminal setback, but with only slightly over half the gems required, a new plan was needed.

The station remained virtually undetected from its proximity to Anadius, though the hibridium cloak seemed to work very well anyway. Scans from launched ships confirmed the station disappeared both to sensors and visually with the device activated, but said device drew massive quantities of power—enough that over half the station's systems had to be put in standby mode to engage the cloak. The overall idea wasn't to fire from behind the cloak (stygium would have permitted this, unfortunately no agents could find quantities large enough to hide an object the size of Cronos) but to allow bringing the superlaser weapon to guaranteed-kill range against a target. The station's newly-installed Silaris armor and pilfered deflector shields from the destroyed remnants of a Trans-Galactic Republic cruiser would give the imposing structure enough time (approximately a minute) to charge up its main gun before blasting whatever happened to be in the sights to bits. Even if the station and its crew were destroyed, the point would have been made—Cerberus would not simply lie down and die while the Trans-Galactic Republic sold out humanity's best chance to dominate the galaxy.


	27. Through the Fire

**Chapter 26 – Through the Fire**

"Okay, let's try again…"

Tali, Gaige, and the staff of the SETTLE Center were trying to make sense of the notes Samantha Shepard forwarded to them. On one hand, the apparent solution to space-destroying engines was elegant. On the other, it represented a fiendishly difficult technical challenge that pushed everyone involved to their limits. Many prototypes had been built, tested, and discarded. A few actually exploded, one caught on an omnitool.

"This is why when we say don't try this at home, we mean it!" laughed Gaige as she recorded commentary over the process which resulted in a detonated space-folding drive. Really, the issue arose from the "folds" clogging the drive—though the drive proved able to shorten space between two points using extra dimensions successfully, it did so in a way that it could only work for a short period of time before overloading.

"If we could actually access these dimensions instead of hopping from point to point using them, the drive might not stop up like someone who ate too many carbs!"

"Gaige, if you make one more disgusting joke…" Tali disliked the teenager's tendency toward gross humor. The more difficult a problem became, the nastier the attempts to make her and others laugh. The constipation comment actually represented a milder crack than usual, too.

Though it seemed Tali and Gaige made most of the breakthroughs at the SETTLE Center, this only appeared to be the case because much prep work ended up being finished by others. Basically, if one were to compare the process to starship manufacturing, the final step tended to be quality control, while the first step revolved around creating blueprints from ideas. The dynamic duo generally focused on the critical ends while leaving the "middle" for their workers to finish. That said, it led to no small amount of bitterness—as the beginning and end were where the media (and consequently, sources of fame) paid the most attention. Either it was a cool new concept, or the cool new concept actually happened to work, earning plaudits from reporters.

Emily Wong delved into the lives of the implementers and builders in a multi-part series called "Under the Hull: Designing and Building Advanced Starships." After only three episodes, ratings stood sky-high, untouchable by the likes of Battlespace or even the universally-despised but also apparently universally-watched daytime reality TV shows. One segment discussed a few lucky undergraduate students doing internships at the [REDACTED] where all this construction took place.

"When they say 'challenging' as part of CORE, they aren't kidding" she commented. "Some of these problems would ordinarily be thrown at scientists or starship architects with years of experience, but some of the best young minds are tackling them anyway. And what results! Even the two best-known faces of bleeding-edge starship tech have admitted to finding great benefit from the CORE interns."

"It's really heartening to see quarians being treated, well, like everyone else" remarked Tali. "Several of the interns are actually on their Pilgrimages, and they've been promised that some of the work done will be sent back to the Flotilla with them."

Despite acknowledging the utility of the CORE Program, Gaige found herself somewhat flustered. The interns were almost all older than she was. Consequently, more than one didn't take her seriously. After stern talking-tos and apologies issued (plus a humiliation or two at engineering "derbies" held to crack intractable problems) the doubters integrated better into the overall team. This sort of unfortunate "age-ism" tended to come with the territory of being a teenage prodigy, though.

One of these interns actually suggested using a specialized variable-geometry intake manifold that would attempt to compensate for rapidly-changing folded space which ordinarily caused trouble for the concept of a space-folding drive. The manifold idea worked, but wasn't fast enough. No computer could keep up with the demands of adjusting this quickly at what were in essence faster-than-light velocities when measured from an observer point of view. Variances would begin to build, slowly at first, but eventually they would cause the manifold to make a critical error trying to smooth incoming space, resulting in an even more cataclysmic exit from "jumping" than the initial problem. Ultimately, it would only work with a ridiculous number of manifolds, somewhere on the order of five or more, linked together with quantum-realtime communication links between them to maintain cohesion between each unit and the others. Such a drive might be able to cruise for years before any variances appeared.

The CORE Program hadn't previously been permitted into such high-security laboratories—it had only been curiously strong lobbying from a turian special agent and an InterSpec Internal Auditor that permitted a very lucky few CORE students to even set foot on the SETTLE Center. One Jordan Cellar excitedly told Emily Wong that the program and its opportunity gave him a new chance to live a better life than the one he'd been born into.

"Take it from me" he'd said, "don't go for shady jobs or get into gangs. They're a dead end. Take the better path! Apply to CORE today!"

As a result, CORE's applications jumped 527%, mostly for starship- and other astrophysics-related topics. Unable to cope with turning away so many, program administrators decided to slightly reduce overall benefits to enable serving more students. There was even talk of changing the "e" in CORE to "Engineering" and creating other similar programs based on different disciplines, rather than trying to roll them all into one big bureaucracy.

Tragedy struck when a CORE student, working on a project so secret not even most SETTLE personnel were aware of it died as the power output from her work cascaded into a runaway state.

"Emma Carter was everything CORE stands for. She had strong groundings in each value we look for in our students: industrious, adaptability, openness…"

Her eulogy was read by Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, who would have been reported to be crying had her helmet not obscured her face. Emma had been one to viciously doubt Gaige's abilities, but after getting completely trounced in an engineering derby, plus actually spending time with the youngster, grudgingly grew to respect someone three years her junior who had the same if not better aptitude for all things engineered.

"That miniature novalaser should not have overloaded" insisted Gaige plaintively. "There's no way… Unless…"

Chances were quite small, but she had to be sure. It looked as though the entire assembly had been burnt out (because it had) but many components' final state of calibration could still be determined. Everything read in-spec, but after running several hundred simulations, she concluded there existed a small chance for such a runaway overload to occur—but it needed exactly the right conditions to do so. Conditions so rare they wouldn't even be reported on a safety sheet, most likely.

"If only Garrus Vakarian were briefed on these programs" sighed Tali. "He can calibrate anything."

"For this to happen, someone had to have set something up" concluded Gaige. "I'll finally accept my third place at the science fair if this was an accident!" Her "Deathtrap" project seemed so long ago—and so out-of-date! She'd gone from building simple robots to designing weapons that could destroy planets, engines capable of making hundreds of thousands of light years in travel take days, and computers capable of simulating all manner of situations to avoid actually having to build every single permutation of a design.

Novalasers were the next logical step in high-powered directed-energy weapons pursued by the Trans-Galactic Republic. They might even one day replace the barely-used (in combat) mass fusion drivers mounted on _Maxthon_ cruisers. Utilizing rare fire-gems from Gamma-Three, they violated known laws of physics even more so than their predecessors, seemingly generating energy from nowhere. A weapon focused through such a gem would see an output increase of anywhere from half to over three times its previous level.

It was these gems smugglers had been diverting to Cronos Station. The science team there led by Evee Corde only recently discovered this unique energy-multiplying lensing property, leading Jack Harper to conclude no more gems were necessary—they could achieve the desired power output with half the expected amount.

"We are ready to strike a blow for humanity" he intoned. "The Citadel and the blind fools calling themselves the Trans-Galactic Republic will not keep us down with threats or demands for political correctness—we will force them to see what they have done to us!" Cronos Station would make the jump from its location in the Horsehead Nebula to the Serpent Nebula, where RNS _Ultimatum_ generally kept station near the Citadel. One would fall, and if they were fortunate, both would taste the wrath of Cerberus' new weapon. Cloaking shields did not hide mass (which is why a crystal gravitational trap could detect ships or stations hiding under a cloaking field), so the mass relays would shove an invisible station from its origin to its destination.

At approximately five kilometers tall with its superlaser running from bottom to its emitter at the top, Cronos Station would be capable of crushing the shields of a Star Dreadnaught with sustained fire. It might even be able to punch through the unknown material used to build the outer shell of the Citadel. The trip to Widow would be rather uncomfortable, since most energy ended up diverted to the hibridium cloak and engines. It would actually take far longer to arrive at the Horsehead mass relay than the trip between clusters—even at full power mobile stations never were very fast.

Unfortunately, no guarantees existed that the relays at either end would be clear. Though traffic through them tended to be regulated, it wasn't as if a terror group would call up local control, ask for a spot in the relay-line, and wait patiently. Instead, Cronos Station used its heavy armor and shields to push aside other vessels. Kinetic barriers were designed to repel each other without actually touching to avoid collision damage where possible, so many ships were moved aside without incident. A few exploded—it would probably go down to poor piloting. These events would not cause sufficient warning to get the Citadel and/or Trans-Galactic Republic to prepare for what was about to come.

Jack Harper watched out what passed for the "front" viewscreen, as the station currently hurtled from one relay to another with its top pointed forward. Arriving at the Serpent Nebula without being detected by sensors, the massive construct squeezed by a patrolling fleet much like old video games in which the only goal was to avoid touching any of the (instant-kill) enemies moving back and forth across the screen. One or two Trans-Galactic Republic cruisers might have had scuffs on their shields, but nothing major—and nothing that would trigger alarms. Thankfully, the distance from Widow's relay to the Citadel was short. The station need not even bother maneuvering since its laser emitter arose from its "top," now the "front."

"Are you ready to see your work in action?" he asked Evee. He almost felt cheesy for thinking it, actually, it was cheesy—kissing her against the backdrop of their shared enemies exploding. But, she showed zero interest and rebuffed his advances. Unlike some men of great influence, this did not cause her to be thrown out the airlock, tortured, raped, or sold into slavery. Jack Harper knew better than to get drunk on power and drive the best people away. The hangovers were never worth it. Employees lying to keep the boss happy until everything fell apart, maltreated lieutenants scheming to take out the man at the top, and similar situations all dissuaded him from ever moving down the path of tyrant. His methods could be brutal, but they were generally only applied against those in opposition to his plans. Situations like Pragia were…regrettable. Thresher maw experiments involving live soldiers whose only "crime" was working for the Alliance were rather unfortunate. The overall goal of protecting humanity justified both in the broader scheme of things, despite the otherwise unpleasant nature of both items.

Harper keyed in a sequence to warm up the superlaser.

Doing so would both break the cloak by creating more emissions than it could conceal and force it to power down since the superlaser used even more energy (almost two-thirds). The reappropriated generators taken alongside superlaser components buffered the draw, but only barely.

"Sixty seconds" he spoke aloud, despite only one other person being in the room who was well-aware of how the weapon worked.

Deep inside Cronos, the necessary reactions to produce an incredibly powerful beam built up. Too well. The conditions Gaige insisted could only be arranged on purpose with a smaller fire-gem powered superlaser were far more likely on a larger unit—and they occurred readily as Cerberus' terror weapon charged. The beam began to distort and become less focused, damaging several kilometers of tubing toward the discharge-end of the device. As the cloak dropped, shocked onlookers in spacecraft heading to and from the Citadel gasped in shock.

Citadel Control quickly descended into a state of bedlam. No known blueprints matched the gargantuan object that had just appeared out of the Widow relay. According to Trans-Galactic Republic sensors, it wasn't there, then all of the sudden it was. This sort of "cloaking" represented a technology the Trans-Galactic Republic insisted it rarely used, and certainly not on anything that size. Only when the tip of the station began to glow did anyone realize what it was.

"It's a weapon!" breathed Councilor Tevos from the tower where galactic issues were often decided.

"We knew this was coming, but didn't expect it so soon" sighed Adam Grayson. "Our intelligence seems to have been two steps behind."

The expected bloodbath was not to be. Due to a runaway reaction, the beam spread out too much to carry more than a tenth of its intended power to the target, diffusing much of its energy throughout the station's upper superstructure. Though much of the area immediately surrounding the superlaser shaft consisted of highly-heat-resistant material, the possibility of having to repel a good majority of the weapon's energy from within was never considered, and the top of Cronos began to melt like a candle. The remaining beam reached out to touch the hull of _Ultimatum_, catching the Star Dreadnaught off guard but not significantly damaging the imposing vessel. The beam cut through a lower portion that consisted largely of hanger/storage space, which minimized both casualties and damage.

"Shields up!" ordered Admiral Allison Nimitz. Too late. Still, the incoming orange lance did far less than expected, and given the apparent visual state of the machinery responsible for producing the beam (it reminded the Admiral of her aromatherapy burners), it didn't seem likely that another shot would be coming.

Sensors on Trans-Galactic Republic and Citadel vessels went nuts. A massive power signature appeared from nowhere, _right next to the Citadel_.

"Behold, the instrument of your annihilation!"

The words echoed through the heads of everyone present, as if it were possible to transmit sound through space. It wasn't, but broadcasting for all to hear lay well within the capabilities of a competent Channeler. Sarah, being the absolute best, could have made everyone in the vicinity keel over with bleeding ears but elected for a simple message instead.

"Your society is ended. Your destruction of the universe will no longer be tolerated. Embrace your destruction, or face the serenade of your own death!"

Some who visited Luna vaguely recognized the sounds that followed. It was supposedly the song of the rachni—even though no rachni had ever set foot upon that planetoid. This melody rang different, yet similar. A sad, mournful piece that tugged at emotions, it nevertheless signaled the beginning of the end.

The former _Revenant_, now reading on IFFs from both factions as "_Siren Serenade,"_ opened fire using weapons no one on the Citadel or in the Trans-Galactic Republic Spacelane Protection forces had ever seen before.

"I wanted to call it 'Serenade of the Siren' but the cave-dwelling idiots who designed this ship's system software didn't leave enough room in the memory buffer!" complained the purple-headed woman to no one in particular.

"You don't have any programmers around here?"

All things considered, other than the ending-the-universe thing, Armando Bailey could hardly complain about his treatment by the Siren and her Ladies. The discussion of whether to put his Current Channeling to use never continued (that he was aware of), so instead he simply existed—eating, sleeping, exercising, meditating. Sometimes, one or more of the women would join him. Other times, he followed his routine alone.

Violet-colored beams reached out from many points on the ship's hull, piercing through the drive cores of any ship in range. Shortly thereafter, every faster-than-light system in a ten-thousand light year radius ceased to function. Ships in faster-than-light exploded as they reverted to realspace. Normal failures permitted a graceful exit—but that wasn't possible if the drive core simply went offline with no warning. The only vessels safe were those utilizing mass relays without any kind of combination drive.

To horrified observers, _Revenant_/_Siren Serenade_ represented a strange sight. On one hand, some of the battle damage from Reaper fire remained visible. The hull no longer consisted of a solid wall of durasteel, either—instead, many breaks had been cut into it. Many blocky protrusions, some emitting the violet beams, stuck out from seemingly random places. These stubby towers further subdivided down into smaller blocks, with still smaller blocks on top. If they were intended to fulfill a specific function other than apparently looking complicated, that wasn't apparent to those not on board the vessel.

The ship had been repainted for whatever reason, and many of the glowing windows that could be seen on its former twin _Ultimatum_ were dark or absent entirely, covered by armor, turrets, missile launchers, or other hardware.

"How is this ship running with only you five?" demanded Bailey.

"Oh, dear, is the poor child confused?" simpered Sarah. Her voice took on a mocking, babyish tone as she spoke of herself in the third person. "Well, big bad Sarah here is more than just a Siren. She is a Siren, Channeler, and also runs the ship! In a way, she is the ship!"

The two-meter woman resumed her normal speaking voice.

"Let's see—that one, right there!"

Several beams stabbed through the heart of a turian dreadnaught, causing it to break apart.

Her face twisted into a visage of mock pity, pursing her lips and widening her eyes.

"Awww… The poor babies don't want to give up!" she cooed. Only then did Bailey realize _Ultimatum_ had snapped out of green alert and now poured every weapon it had into its new foe.

"Quick-charge the superlaser!" barked Nimitz. This purple-haired nightmare was not going to get away with, well, whatever she was trying to do. She'd been informed the hyperdrive on her vessel had become completely inoperative—and impossible to repair without replacing the entire core. Something caused by the old _Revenant_, but exactly what no one knew.

At the scale of Star Dreadnaughts measured in decameters, the very literal ejection of RISE from _Serenade_ got no attention. The modular construct, installed by the Trans-Galactic Republic to both allow covert operations and easily get rid of them should they be compromised, turned on its makers. Every RISE operative, including Bhatti and Walker, died a slow, suffocating death as the entire section detached itself from inside the hull and floated into space.

_Ultimatum_'s superlaser crashed into _Serenade_ again and again, but as quickly as parts fell away, they seemed to grow back.

All blood and color drained from Allison Nimitz's face. This Sarah had done what the Trans-Galactic Republic and Citadel Council together as CRITICAL could not—integrate digistruction repair systems directly into a ship. Depending on energy available for conversion into matter, this could either enable slow regeneration over time or near-instantaneous fixes. _Siren Serenade_ easily fell into the second category. To top it off, the vessel's reactor core read 350% of normal output with no apparent thermal stress or fuel consumption issues.

Citadel Control gave up as thousands of ships attempted to flee the system. Most were cut down by _Serenade_.

In that disgustingly sweet, simpering voice, Sarah mocked Bailey and his compatriots' attempts to leave the area.

"Looks like it's getting a bit dead in here! Come to the light, little moths! Fry for me!"

Unaware of what he'd done until the crackling screech of crossed lightstaffs assaulted his ears, Armando Bailey launched himself at the murderous Siren.

[…]

Maya commuted back to Gamma-Six after meeting her double. She didn't want to be near Jackie anymore—while it seemed unlikely that the woman who had captured and tortured her had truly changed, she also didn't want to admit she might have been a bit harsh. Being farther away from the reason that little voice in the back of her head taunted her helped. Somewhat.

_You gave Lilith a chance_ it mocked. _Why not Jackie? Too attractive for you?_

"Shut UP!" she roared.

_Admit it, you know you were wrong. Moxxi was right, you are a total bitch._

"Rrrrrgh!" Maya almost banged her head into a nearby statue.

She looked up.

"Samantha Shepard Memorial"

"Old warriors never die, they just fade away"

She could see places where paint had been either covered or sanded away. According to Gamma-Six history she'd read, Shepard's first revival at the hands of Cerberus had caused quite a bit of controversy. Some felt relieved at the galactic savior's return—others questioned whether she remained herself having been resurrected by a group with a dubious agenda. Public opinion aside, Presidium groundskeepers faithfully maintained the statue, cleaning off vulgar graffiti and throwing away memorial flowers that had long since died so that well-wishers could place new ones.

"What would Shepard do?" she asked herself. She smiled upon realizing several bracelets emblazoned with abbreviations for exactly that phrase had been left near the booted feet of the statue.

_She's a better person than me_ thought Maya. _I gave Lilith another chance because I already knew her before she went crazy—I knew what she had been and hoped she'd change back into what she used to be. Hell, I just accepted Shepard herself as being "back from the insanity" after she came back to life for what, the second time? _

She struggled to rationalize a reason why Lilith and Shepard deserved seemingly-near-instant forgiveness while Jackie only rated continued condemnation.

_There was no good Jackie—not until Moxxi found one, anyway… There's nothing to change back to, no reference point. And that scares me. That someone so thoroughly evil might be cured of it. What if someone who thinks she's a good person finds out she's not? Or that she's less good than she thought?_

"Admiring my awesomeness?"

The voice startled her.

"I swear they made my boobs bigger for the statue…"

"Sam! What are you doing here?"

"Based on what I've heard, thinking the place I ought to be is the place I just left."

Brilliant explosions caused by _Siren Serenade_ lit the sky behind the two women.

"So Sarah's finally gone and done it, huh?" asked Shepard.

"Yep. Apparently, the only way to save our universe is to destroy everyone who lives in it. Or, at least anyone who uses forms of FTL travel she claims are dangerous."

"Jackie's equations!" exclaimed Sam.

"That…unpleasant person does theoretical physics?" Maya almost said "stupid bitch."

"She's not nearly as nasty as you might think" countered Shepard. "She had a rough past and her methods of coping with it were not good. If she's really grown beyond it, she's actually quite pleasant."

"_She tortured us"_ hissed Maya. "Me, Axton, Athena, and Garrus! She held us prisoner! Used us as toys!"

"Whoa, I'm not saying that suddenly because she reads books about physics instead of new sexual techniques or methods of causing pain that suddenly everything she did doesn't matter anymore. Just that you can't judge someone solely on their past when the present is so different."

Maya glowered.

"Cerberus nearly destroyed the life of a crewmember of mine" continued Shepard quietly. "And what did she do? Dedicate her life to hating the memory of the people who wronged her? No! It took a while, but Jack grew into a fine, if unorthodox, teacher. You've met her before, or so Brick tells me."

"It's so weird hearing the name 'Jack' and having it not refer to that megalomaniac who used to run Pandora" replied Maya. "It's kind of hard to not hate that name."

"But you don't" said Shepard, seizing the opening. "You recognize the difference."

"Nice try. But the two Jacks are completely different people! Hell, one's a woman! Jackie then and Jackie now are definitely not two different people" Maya insisted.

"Or are they?" challenged Sam. "Sure, they share the same body, but how similar are Jackie-the-sex-addict and Jackie-the-quiet-astrophysicist?"

"If she ends up saving us from that whackjob Sarah I'll eat my hair."

"Look. I don't think Jackie's a candidate for sainthood. I even told her I don't fully trust her. But if she has the means to put an end to this insanity and is willing to share" (Shepard glossed over the fact she'd essentially stolen Jackie's notes without asking) "why not listen to what she has to say?"

"I guess" replied Maya hesitantly. "I mean, the guy who invented the New-U system was a total dick. But everyone used his invention daily and it definitely made Pandora a wee bit better."

"The question is, how do I get back to Jackie's ship without waiting a week? Plus, there are a few people I'd like to round up here before heading back."

"You're going back to Pandora" gasped Maya. "Now?"

The great black bulk of _Siren Serenade_ suddenly disappeared in a titanic flash of pink light.

"See? There's the all-clear!" grinned the Spectre. "Now that there's not a giant black death machine that would shoot us down if we took off, we can leave!"

"Good luck getting to the docks" griped Maya. "Look!"

The few ships available had been overloaded by passengers trying to get off the station. Passenger liners took off at twice their rated capacities. An increasingly-large pile of oversized or excess personal possessions (as determined by those coordinating boarding) was beginning to form near the lines. Looters flitted over to help themselves to the valuables. People were too focused on securing transport to care.

"If my message got through, we won't need the docks." Sam pointed at an incoming craft.

A shuttle with markings designating it as from _Revenant Phoenix_ descended toward the pair.

"Welcome to Shepard Air" joked the pilot. "I'm Steve Cortez—I took over after Joker left."

"Wait, I missed that part. Fill me in on why my best pilot suddenly decided to take leave of my ship. I'm hurt."

"All I know is it was a hush-hush special mission. Some turian named Vakarian was put in charge of it" shrugged Cortez. "Didn't hear anything else."

"_Garrus_ poached my pilot?" Shepard's voice of disbelief and facial expression suggested no greater offense could possibly be committed. Except maybe letting her fish die or messing with her hamster.

"Where is that two-timing turian bastard, so I can beat his sorry ass at bottle-shooting again?"

Maya wasn't sure what to think. "Didn't you two used to work together?"

"We sure did. He was absolutely hands-down my best fighter. Excellent sniper, too."

"From what I hear, he's leading a team that's mostly extraordinary individuals you recruited for your last mission" piped up Cortez. "Again, all I have is scuttlebutt since this was super-classified…"

"Well, I guess if I call everyone I had on my team and see who doesn't answer, I might get an idea of who Garrus is working with" replied Shepard, only half joking.

Jack's terminal beeped again and again. Brick, eyes misted over red with rage that would not abate, tried to ignore it, until it finally got the better of him. Storming out his office door and making the double-right that would get him into his fellow instructor's workspace, he balled his fists so as to punch the terminal until it stopped beeping.

"Wait, Shepard? This is gonna be awkward…"

"Jack! It's Shepard! Do you know what Garrus is up to?"

"Uhh, this is Brick. Jack's gone—took a really long 'leave of personal absence.' Even put Shiala in charge of her classes—she never lets anyone else teach her lessons!"

"Do you know if she went with Garrus Vakarian on a mission of some kind?"

"I have no idea, Shep. But I do know that purple-haired _bitch _took the students! While they slept! They're all gone!"

"Wait, slow down. What happened?"

[…]

Catalina Rodriguez got ready to turn in for the night. The green asari Shiala had worked them just as hard, if not harder, than the "Psychotic Biotic" they were used to. She ate one last energy bar before bed so she would be fresh in the morning before turning out her desk lamp and laying down.

She awoke to screams.

De-opaquing her window, she looked down into the KOMBT School courtyard, expecting to see an overenthusiastic late-night sparring match. Instead, her eyes found dozens of her fellow students trapped by some kind of lightning emanating from the fingertips of a familiar figure.

"_Sarah_" she hissed. Not that a teenage girl could sound intimidating, but she liked to think she did, even though there was no way Sarah could hear her from down in the courtyard.

She could see other black-robed women loading unmoving students into shuttles. One almost looked like a walking tank! A group of students charged the assembled kidnappers, only to be hurled back by an unseen force doubtlessly conjured by Sarah or one of her underlings.

Picking up her biotic battle-harness (energy bars, amps, pistol) she changed into combat gear. Grabbing a heavy rocket launcher despite the penalty to her power usage, Catalina headed for the elevator. She ran into several other students who'd had similar ideas.

"Let's take these bitches down."

With confidence borne of the training Jack drilled into their brains, the squad of students descended the tower in silence. Reaching the ground floor, they saw more of those who had been incapacitated had been moved from the grass into additional shuttles.

"Hey! You!"

Catalina let loose a rocket, only for it to bend back in a slightly U-shaped course, slamming into the elevator shaft behind her.

"Would you like to play? Are you here for the party?" mocked the towering Siren. "Oh the more the merrier!"

None of her fellow students even fired a shot before they were all caught in that same lightning, also known as the Current of Pain.

_So that's what the screams were for…_ she thought as her body seemed to catch fire from the Siren's attack.

Catalina didn't know how long she stayed on her hands and knees, only letting out the occasional grunt as her friends let loose terrifying screams.

_Show no pain. They enjoy it when you show pain_ she remembered from a particularly harsh lesson imparted by Jack. _Scream, and you're giving them what they want._

"Awww….someone's a tough little girl!" crooned Sarah, now standing directly over Catalina and focusing her energy on the young woman. "So strong…"

"Fuck. You." breathed Catalina. "I hope you die in a hole, you monster."

"Oh I'm sure you'd like to" replied Sarah airily, "but I think you're a bit young for that… Maybe when you're older!"

_So she's a pervert on top of being the most awful example of humanity ever?_

"No, just telling you that you can't have what you want!"

_And she reads minds? Is this some kind of twisted horror movie?_

"You haven't seen anything yet. Wait until the floods of flesh pour in from other universes and consume you, me, and everyone else. If those monkeys don't stop messing with the little wormhole animals, things are going to get a lot worse than lost pens!"

Catalina blacked out.

[...]

After he finished relating what he'd seen on the security tapes, Brick looked ready to explode from anger.

"We are going to hunt her down. I will cut off all that hair she likes to show off, _and strangle her with it!_" raged the image from Shepard's omnitool.

"That is it" glowered the Spectre. "I knew she was a little kooky, but kidnapping students? What on earth could she possibly need them for?"

"I'm guessing it's something neither of us want to know, but we'll find out anyway" replied Brick. "You have a ship that can get to FTL? The bringer of gloom and doom fried every hyperdrive and hyper-zero unit on the station!"

"My ship's here—it arrived shortly after I did. Technically, even the freighter that brought me in has a functioning faster-than-light unit. It pulled in after whatever she did to make lightspeed drives inoperable."

[[ INCOMING MESSAGE ]]

Entering a command that would identify the person interrupting her conversation with Brick, she was surprised to see Garrus Vakarian's image appear.

She chose to "conference" the two calls together. Now two heads floated above her wrist.

"Garrus, Brick. Brick, Garrus. Don't remember if you've met or not. If you haven't wish it could be under better circumstances. If you have, let's kick some ass!"

"Shepard. Miranda sent me a message right after you called her to have _Phoenix_ here by the time you docked. We got here as fast as we could."

"How'd you get here? You already stole my pilot—at least you had the decency not to steal my ship too!" Bantering with Garrus never got old, even in the middle of a possible end of civilization.

She could hear Joker's voice in the background. "Let's not spoil the surprise, eh Commander?"

_Wait, was he talking to me or Garrus?_

Brick put in an ECHO call to Axton. He'd need someone to handle his own students while he was away. It would take a while, but the former Dahl Commando would hopefully be able to hitch a ride on one of the incessant Trans-Galactic Republic convoys making the run from Gamma-Three to Gamma-Six.

Twenty minutes later, Shepard stepped back onto her former ship.

"I like what you've done with the place" she commented. "What's this I hear about being able to vanish?"

As if to accentuate the point, Kasumi appeared beside her. "Just a little help from me and a few rogues in the Trans-Galactic Republic."

A loud pounding noise could be heard from somewhere deep inside the ship. Tracing to its source, she found Jack in the place she used to call home during the Cerberus/Collector days, slamming a biotically-enhanced fist into the bulkhead over and over again. A large dent became bigger every time her fist hit home. Anyone counting curses for the swear jar would have been very wealthy indeed.

Drawing closer, Sam could see tears streaming down Jack's face.

"Fucking fuckers fuck fuck!"

Standing back far enough that any biotics released in anger would have a decent chance of missing, she called out to her former crewmember.

"God damn it, Shepard! The moment they needed me and I abandoned them!" she raged. "I left my students to be kidnapped by that _bitch_ and her little helpers!"

Sam tried to console the enraged biotic. "You had no way of knowing that would happen. She can apparently show up pretty much anywhere whenever she wants to. You can't fight that, no matter how hard you try or how angry you get."

"The hell with that!" screamed Jack. "I promised! I told them I'd always be there and I wasn't!"

Despite the outburst, she'd ceased to make the dent any deeper.

Jack put her head in her hands. Her anger caused eyes to squint closed and she gritted her teeth.

"Fucking shit! If I can't protect my students… They could be even more fucked than I was when Cerberus had me!"

"This wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself because you couldn't stop some insanely powerful dimension-warping _thing_."

"I don't care!" fumed Jack. "I should have been there! I'd…I would rather be dead fighting for them than see this happen!"

"Well, that isn't going to help us much now. If you want to come up to the command deck, Garrus and I are going to figure out how to send this smug little weirdo packing."

"Tell me when you're going to get my kids back" snapped Jack. "Then I'll come upstairs."

Shepard took leave of her distraught crewmember and headed to Miranda's office.

"So you're saying this Jackie might have the answer to faster-than-light that won't cause anomalies?" questioned Miranda.

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" replied Shepard emphatically. "But we can't do this all ourselves! We need to get Tali and Gaige, then head back to Gamma-Three. See if we combine their knowledge, if someone can make this work."

"Where are Tali and Gaige?" inquired the ex-Cerberus officer.

"Uhh, yeah, classified" replied Sam. "But we can get there. I know how."

"Then what are we waiting for?" demanded Garrus. "Let's go already!"

[…]

Before departing in another flash of purple, Sarah transferred a significant amount of knowledge to the insane(ly smart) Patricia Tannis. Most of the knowledge had to do with Eridian artifacts, but a bit of it covered Sarah's own story and reason for her existence as a created life-form.

The Eridians Tannis studied were known to Sarah as "Forebears" (interesting, thought Sarah, as she'd never heard their actual name previously) and had existed so long ago (as far as she remembered) that no records other than their own existed for that time period. Virtually eternal in life compared to mortal species, their concept of "time" vastly departed from even the neigh-immortal Sirens grown to be controlled from beyond the Veil if necessary (otherwise living normal lives). Millions of years by the clocks of present-day civilizations would have been but the blink of an Eridian eye. They had lived in a very segregated, class-based society adhering to rigid roles which rarely changed, though it was possible to "rank up" under certain circumstances. Those whose work fell into maintenance of the species-wide religion and some scientists generally learned the more advanced, smaller-script writing system that flummoxed Tannis and her translation droids. Those in the lower classes (warriors, biologists, ordinary citizens) learned the larger, simpler form of written communication that Tannis had made some headway against. Since the lesser Eridians existed to serve the higher classes, most writing addressed to them dealt with how to perform essential duties. Some of these included the maintenance (literally cleaning or polishing) of important religious artifacts, which was the writing Tannis had translated partially.

According to implanted memories, she, Sarah had been created in a lab. More information seemed to appear as needed—unlocking via external triggers Sarah wasn't consciously aware of since her last attempt to explain as "The Lady" to her "Fingers" had been noticeably simpler. Details of her "birth" were vague, so she passed this non-information information along to Tannis in that form. Sarah didn't even recall what the beings outside her artificial growth tank looked like!

The Eridian race, which she knew as "Forebears" in most contexts as they had in fact created her, existed since time itself as far as she was concerned and left the known physical universe once they'd transcended it. Her existence owed itself to an enlightened "Reform" faction within the overall society—the "Pure" faction wed itself to a dogmatic interpretation of the Mantle of Responsibility that forced a great race into the role of galactic janitor, a construction the Reformers despised as it cost them billions of their own lives fighting off an ancient evil in the hopes that the lesser races would survive (they did). Instead of advancing themselves, they were constantly "protecting" lesser life-forms from either completely natural events (e.g. asteroid strikes) or their own stupidity (e.g. nuclear war). Thus, Reformers suggested a new interpretation of the Mantle that would let Eridians pass on certain responsibilities to other parties such as herself, though she was hardly the first attempt to intervene in the affairs of lesser species.

The schism that would culminate in what the Reformers hoped would be a final conflict between two competing views of Eridian roles had been bubbling for millions of years. Initially, the whole notion of "reforms" wasn't controversial at all—seeing that many events calling for "interventions" could have been fixed with subtle empowerment of those dwelling in normal space rather than calling for powers from the beyond. That Eridians no longer resided within the universe did not mean they understood _everything_—for all their science they could not determine where their own abilities came from other than that they correlated with tiny symbiotic lifeforms only recently (in Eridian terms) discovered. By causing individuals in normal space to become host to these lifeforms, small amounts of Eridian power (telekinesis, mind-reading, and even energy projection) were granted to "mere mortals" in the hopes they would use such powers to manage themselves and reduce the number of times Eridians intervened.

But it was not to be. Concerned that too much power in the mortal realm might trigger a war between the many parallel universes by declaring some ready for higher forms of war than they would have ever achieved on their own, Eridians planted the seeds of societal destruction multiple times, only to see the plucky lesser races survive anyway. In an attempt to have the symbiotic lifeforms bring down those they'd been empowering, Eridians who would later become the core of the Reform sect directly manipulated events to cause entire galaxies to wipe themselves out in bloody wars. But what did they do? Enlightened by powers granted from the beyond, societies fell, but rebuilt themselves even stronger than before. At this point, the Reformers-to-be became angry, annoyed that things did not play out as intended. In their annoyance, they saw to it that the powers that built societies would now specifically be used to tear them down since a finger tap in the desired direction hadn't been enough before.

Sarah stopped, realizing her information-transfer had become so dense Tannis was only capturing bits and pieces of it. She didn't have all day, however, so she elected to take the risk of continuing to drop information on the mortal's brain and hope her intellect, however limited, could sort it out.

To top off the failure to properly guide the development of societies away from putting up signs that essentially said "KICK ME," developments in faster-than-light among the mortals drew the concern of Eridian scientists. It risked returning the ancient evil the Eridians repelled ages ago, having thought it banished. In parallels where such dangerous faster-than-light existed, Eridian Builders and Lifeworkers created various solutions to the problem—all inevitably involving destroying the source. Some worked better than others; the "Ancient Machines" were not called such for nothing, having completed their programmed duty many, many times and minimizing the likelihood that anything would "leak" in universe they operated in where space-time found itself routinely subjected to what amounted to the cut of a knife. It would fix itself, given enough time (hence the Ancient Machines' cycle). On the other hand, the Purge Race, an artificial set of constructs designed to hate technology, were an abject failure. Not only were they unsuccessful at destroying progenitors of the "hyperdrive," but they actually _unified_ the obnoxious primitives in ways that only increased use of propulsion that threatened to, over long time periods, open rifts to dangerous places (though not nearly as dangerous as those who exploited a purple element they called "eezo" which itself was actually an Eridian waste product).

Attempts to subvert users of minor Eridian powers backfired spectacularly, leading to cycles of destruction that inevitably saw improvements in the unwanted technology rather than movement away from it—mostly for military purposes of course. Figuring they could make the underlings better-off and simultaneously easier to subdue if necessary, Lifeworkers killed off most symbiotic lifeforms outside the Eridian realm. Besides, not everyone was using them anyway!

It was at this point reform became a dirty word. Until now, the debate had only centered on how to best uphold the Mantle of Responsibility, which meant protecting all life. Now, some forms of life were deemed more important than others. Combined with the notion that sacred responsibilities could be handed off as an annoyance, the dogmatic "Pure" faction declared Reformers to be blasphemous.

Relevance to the task at hand: minimal. Sarah almost didn't remember transferring the memories—it seemed to have happened automatically. Nevertheless, she felt herself slipping back into the same.

The emergence of that selfsame biological terror within a few parallels caused much panic in Eridian ranks. Lifeworkers were harangued as to how this might have happened. Why did samples being studied escape, after they were annihilated and stored away last time?

The Warrior-Servants pointed out it was yet another arrogant presumption by the Builders and Lifeworkers that the "primitives" would leave well-enough alone. And then the Ancient Machines were destroyed by that obnoxious multi-galactic government responsible for the hyperdrive mess. The Reform faction gained significant strength, and while Sarah herself had been created secretly, it was this series of events by the lesser races that convinced certain key Eridians to aid the Reform side.

Leaving Patricia Tannis even more mentally unstable and overloaded than she was before her arrival and subsequent info-dump, Sarah left _Amerigo_. She could only hope the crackpot scientist would both remember what she'd been told in its entirety and pass it on to others. Of course, if she failed, it didn't matter—Sarah would take care of the problem by exterminating all living things. Exactly how little Tannis' damaged mind would retain would've caused Sarah to declare the entire exercise worthless had she known beforehand how much would leak out or simply not take.

The arrival of a massive infected ship which only existed in this universe for a few minutes before being pulverized by _Ultimatum_ caused her to conclude the situation to be far worse than she initially feared. Her improper wakeup sequence (if someone just jumped in and said "Hey, wake up!" rather than thawing her out correctly she had to assume something terrible was going on) only compounded that feeling.

_I am a servant of the Mantle…_

[…]

Bill Ricker stood silently, staring out the window of his suite aboard _Amerigo_. Upon hearing a door chime, he allowed the person to enter.

"Sir… I…"

"Sit down, Filner."

"While I understand your work is producing breakthroughs, I cannot allow it to continue" began the Captain. "That animal of yours is simply too dangerous to keep aboard this ship any longer."

"If we diverted power to structural integrity around that section…"

"You don't get it" snapped Ricker. "There's no power left to spare. I will admit this mobile lab concept never sat well with me to begin with—if the Admiralty wants to spend billions of credits on a science vessel, why not purpose-build one from scratch instead of re-using an old cruiser well past its prime?"

"So my research ends up stalled because someone didn't plan ahead?"

"Your research is consuming ten percent of _Amerigo_'s reactor output" shot back Ricker. "Keeping that…that _beast_ contained means we can't even use the lab space around your work area anymore! How big did you say it's become now? Thirty meters?"

"Forty-two" replied Filner softly.

"What are you feeding it?" demanded a flabbergasted Ricker. "And please don't tell me that it has developed a taste for flesh and is the cause of my missing crew members!"

"Well, sir, it actually kind of is, but not because it's been eating them."

Crossing his arms, the Captain glared at his scientist.

"Explain. Quickly."

"You know we've determined the portals on the backs of wormhole threshers lead to some kind of other dimension."

"Yes. Keep going."

"Well," continued the scientist, "at first we weren't able to see anything—small portals destroyed our instruments or caused too much interference to get any readings. A wormhole this big, though, allows for easy measurement."

"So how does measurement relate to missing crew members?"

"Ahhh…Ehhh, it's embarrassing. They, ummmm, fell in."

"Son, there is a reason we have safety railings on those walkways around the giant terrarium we ended up building for that _thing_. Are you telling me health and safety regulations are being disregarded on your watch?"

Ricker's face started to redden. It was a pet peeve of his when easily-followed safety rules were ignored, resulting in injuries, deaths, paperwork…

"Well, the black hole thresher doesn't like being measured! It moves around a lot, so sometimes we have to lean out to get our tools near it!"

"It's called an extendable pole, ya idiot!"

Kevin Filner, PhD and all, looked slightly embarrassed.

"This reminds me of the time when our research department poured a ton of money into developing pens that would work in zero-gravity environments for our construction crews. They spent _months_ and hundreds of thousands of credits on it—only for someone to point out that even a token amount of gravity—not enough to alter workflows, would fix the problem. Turning on the gravity to less than a tenth of a gee cost a fraction of these fancy space-pens!"

Surprisingly, Ricker actually smiled after finishing this story.

"So if your thresher isn't eating my crew, what's happening to them?"

"I'm not sure, sir. I could mount an expedition using manned maneuvering units and a tether to…"

The Captain's head dropped back and his eyes focused on the ceiling.

_Scientists! Always overcomplicating things!_

"Right! I could send in a _probe_ with a tether on it…"

"That's more like it. I'll give you as many probes as you want" growled the Captain. "You have a week to find out where my crew went, then we're dumping that thing back on Pandora where it belongs!"

Kevin Filner's communicator glowed a solid red.

"Sir, if I could be excused? There's a problem down in the lab…"

"There always seem to be problems in your lab" laughed Ricker. "Get out of my office!"

A distorted image appeared as Filner beat a hasty retreat out of the bridge tower. "…need to figure out why…stop growing! It's not even hungry! It's been fed! I…portal keeps getting larger—we've tried…but it doesn't seem to…"

"God damn it" he complained. "Future, my ass! Still dropping signals like the radios we read about in ancient history!"

Scientists in Filner's lab panicked. Unable to contain the thresher, whose wormhole enlarged by the second, they settled for getting themselves as far away from it as possible.

Digistruction permitted rapid realignment of the _Amerigo_'s innards as demanded by changing scientific needs. Filner's space had been designed to resemble a multi-layer ring with the growing thresher at its center and further rings beyond the center containing equipment, computers, scientists, and other necessities. This setup proved its worth now that the portal began to increase in size.

The other threshers disappeared some time ago, around the time the ring-redesign was completed. Whether they'd been eaten by the black hole thresher or perhaps fallen into its portal (scientists now formally called the threshers "wormhole threshers" and the actual wormholes on their backs "portals" to avoid talking about the wormhole on the back of a wormhole thresher) no one knew.

"It's expanded to Circle 1! Evacuate Circle 1! Call Engineering—ask for more power!"

"They won't give it to us—they say we're already using twelve…wait, fifteen percent of the reactor!"

"Well, if they won't give it to us" shouted the first scientist, "there may be no time to debate who's using all the power because the whole ship will be swallowed!"

"Eighteen percent and rising! Portal growth is slowing, but not stopping! Evacuate Circle 2!"

Filner arrived at the outermost ring, Circle 7.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded of a lab assistant.

"Your thresher" she snapped "has decided it wants to portal the entire lab to who-knows-where."

"We should get some readings on this!" replied Filner excitedly. "Get me the spectral analyzer, the gravimetric monitor…"

"I don't think you heard her" yelled another scientist. "That thresher is going to send all of us to wherever Phil and Danielle ended up!"

"Containment fields at maximum power—it seems to be causing the portal to grow _faster!_ Turn down the damping fields!"

"Too late!" cried a lab tech. "Circles 3 and 4 are gone!"

A low hum emanated from behind the sealed blast doors, and it only grew in volume along with the projected size of the thresher's portal.

"Engineering's giving us everything they have" reported the scientist who'd been begging for more power earlier. "It's not working" he finished.

"Whatever it is, it's a runaway cascade!" shouted Filner. "Brace for…something!"

The buzzing/humming increased in intensity until it was unbearable. Then…nothing.

_Amerigo_ reappeared. Where was not yet apparent to those aboard.

Automated messages broadcast to the new ship: "You have entered restricted space. Identify yourself and prepare to be boarded. Fail to comply and you will be fired upon. You have entered restricted space…"

Tali looked up from her work.

"Gaige! Get over here!"

Already, personnel queued a large viewscreen showing that a huge starship simply appeared out of nowhere. Sensors didn't show a hyper-zero reversion or a hyperspace transition—in fact, sensors didn't know what the hell just happened.

In the operations center aboard the SETTLE space station, the commander couldn't comprehend what just occurred. "Someone explain to me how a ship that size got past our blockade, minefield, sensor dragnet, and GARDIAN systems without anyone noticing! Never mind that the station itself is hidden!"

"I have no idea, sir" replied a shocked sensor officer.

"You're telling me it just appeared out of nowhere?"

"Yes sir" came the response, quite confident for making such a seemingly-absurd observation. "No telltale trails from any kind of known faster-than-light."

"That's RNS _Amerigo_" snapped his superior. "It's an old _Prosecutor_ filled with scientists. There's no way it's being used to test advanced propulsion technology."

"That ship does have a high-energy physics wing" countered another officer, this one wearing the uniform of operations.

"Tell me, Stevens, how does high-energy physics permit such a low-energy reversion to realspace from wherever that ship came from?"

"I'm operations, sir, not theoretical physics" replied the black-haired woman. "I'd suggest routing that question to…"

"What the hell?" demanded Commander Mario Reyes. "More ships!"

"These are cleared" intoned Lieutenant Stoval, Security. "_Revenant Phoenix _and _Normandy SR-2_."

On the engineering and design decks, Tali took notice of the arrivals as well. "Get Shepard on the line" quipped the quarian. "I need to talk to her about these notes she sent."

[…]

"Well this is just dandy" remarked Captain Nigel Harris. Recalled to Plutus to deal with an "incursion," he found his ship hopelessly outgunned by several fleets—pretty much everyone except Jakobs had an array of battleships pointed at what was supposedly to be a planet _secretly_ under Jakobs control. The first fleet consisted of boxy Torgue vessels, equipped with explosive munitions. The second, with its over-wrought glowing lines, curves, and all-elemental armaments hailed from Maliwan. The Torgue and Maliwan fleets appeared to intermingle.

Vladof's big dreadnaughts, even more all-gun, no-armor than Jakobs, menaced from a position ninety degrees port of the MALITOR collection. Hyperion's group, for once, actually represented the smallest threat since it consisted only of heavy cruisers and less. Even Dahl chipped in with a couple refitted _Exploiter_-class capital mining ships refit for war.

"Captain Harris, we're being hailed. By several ships at once."

"Put them all up."

A split-screen conference call took over from the view of several angry-looking fleets pointed in the direction of JSS _Montgomery Jakobs VII_. None of the faces looked to be in a bargaining mood.

"So, your company is responsible for all these interspatial anomalies" queried a red-haired, short-cut woman Harris knew to be Mallory Maliwan.

"This is most disappointing" lectured a graying man with a moustache, square-rimmed glasses, and generally grandfatherly appearance, hailing from a Dahl vessel. "You have kept this secret for centuries as your weapons rip apart the very universe we all share?"

"The people demand JUSTICE!" blared a synthesized voice whose representation consisted of a hammer/sickle instead of an actual face. "The oppressors will be OVERTHROWN!"

"You guys totally suck. Seriously, you're killin' me here."

_Handsome Jack? What?_

"But seriously, all fun with the clone aside" (he could be heard continuing to babble, using as many possible permutations of "suck" and "Jakobs" as his limited intellect would permit in the background) said a square-jawed, soldier's-soldier-looking captain of a Hyperion heavy cruiser, "you guys are assholes."

F*CK YOU, YOU UNCOOL PIECES OF SKAG SH*T

Torgue, obviously. Here in person, apparently.

"Let me guess" came Captain Harris' accented voice, "you're all going to stick together until there are no Jakobs ships left, after which you will turn on each other and attempt to secure the technology you claim to despise for yourselves at the expense of your former allies. Assuming it even exists. You came here based on a single ECHONet rumor spread by an anonymous source. If I didn't know better, I'd think this entire operation to be Hyperion in origin."

"Now wait one second…" drawled the Hyperion captain.

"The message was signed using a Jakobs code only held by family members" hissed Mallory Maliwan. "No one has those outside your twisted little clan, so we know it was authentic."

"If you bothered to check" replied Nigel Harris, as if annoyed by a small fly, "you'd see that key got revoked over a year ago. Its holder disappeared from the family and until recently was thought dead. I would be careful trusting the rantings of that woman in any case."

"Woman?" questioned the Dahl-grandpa. "What…"

"Seriously?" fumed Maliwan. "Fucking seriously? That 'tip' came from _Jackie_?"

"If you ask her, she likes far more than the tip" replied Harris. "But I suspect that is not the reason she seems to have baited you here—in fact, I cannot fathom why she would betray the family in this manner."

ALL THE MORE REASON TO MAKE EXPLOSIONS

"So how do we know if it's true?" demanded the Dahl representative.

"It doesn't make any sense" intoned Malcolm, joining his wife.

"Dude, it's totally a trap" bleated the Jack-clone before he was removed from the bridge.

"Having that…curiosity around is amusing, but annoying" commented Hyperion-soldier. "At any rate, if this is a trap, it is a very poor one. We've swept this system and those within quick jump range of it. Jakobs has nothing except one dreadnaught."

"Onward with the REVOLUTION! Begin bringing down the bourgeoisie PIGS!"

Flashes from Vladof muzzles meant the fight had begun.

"Must you?" groused Captain Harris. "Oh, fine—sod it all, return fire!"

NUCLEAR EXPLOSIONS bellowed Torgue on every open frequency, including those in use by his opponents.

Though he'd been forced to drop the idea of using nuclear weapons for propulsion, Torgue vessels still carried a massive number of fusion warheads within themselves to hurl at their enemies.

Caring not for any possible casualties, Torgue's ships began unleashing their weapons on the planet itself. Towering mushroom clouds meant the warheads hit their marks.

"Looks like we're going to need a _Montgomery Jakobs VIII_" sighed Harris as his ship blew up around him.

[…]

The Trans-Galactic Republic fleet in Gamma-Three held it as their duty to maintain order in a galaxy with no real government. Thus, when sensor nets indicated a large conflagration between several corporate fleets, the battle group around Pandora readied itself to depart. Reid and Long would handle whatever was going on at this world, apparently called "Plutus." Ratzik and _Warrior's Honor_ would keep Pandora in order.

It took a few hours for Trans-Galactic Republic firefighting forces to arrive. By that point, all Jakobs defenses in space had been obliterated (why put a ton of obvious protective measures around a secret outpost?), while attacking forces made landfall. Both Maliwans and Torgue made for a fearsome trio, ripping through Jakobs soldiers, Loaders, and armor. Not knowing exactly what to look for, the attackers would pass by several concealed access points to concealed Jakobs bunkers without knowing they existed.

"Attention all corporate forces, stand down or you will be fired upon! Use of nuclear weapons against populated targets violates the following treaties…"

"FUCK!" screamed Mallory upon hearing of the new arrivals. "Jackie really nailed us this time!"

"Can we watch the battle?" asked Jackie to Moxxi. "I want to see what's going on!"

Phase One of the plan initiated: Jackie and Moxxi would, under the guise of viewing Pandora and "touring" the ship, move progressively closer to one of the side-mounted hanger bays. Maya-2, disguised as wrench-monkey, would ask them to help her "test" a system inside a craft yet to be determined once they got close enough. It wasn't much of a plan, but with all the goings-on of deploying troops, launching fighters, and firing against groundside targets, the trio hoped no one would notice.

"Stop! You can't go in there!"

"Sir, she's on her unscheduled time. She just wants to see the cool ships" replied Moxxi. "Plus, this hanger overlooks the planet!"

"I'll be watching you. Don't think because you both have big tits that I'm going to let security lapse!"

Moxxi gave him an annoyed look, but took the opportunity anyway.

"Do men ever see anything else?" asked Jackie.

"Sometimes. What matters is, we're in the hanger."

A woman with short brown hair and a blue maintenance jumper sidled by. Without warning, she dropped her toolbox right next to the pair.

"Oh, m'bad" drawled the woman, trying to imitate what she thought would be an appropriate accent for a starship mechanic. "Want to help me calibrate this 'boat?"

Phase Two kicked off.

"Hey! You're not allowed in there!" Tapping his communicator, the marine began transmitting to _Veritas_ control. "Unauthorized personnel boarding blastboat in…hanger eight!"

Unfortunately for this guard doing his job exactly as he was supposed to, Control was preoccupied with fighting off corporate battleships, coordinating ground attacks, and launching fighters. That PFC John Major had an exemplary record of only calling in real incidents should have caught the attention of someone in _Veritas'_ nerve center, but it was not to be.

"You know how to fly this thing?" asked Moxxi of Maya-2.

"I would, if the damn computer wasn't locked!"

Pounding on the hull. "Is that the guy who made the boobs comment?"

"Yes, Jackie. Why don't you go let him in?" suggested Moxxi. "He might be able to help us."

"Why, hello there!" cooed Jackie, oddly reminiscent of her old self as she stuck her chest forward. "Do come in…"

_How does this woman manage to look hot in a hospital gown?_

VOOM.

"What… Hey! Put me down!"

"Start this blastboat for us. Now" barked Maya-2. She needn't have worried—apparently, the proximity of a military ID card was sufficient to boot some systems at least.

[[ Authorized user detected. Maintenance mode activated. ]]

"Funny, a computer display that doesn't use all caps" commented Maya-2, sliding into the pilot's seat. "I wonder…"

Searching through menus, she found one for "Engine, maximum power."

"Hold on, everyone!" She turned around to see Jackie holding the marine hostage with his own sidearm and Moxxi looking bored with hands on hips. A loud whine began rattling through the ship.

"Sit down!" yelled Maya-2.

Too late.

The blastboat lurched forward as its ion engines screamed, leaving a massive black scar on the deck since the engines had just been applied at full power without pulling up landing gear. The craft slammed into the short hanger lip, bending it outward and careening away from the hanger tail-over-cockpit.

Phase Three, Leave the Ship, suddenly became the operational task for the party. The assault fighter tumbled end-over-end. Its systems were still locked, and Maya-2 couldn't get access to anything.

"You're going to get us killed!" shouted John Major. He started to rise, only to receive a patronizing look from Jackie and a wave of his own pistol. "I can start this thing so we will at least have shields!"

A stray missile crashed into the blastboat's heavy armor, doing little more than scratching the paint.

The displays around Maya-2 came to life.

[[ Incoming enemy fire detected, self-preservation subroutines activated. ]]

The blastboat swung back into an upright position, attempting to track the origin of hostile ordinance.

[[ Unable to determine location of bogies. Manual operation required. ]]

All displays around Maya-2 lit up as they'd been when she piloted Liberty One.

"We're in business. Wooooooooooooooooo!"

Jamming the throttles forward, she shot toward Plutus. Jackie handed off the hostage-taking duty to Moxxi.

"You don't know where you're going" she insisted to Maya, placing a hand on the Siren's shoulder. "You need to head this way!" Jackie pointed to the port side.

"The map shows that's a bunch of desert, Jackie—what could possibly…" Maya-2's voice trailed as she realized the logic of putting a vault in the middle of a desert.

"Never mind. To the desert!"


	28. And Flames

**Chapter 27 – And Flames**

"You're absolutely, positively sure" questioned Sam Shepard. "These equations will without a doubt open a portal into a dimension where time and space don't follow the known rules."

"Yes" replied Tali. "Gaige and I looked at it, and the more time we spent on it the less sense it made at first. That's because we were assuming ships would jump in and out of this alternate dimension as needed, kind of like if a person were to hop from mountaintop to mountaintop without actually climbing any mountains."

"But that's the setup that also caused drives to explode."

"Correct. Any solution would be inelegant, clumsy, and extremely costly. Never mind that if it made a tiny mistake, everyone on that ship would die a terrible death."

Tali looked as if she wanted to say more, but couldn't decide whether or not to continue.

"What else did you find?"

"These notes… You didn't tell me where you got them" began the quarian.

"So?"

"They have a _Pandoran_ signature. Similar to the IFFs we saw on JVLN ships… I know you're not a theoretical physicist, Shepard. Where'd you get them?"

"Uhh…"

"You're not working with shady people again, are you Sam? Because, really, there have to be people who aren't, oh, _Jakobs_ who might know these things!"

"Next you're going to tell me to throw the data out the airlock because the person who sent me it tortured Athena."

"Wait, what?" Now Tali showed shock. She'd figured out that it was a Jakobs code, but not who it belonged to. Athena had mentioned (via Garrus) some Jakobs person, Jackie, who held her and others captive for a while. It wasn't pleasant.

"Why are you working with horrible people again, Shepard? Remember what happened the last time you did that?"

"As I recall, we blew up the Collector Base, not one member of my crew died, and not one member of the team we took in suffered injuries." Sam now wore a satisfied look, as if this statement ended the debate.

"I…I suppose, but still! Jackie is not a nice woman!"

"Have you met her recently?" Shepard continued with an expression suggesting she knew something Tali didn't.

"Don't tell me she's decided to adopt abandoned varren, donates to the Rannoch Fund, and has foster children."

"Not quite" replied Shepard. "Still, she's come a long way. People deserve credit for becoming better."

"I wish I could say the same for Han'Gerrel." Tali seemed saddened. "He got released from a Trans-Galactic Republic prison just last week.

"He got imprisoned? What for?"

Tali gave Sam a brief summary of the case against Gerrel, before adding, "That's not the first time I've seen someone charge blindly into battle and pay the price for it. You remember Prazza on Freedom's Progress?"

Sam opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out in a gesture of revulsion.

"That day, I saw things that weren't meant to be outside of bodies spraying all over the dirt."

"Sam, ugh! I did not need to think about that!"

She paused before continuing her original rant about Han'Gerrel. "That bosh'tet ignored a direct order from a superior officer! He deserves what he got, but all he does is try to rally quarians to attack the geth and say nasty things about the Trans-Galactic Republic!"

"Sounds like he didn't learn his lesson" smirked Shepard. "Some people… Just let him babble. It's not like anyone's lining up to follow this moron, is it?"

"Thankfully, no" replied Tali. "I heard some geth primes had to stun a group of quarians who were trying to attach demolition charges to a combined geth-quarian settlement. Since the truce, even if quarians have acted violently, the geth have always refrained from deadly force. It's a welcome development."

"How many quarians are actually going for the unity settlements, anyway?"

"Not very many." At this, Tali's head drooped. "A lot of us… Most quarians… Myself included, we don't trust the geth. With them, it's easy. Their consensus simply decides the quarians are not hostile anymore. No emotion or grieving over those lost. Must be nice" she finished bitterly.

"Tali…"

Shepard put her hands on the quarian's lowered shoulders.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. It takes time for old wounds to heal. Trust me, I know this in the absolute most literal sense. The fact that you seem to want to put the past behind you even if it's difficult is a great step. It means you're making progress. You don't have to want to marry Legion—I'll settle for not shooting at each other."

Sam grinned. Sometimes, a little humor went a long way as Tali perked up again.

"Very funny, Shepard."

"But I want an invitation when you do" she finished, with a dead-serious expression on her face.

"Sam, seriously? Wait a minute… I wonder what a geth could do with my nerve-stim prog…"

"Please pretend I never said that!" squeaked Tali.

"Done" replied Sam in the most monotone, robotic voice she could muster.

"Even if we were to get this Jackie to help us, how are we supposed to get to her?"

"You saw that big old battlecruiser appear out of nowhere" retorted Shepard. "That ship was in Pandora orbit when I left—now it's here. If we can figure out how it transported itself, maybe we can get back to Pandora."

[…]

Maya-2 kept the blastboat low as she screamed over the Plutusian desert. One fighter did not catch the attention of the Trans-Galactic Republic, but she had to dodge a few anti-aircraft blasts before she cleared civilized areas of Plutus. The bits of shell fragments impacting the hull did nothing.

Meanwhile, Moxxi blindfolded the already-restrained John Major so he had no clue where the ship was headed. Unnoticed by her, he'd managed to activate a small device in his pocket which reported him missing and could broadcast his location if he so chose. The blinking green light showed through his fatigues.

Reading the coordinates displayed on the blastboat's map, Jackie waited for a certain combination to show up—the one she'd received upon revalidating her access to Fort Jakobs.

"We're almost there!" she called to Maya from the gunner seat. "Should I take over?"

"You could just tell me the coordinates!" replied the Siren. "Or you could enter them into the computer!"

"Sorry, friend, this is where I have to keep the family secrets" whispered Jackie. "I've already betrayed them once. Further backstabbing isn't necessary."

_Well, she certainly has developed a new set of ideals. And they don't revolve around dicks._

Maya-2 stood aside to let Jackie take control of the ship. After showing her basic controls, Maya-2 strapped herself in Jackie's previous seat. Five minutes passed before the ship began to descend. Falling would be a better term, as Jackie had only a vague idea of how to operate it. Alarms began to blare, red lights began to flash…and the ship leveled out on its own. Just like Maya-2's gambit, Jackie also failed to kill the party based less on skill and more on Trans-Galactic Republic foresight for a situation the designers probably never envisioned.

Jackie had no clue how to turn off the blastboat's map, so Maya-2 did it for her, shielding it with her hand to prevent herself from seeing the coordinates and thus honoring Jackie's wishes that no one know precisely where they were.

Stepping out of the ship onto a platform, the group looked around. The blastboat had settled on a large circular landing pad connected to vertical walls that made up a gigantic cylinder taking them deep underground. Many more pads were evident, both above and below where they'd landed. Following the rather wide strip of floor between the pad and the wall, everyone walked away from the ship. Jackie hung back when she noticed something in Major's pocket glowing.

Seeing the group approaching an invisible tripwire line only she knew existed, she raced to the front to halt the other three. She pickpocketed John along the way.

"Stand back. This is the part where…"

As if to accentuate her point, several huge turrets popped out of the ground as she broke the tripwire herself.

"If anyone else had set off that invisible laser trap, the system would have tagged you all hostile and blown you away. Family first—always. Let me stay in front!"

A mechanical voice intruded on the quiet which had previously only been interrupted by wind whistling through the megastructure.

"Unauthorized presences detected. Family member must confirm!"

The triple turrets' laser sights stopped first on Moxxi.

"Confirmed."

Maya-2.

"Confirmed."

John Major.

It took only two seconds of non-response before all three weapons fired at once, leaving nothing behind. Satisfied that all threats were eliminated, the turrets disappeared behind their protective plates.

"What. Did. You. Do." seethed Moxxi.

Jackie's eyes seemed suddenly very interested in the floor.

"I... I had to. He would have reported us, probably used the blastboat's systems to bring the entire Trans-Galactic Republic down on our heads."

Seeing the simultaneously angry and distraught glares from her companions had not changed, she continued. "If they even landed one unauthorized ship here, it would have set off silent alarms. Depending on how far they intruded, the entire place might have come down on our heads. The whole vault is rigged to blow and bury any intruders forever."

"How can you say that? You don't know he would have done that!" shouted Maya-2.

Jackie held up the pulsating transponder.

"You were saying?" She glared at the others, daring them to disagree. "This was in his pocket. Before Maya-2 shut off the blastboat's systems, I saw it register some kind of Trans-Galactic Republic distress beacon. If he'd pressed another button, it would've sent a distress _call_. Hate me for it, but we're in this to save the galaxy. If we got buried down here, that wouldn't be possible."

"We could've tied him up!" protested Moxxi. "Imprisoned him in the blastboat!"

"Great idea" replied Jackie angrily. "Lock up someone who's probably been trained to escape the very ships his government builds if he were to get held up in one. You're forgetting—he was a _Marine_. They're trained in being very hard to hold on to."

"If you say so" fumed Maya-2.

The turrets resided halfway between pad and a door. Arriving there, a retina scanner and DNA probe appeared.

"Jacqueline Rose Jakobs, your identifying information is out of date. Please reconfirm."

She pressed her face against the scanner and winced when her hand was pricked to extract DNA from blood.

"Your guests must be logged" intoned the computer, "or they will be turned away."

"You heard the computer" sighed Jackie. "Do what I just did."

The turrets which had disappeared returned, tracking each of the other two women until the computer at the door confirmed their retinas and DNA were catalogued permanently in the Fort Jakobs system. After this, the turrets retracted again.

"Paranoid, much?" asked Maya in an annoyed tone.

"You have no idea what's in here" breathed Jackie. "If we'd used even half of it, we'd own this entire arm of the galaxy."

"So why didn't you?" demanded Moxxi. "There are a lot of people in your family who would probably go for that." Left unsaid: the old Jackie would have gone right along with any galactic domination plan.

To the surprise of everyone, Jackie smiled.

"You have no idea how fucked up my family is, do you? There could be a simple 'Jakobs Wins Everything Forever and Ever' button and the shareholder meeting wouldn't be able to decide whether to push it! Sometimes I wonder if some of our shareholders aren't entirely loyal. It's that divided over trivial things."

"Why would people not want to have completely control of a market?" wondered Maya-2. "It makes no economic sense!" Like her prime-universe counterpart, Maya-2 also studied the economics of the galaxy she lived in, and found such topics fascinating.

"Hon, economics has nothing on family politics. Even if the Jakobs Corporation came out permanently ahead, there would still be winners and losers throughout the family! Since a significant number of family shareholders would have no idea whether they'd end up on the winning side, they'd hesitate."

Jackie pulled the group forward.

Out of nowhere, doors lowered on both sides, trapping the group. The floor plating underneath turned different colors—green in the middle half, and orange-fading-into-red at the ends.

"What the hell?" demanded Maya-2.

A small furry animal squeaked as it scooted across the floor, doubtlessly looking for food. It skittered off the green into the orange, where its movement speed suddenly slowed. Upon reaching the red, it shrieked in pain and collapsed.

"Target detected" came the creepy computer voice again. A high-pitched whine assaulted the ears of all present. The small rodent exploded as its ribs pushed through its back, before cracking and falling in on themselves. Its guts spilled all over the floor, collapsing into pools of reddish-brown.

"That is fucked up" breathed Moxxi.

"Gravity trap!" replied Jackie simply. "Step too far from this green safety zone, and a local gravity field increases exponentially. The orange is to kind of give you an idea to go back by making you feel like you've gained a lot of weight. Not lethal, definitely uncomfortable. Keep going? You end up like that critter."

"I'm guessing it also keeps people from messing with the doors" added Maya-2.

"You betcha!"

"So how do we move forward?" Disgust was still evident in Moxxi's voice.

"We wait until I am told" replied Jackie as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. Two identical terminals flanked the "green zone." Jackie approached the left-side one with some kind of chip in hand. A symbol only she could see glowed.

"So that's what the code is today!" she chirped, holding the clear rectangle near the computer's reader. Maya-2 could swear she saw some bright but fading red in the card.

"Uses blood as a DNA key" said Jackie upon noticing Maya-2's interest. "It has an internal chemical that slowly dissolves the DNA in the sample, and after about six hours you have to make a new one. Oh, and sometimes the computer pricks you more than once—red blood cells don't have nuclei or DNA. Gotta get white blood cells!"

Maya-2 stared, inwardly groaning at the prospect of having to get pricked again if their trip took too long. Jackie was definitely not as stupid as one might be led to think given her, ahem, physical properties and heritage. But why remember all this stuff when she'd spent the last decade-and-a-half chasing anything that could get an erection?

"Right is forward today!" Jackie sauntered over to the right-side terminal, swiped the card, and stepped back.

The green in front of the group extended one row of tiles at a time until it reached the door, which opened slowly. As they moved forward, the red tiles behind began to extend into the orange and then green zones. Once they'd stepped over the threshold, the entire floor had turned red.

"Only opens one way or the other—never both at the same time."

"The family must have all sorts of incredible technology and wealth in here!" gasped Maya-2.

"Don't ask too many questions" teased Jackie in a slightly seductive tone. "I might just tell you everything."

"Identification required."

A very threatening-looking Loader, three times the height of anyone in the group, filled the hallway ahead. It seemed to be built into the hallway, as if it were some kind of mobile door. Its front contained many protrusions that looked like guns, in addition to some nasty spikes. Some of the spikes had a dull, brownish-red substance on them.

Jackie stepped forward, allowing an arm to scan her retinas and the card.

"Authorize guest cards."

Each person passed their card underneath the scanner, followed by Jackie's ID.

"Authorizations accepted."

A door opened in the middle of the progress-blocking bot. After everyone stepped through, it closed and slowly pushed them toward the other end of the hallway.

"You guys are really serious about security" remarked Maya-2. "I never saw anything aboard the Trans-Galactic Republic ships that approached this level of paranoia."

"Careful, I might just show you how secure my quarters are" replied Jackie.

Somehow, the former temptress managed to make innuendoes without the same implications as they used to carry prior to her therapy. The fact that she hadn't knocked Maya on her back and straddled her as she let loose yet another thinly-disguised sex joke provided a strong hint she didn't actually intend to follow through.

The next room consisted of what appeared to be a maze. Jackie stepped in first, her eyes locked onto her card, which she held in front of herself.

"Watch where you're going!" shouted Maya-2 as Jackie bumped into a wall.

"A lot can be learned by watching this little light" replied the Jakobs scion, waving her ID around.

Maya-2 grew impatient, trying to push past Jackie, who rolled back, away from the rushing Siren.

BOOM.

Maya-2 flew backward, toppling Jackie and Moxxi before landing in a heap.

"Tut tut" laughed Jackie. "Good thing you have a shield. If I'd been there, you'd all be trapped in here forever!"

"Okay, I'll stay back" groused Maya-2.

It took almost an hour to get through the maze. An hour of excruciatingly slow progress following behind Jackie as she made inscrutable decisions based on blinking lights from her chip.

"Now we're in" said Jackie happily once the group cleared the explosive-rigged maze.

[...]

The once-gleaming cities of Plutus now resembled Pandora more than their former glory. Flattened by Torgue's indiscriminate nuclear barrage, Maliwan's elemental attacks, Vladof incendiary rounds, or some other ordinance, the shiny corporate centers burned brightly in the setting sun. Trans-Galactic Republic troops had landed to secure the planet, though they ran into little resistance since no one quite expected a military operation to take place and thus there were only a few token police stations and zero resistance once the space battle ended.

In essence, the Trans-Galactic Republic played more of a clean-up and humanitarian role, especially after Torgue's repeated barrages. Unaware of Jakobs' secret control and extensive hidden facilities, it looked to the Trans-Galactic Republic as if most of the corporations known for running Gamma-Three had simply decided to trash a garden world for no reason at all. That Jakobs represented the sole defender did arouse some suspicion, but honestly greater attention was paid to assisting stricken civilians.

Torgue found his ship locked in a tractor beam by an angry Benjamin Reid.

"We have a phrase for people like you" he raged. "Do you know what that phrase is?"

For once, Torgue had no response and kept his mouth shut. He'd seen what Trans-Galactic Republic battleships could do to unshielded or minimally-shielded craft.

"War criminal. Do you know what we do to war criminals?"

Again, silence.

After some delay, the Dahl representative finally was able to communicate with Isabelle Long.

"We have evidence that the bombardment of this planet was not only necessary but justified, in ways that do not relate to corporate warfare but to the fate of the universe itself."

"That's a grand claim" replied Long dismissively. "What evidence could you possibly summon that causes me to look the other way while you rain fire and death down on civilian populations?"

"The civilians were an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice" replied the elderly-looking Dahl commander. "I am forwarding that evidence you seek to your ship now."

Several layers of machine-language translation later, the data packets from Dahl's ship arrived on Captain Long's desk in readable form.

A Matter of Grave Concern

Interspatial rifts are not an accident. They are occurring because one company kept Eridian technology undisclosed for centuries. You know this company well—lover of western themes, buxom sales icon, no elemental designs to speak of.

Go to a world where corporates gather, but not the one where an uneasy truce exists. There are no poor people here because they get fed to skags. A secret buried on this world is where the rifts started. Find it, expose it, and most important of all, _destroy it!_

Signed by Verified Jakobs Key

After re-reading the message several times, Long called upon her Gamma-Three experts. What made sense to people who'd lived their whole lives in this galaxy didn't make any sense to her.

"You knew the first part implied Jakobs" said a man with a long mane of white hair plus beard who could have played a wizard in a HoloVid. "The second part has two meanings. The first line refers to Themis—everyone stores all their hush-hush stuff on it, and no one steals anything because if they did, everyone else would turf them off. Lots of corporate planets claim to 'have no poor people' so the second line is more ambiguous. My guesses are Plutus, Athenas, or Demophon."

"Thank you." Long disconnected the HoloNet communication.

She called up the Dahl ship again.

"This isn't quite the smoking gun I expected, but it is a damn sight better than 'let's bombard civilians for fun!'"

"I apologize for the brutality—it must gravely offend someone coming from a galaxy like yours."

The Captain ignored the veiled insult. "Have you found anything?"

"How could we have?" replied the man incredulously. "Been serving for twenty-seven years, from Ensign Crayol all the way up to being a Captain today. You expect us to find anything while your ships hold us in place?"

"Captain Crayol, you have to understand our priority is to minimize casualties…"

"You may be minimizing them now, but if Jakobs' secret isn't brought to light, it might be for nothing if the entire galaxy is destroyed!"

"That's just it!" cried a frustrated Long. "If what you're saying is false, then I will be abetting the commission of a war crime, punishable by life imprisonment or in cases of exceptional depravity, death under the Standardized Regulations of Military Law Section 7, Chapter 4. If what you're saying is true, then by not allowing this to continue I will be saving an ant only to be hit by a hovertaxi."

"You'd best solve that little dilemma, Isabelle. Crayol, out."

[…]

_Siren Serenade_ arrived at Khar'shan, also known as Angel's Cradle. Finding very little life there, Sarah nevertheless gleefully pulverized anything she could see on her all-observing scopes. The entire process of sterilizing a planet, which took the Trans-Galactic Republic hours or days, took her custom death machine only thirty minutes.

She still didn't _like_ the duty given despite it being her purpose. She wasn't sure why that was the case—some hazy, fuzzy, half-remembered dream about fighting people who did this very thing—but if she had to do it, why not enjoy it, as sadistic as that was? Let the little animals scurry about as the trap closed around them. Chase ants with magnifying glasses, put salt on slugs, and tease the dog by pretending to throw the ball. Having fun made an unpleasant task more bearable.

Hunting down every last trace of life would be difficult, if not impossible. The Ancient Machines had been very good at that task, but they had however long was necessary. At the rate of universal convergence, she had only a few decades at most, assuming she herself didn't drop into an interspatial rift along the way. Sarah figured that by taking out peripheral worlds and small colonies, it would encourage the remaining sapients to congregate in perceived safe areas, making her own task simpler. Setting off the anti-lightspeed device knocked thousands of vessels out of their little tunnels. She then turned her massive vessel on the system's relay, nearly vaporizing the structure. Anyone left in-system got stranded—no hyper-zero, no traditional mass relay. Tough luck.

She'd fended off Bailey's frenzied attacks—though it took more effort than she expected (she actually broke a sweat). For someone who trained using only old Whirlpools and had no Instructor in the Current, he fought well. A risky style that led him dangerously close to or sometimes even utilizing the Undercurrent, but then when facing someone as powerful as her there was only force to meet force, strength to meet strength. By the time she would tire of any "thousand-cut" attack, her opponent would have utterly exhausted him/herself, making easy prey.

"I will never surrender. You will have to kill me—every time your back is turned, I'll be figuring out how to sink this into it." He waved his deactivated lightstaff around, despite being restrained. "Every time you sleep, I'll be plotting that you never wake. When you eat, you'd best watch yourself because your food won't be safe."

"Such brave, bold words from a man held prisoner on this ship" cooed Sarah, dropping any pretense of politeness or accommodation. "He wants to be treated like a prisoner instead of being our guest, ladies! See to it!"

"My Lady, we require additional food" said Drythlyn after Bailey had been led away. "The power sources we have are weakening and we could end up stranded."

"Very well, deploy several operatives to obtain the necessary nutrients."

Deep inside _Serenade_, Catalina Rodriguez squirmed in discomfort. Strangely, the process of being used as an organic battery was surprisingly pain-free, but the sheer boredom of doing nothing save stare at the same spot (each student had restraints on every limb plus head) for hours on end drove the mind to the cracking point. She and all of her classmates were wired up as such, providing the energy needed for Sarah to conduct her sickening galaxy-wide purge. This is what she'd meant when she had told Jack her students had a place in solving the rift crisis, but it would be something Jack would not like.

_If Jack knew about this, she'd feed that insane woman her own hair! After shoving Sarah's head up her ass!_

For now, students were permitted half an hour at every meal and ate in shifts, able to walk around and interact with other students under the watchful eyes of a pair of Lady Fingers. Any attempts at escape caused swift application of Currents of Drowning (or Currents of Pain if the Lady Finger felt sadistic). They overheard talk of feeding intravenously, removing the breaks, interactions, and actual food.

In an even greater oddity, the Lady Fingers actually seemed to sympathize with the students' situation, though not to the point where any would help them escape or end it.

"It's not your fault" said Urthula bluntly. "It just so happens that you are a means to an end."

The students found themselves looking forward to conversations with Zera, who happily explained _why_ such horrific measures were necessary. It wasn't so much the excuses/explanations as it was the learning that caused them to yearn for the half-hour breaks they got to spend clustered around her like children at story time.

At some point, a network came online enabling the students to talk to each other while attached to the ship, greatly easing their boredom. Individuals could speak to all or create the equivalent of private rooms to speak to only a few. A user could belong to as many or few "rooms" as s/he wished. Some engaged in simple role-play, others debate, and still others got to know each other better since there was precious little time for small-talk with the Psychotic Biotic pushing them harder during every waking minute.

[...]

Meeting aboard _Amerigo_, Shepard, Tali, Gaige, and Dr. Kevin Filner tried to hammer out exactly how to control the phenomenon that brought the ship to the SETTLE Center. Upon being made aware of these discussions, Patricia Tannis injected herself, hijacking the conversation to pass on information Sarah had given her. By her own admission, she couldn't remember most of it—whatever the Siren had done, it didn't stick very well.

"So these Eridians can still affect us from beyond the Veil" asserted Tali.

"That is correct" replied Tannis. The circumstances caused her to lose much of her normal haughty attitude toward those she deemed to be of lesser intellect. "It is conceivable that their influence brought the _Amerigo_ here to facilitate these conversations. Though they thought their solutions would prevent the very decay we are seeing, if they are in fact observing us they may have concluded that allowing us an attempt to solve this conundrum would be preferable to a complete convergence event."

"So if we somehow got that thresher to go nuts again…" mused Gaige.

"It might end up teleporting us back to Pandora!" shouted Kevin Filner. "Brilliant!"

"Unless the Eridians think we need to be somewhere else" countered Shepard. "If they are interfering, they're going to put us where they think we can be the most help."

"So why don't they just put us where we need to be, right now, without having to deal with an angry thresher?" wondered Gaige.

"You know what Gaige" said Sam, "when dealing with stuff like this that makes no sense to us, I've learned it's best to not ask too many questions. Never look a gift horse in the mouth!"

"It may also be that these Forebears wish for us to help ourselves, rather than doing everything for us" added Tannis. "From the visions I received, it appears if we arrive at a position in which we only need one bit of help, they will step in, but if we can, so to speak, take two more steps on our own without assistance, they will permit us to flounder until we do."

"You also mentioned something about inter-plane conflicts" ("So confusing" wheezed Gaige in the background) said Tali. "Maybe if they intervene too much, they'll kick off one of those!"

"This is also a reasonable hypothesis. It might be more productive if we returned to attempts to induce the animal into the desired behavior, regardless of why the result might end in our favor" sniffed the short-haired scientist.

"What if that was Eridian interference too?" wondered Filner.

"Then I guess we just sit here until they decide to move us" snapped Shepard. "Let's try something instead of talking!"

Arriving at Circle 7, the party found none of the labs had been destroyed as the frightened scientists had predicted would happen prior to _Amerigo_'s unexpected travel. Moving through the secured entrances, the quintet finally arrived at the cage holding a forty-two meter long black hole thresher.

"For some reason, it hasn't grown larger" said Dr. Filner, acting the part of tour guide. "It's been growing by leaps and bounds, or it was, until the transition here. Nobody gets it."

One of his lab assistants turned to address the new group. "There's a lot of science going on here we don't understand no matter how many post-docs you throw at it. We're trying, believe me, but we might as well be infants attempting to learn calculus."

Turning to the thresher (and feeling incredibly stupid) Shepard shouted "Pandora please! And make it snappy!"

The titanic animal ignored her, its black portal pulsating as it moved about the enclosure.

[...]

Jack alternated between sitting in her lower-deck hiding-hole and pacing back and forth around the _Normandy_. A good-natured debate had broken out between advocates of operating from the _Normandy_ and those who felt _Revenant Phoenix_ would make a superior platform. Practically everybody who'd been part of Samantha Shepard's operational teams at one point or another was present barring those with other pressing duties. Many had been brought in on the condition they not know where they were going ("And we're closing all the windows!" said Shepard prior to departing for the SETTLE Center), but it being Shepard doing the asking no one complained.

"We need big guns!" insisted Ashley Williams.

"Damn straight" growled Zaeed Massani. "Blast that bitch Sarah back into whatever dimension she crawled out of."

"Now, this isn't because I had it as my own ship or anything, but I really think we ought to consider the stealth angle" countered Garrus. "Those Sirens can probably swat us out of the air no matter what we're in, so to speak. It's harder to hit what you can't see."

"Nice try, Garrus" grinned Ashley. "We all know you're hoping Shepard will come back, decide we need two ships, and let you keep playing with her old toy."

"Shepard has no equal, for she is my Battlemaster!" bellowed Grunt. "It will not matter which ship is under her command—both will see the enemy's blood splattered on its hull!"

As Jack passed by the group for an uncounted time, she added "It doesn't matter which ship we take. Just get my kids back, and kill the fuckers who took them!"

Brick and Maya represented the Pandoran faction within the group. Both preferred heavy-hitting (_Phoenix_) to invisibility (_Normandy_).

"The only way we stand a chance is to punch that woman!" enthused Brick. Of course, most of his solutions involved punching, metaphorical or otherwise, though, knowing him if, and of course this remained a big if, Sarah were to be captured, bets were being taken on how long she'd last before he turned her into a paste.

"While this discussion is useful for informing us of available tactical options, I believe we are neglecting the most important question" said Thane in his unique drell voice. "How do we stop these interspatial rifts from forming?"

Strangely, very few occurred around the _Normandy_, currently playing host to the conference.

"It sounds like we're dealing with a runaway reaction" replied Ashely. "Once you start, you can't stop."

Kaidan knew no way to make this less weird, awkward, or strange, so he strode into the gathering to gasps, exclamations, and even one muttered prayer. He'd elected to continue his therapy remotely while living aboard _Revenant Phoenix_, to give him semi-familiar (military) surroundings to recuperate in, one shuttle-ride later he made a triumphant return to _Normandy_.

"Whether you were all briefed on the duplicate _Normandy SR-2_ or not, it happened, I'm here. In some parallel universes, a different hero perished on Virmire. I'd like to say that I support the stealth position—it will allow us to gather more information without being detected."

The questions came fast and furious, but the Major raised his hand for silence. "I know you're all curious, but right now my arrival isn't the most important issue—it's the factors that made my arrival and many unexpected departures possible that are the real problem. I shouldn't be here."

"Kaidan is right!" thundered Garrus. "We need to focus on the problem!"

"Fuck that problem!" yelled Jack, stopping near the others for the first time. "My students are missing, and that…that cunt from another dimension is the one responsible!"

People winced at the language, but given who it was, no one actually acted surprised.

"The actual issue here is that to be brutally honest, we don't know what we're dealing with" spoke up Maya for the first time. "We can see the results, but we can't see the cause. We have only guesses, and until Shepard comes back with Tali, Gaige, and any scientists on that big ship over there who know what's going on, we won't have any clue how to handle this."

"The cause is pretty obvious" retorted Ashley. "These fancy faster-than-light drives we've built our civilizations around are destroying the universe. So really, it's a pretty simple question. Someone needs to build something else that doesn't have any nasty side-effects. Without faster-than-light, our societies are pretty screwed. Am I right?"

Heads nodded, even Jack's.

"Yes, that is true" conceded the Siren, "but we don't know what part of the drives pose the actual threat. It could be something simple, like putting an exhaust filter on a factory. We don't need to then get rid of the factory, just build it slightly differently."

"You're forgetting about the woman who says that we all need to die because of this" added Brick, pounding a fist into a hand. "She thinks that not only is the universe doomed, but we all should go with it! What about stopping her?"

"Or tossing her out the fucking airlock and watching her choke and suffocate." Jack's sadism found grim agreement among the others. "I'd enjoy it. A lot."

"I think we all would get some satisfaction out of that" replied Garrus. "Problem is, from everything we know other than the 'kill-all-life' thing, she's not wrong…"

Uncomfortable silence.

"What, do I smell? I showered only two days ago!"

Samantha Shepard walked aboard, followed by Gaige, Tali, and Kevin Filner.

Maya made a wafting motion with her hand.

"Saw that."

"So Commander, how monumentally screwed does the brain trust think we are?" asked Ashley.

"Well, to begin…"

Tali got cut off by Gaige.

"Yeah, we're in deep! Up to our eyeballs! And that isn't brown water, either!"

"Gaige, I…"

"Basically, we either keep tearing the universe a new one, or we open rifts into space that will lead to our universe being taken over by monsters." She said this all very fast. Maya and Brick recognized more than a hint of Tiny Tina.

"To be more elaborate" cut in Tali, "there's a way to cut travel time without causing further damage to this universe by tunneling through another dimension. Our attempts to use that dimension to take shortcuts rather than simply flying through it didn't work, but as I said there's another option. The problem is that time doesn't work normally in there."

"Every time someone messes with time in the omnivids, bad things happen" said Garrus contemplatively, as if the omnivids offered firm guidance on the matter.

"This isn't so much us messing with time as time messing with us" replied Tali. "Time passes at different speeds within this other dimension—oh I'll just let Filner explain…"

"Right. So. Each trip through this alternate world, a ship's clock might or might not match up with the observed time passed outside. Say, two hours from point A to point B, but on the ship, only twenty minutes pass."

"Weird" remarked Ashley. "This is why I stick to guns."

"You think that's strange—get this!" Filner seemed entirely too excited, but then again, scientists tended to get worked up over things that caused non-scientists to scratch their heads. "Two ships that enter the dimension at the same time can have time pass at different rates relative to each other! They might also not come back into our space simultaneously either, and, to top it off, when they do they could be millions of kilometers apart!"

"If that's the choice, I'd almost rather destroy the universe." Ashley with the smartass comment as usual.

"But guys, this is serious!" said Shepard in an unusually whiny tone.

"We know. We just like messing with you."

"Don't forget the zombies" added Tali. "Not only would we have terribly inaccurate travel and unpredictable travel times, but we could end up letting in zombies!"

"Yeah, we're fucked" sighed Jack. "Can we at least have a giant party before the universe ends?"

THUNK.

"What was that?" wondered Tali.

"Is this where the end times start?" Gaige. Entirely too enthusiastic about the prospect.

PFOOM.

Red warning lights replaced the normal glow of the ship.

"Warning: Exterior airlock compromised."

BAM BAM BAM.

"Form up! Weapons ready!" barked Shepard. "Anyone who can't handle a gun get out of the way! Joker?"

Dr. Filner scampered off.

"You're not seriously going to tell me to open that airlock, are you Commander?"

"Hey Joker! Knock knock!"

"Uhh, who's there?" His face took on a quizzical expression that no one saw by virtue of his being on the _Normandy_'s bridge.

"It's funny because I'm ordering you to open the airlock. You did ask me if I was going to _seriously_ order you to…"

Groans all around. Even Gaige, known for her own…unique…humor, disapproved.

"Our lives sure are fucked up" remarked Jack. "We all carry weapons around and wear armor everywhere."

"Well, some of us wear armor" snarked Ashley. "How does that even qualify as a combat outfit?"

"Go f-"

The airlock opened. Air moved, but not enough to blow anyone (or anything) over—or push who/whatever stood in the destroyed airlock away.

A storm of ordinance poured into the airlock, impacting against some kind of yellow bubble-shield resembling a bee's honeycomb. No apparent damage either from mass effect weapons, Trans-Galactic Republic shotguns, or blasters (Brick's favorite, aside from punching). The globe moved forward, and a mass effect field cut off any further escaping air.

"You done?"

The voice was low-pitched, masculine, firm, and vaguely reassuring. The barrier dropped to reveal a set of armor, green in color. It might or might not have had anyone inside—it seemed human-shaped, but it also stood over two meters tall. Thus, it could have been a war droid—the Trans-Galactic Republic was known to possess such automatons, though none had yet been seen in Gamma-Six or Gamma-Three, despite the trying circumstances.

"We're allies" s/he/it continued. "The battleship you destroyed came from the same place we did."

By this point, Samantha Shepard could not be fazed by people appearing out of nowhere, phenomena violating what were supposed to be the "laws" of physics, people _disappearing_ only to show up thousands of lightyears away, new technologies, new aliens, or new threats. She accepted it all, hoping that someone might say "Fooled you!" after she took what was intended to be an elaborate prank too seriously.

"You mean that putrid yellow thing the Trans-Galactic Republic blew up? How did you know?"

Another voice, from the same set of armor, this time feminine, upbeat, and apparently sarcastic.

"Yes, all those things make perfect sense. Tell us more about phrases we've never heard! Also, I snooped your computers. You should really secure your wireless network better. Modulating 256,000 bit encryption is nothing to me—you're using a fraction of that."

_Sigh. Two personalities in one armor? Sapient armor? New record?_

"We saw a very large vessel which was subsequently destroyed by one of our own allies here" began the Commander. "I forgot introductions—my name is Samantha Shepard—I'm the captain of this ship and apparently the only one this galaxy trusts to do anything important."

"I can relate." The male voice again.

"His name's John-117 if you want to be formal" came the female voice. "Most people just call him Master Chief."

Despite the bulky armor, hidden face, and military posture, Shepard could just about guess that the man (if indeed that's what this Master Chief was) likely let off a sigh at that set of statements.

"Okay then, Master Chief. As I was saying, the ship our ally pulverized seemed quite large—most estimates put it at…"

"Five point six kilometers. _Infinity-_class, hull number INF-102, name—_Eternal Protector_. Lost to the Flood due to Covenant Remnant sabotage. It entered slipspace before it could be destroyed and its signal was lost."

The female voice again: "Wait! I'm not detecting any Flood signatures! We seem to have escaped!"

"Escaped from what?" demanded Garrus. "There aren't any unknown ships or stations on our sensors!"

"Believe me, if there was Flood here, you'd know!" said the female voice.

"That's Cortana, by the way. She's a UNSC artificial intelligence."

Sam could almost see whatever was in that armor smirking. He held up a coaster-sized item from which a hologram appeared—of a woman pouting with hands on hips.

"I can introduce myself, you know."

"So can I."

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!" screamed the AI now introduced as Cortana. Her avatar flickered several times before restoring itself.

"Tell me more about this 'UNSC'" said Shepard conversationally.

"The United Nations Space Command is the military arm of the Unified Earth Government, overseeing human society, Earth, and its colonies" narrated Cortana. "It has conquered over two thousand known star systems." During that sentence, more holographic corruption could be seen, plus audible vocal distortion. "The UNSC has been involved in ongoing conflicts with the Covenant Empire, or what's left of it by now, though prior to our unexpected departure most Covenant forces had allied themselves with the UNSC/UEG to control the Flood."

"Do any of you know how to fix an AI?" inquired the thing called Master Chief.

"Fix? What do you mean?" asked Tali. She experienced both revulsion (of a synthetic lifeform) and fascination (at something that needed repair). In the end, curiosity won out.

"Rampancy" replied the pair at the same time.

"I'd ask you to explain, but artificial intelligence isn't really my area of expertise. That said, I do know someone who might be able to help. Daro'Xen vas Moreh—though, she's imprisoned for crimes against the Trans-Galactic Republic."

"TELL US WHO this Trans-Galactic Republic IS!" Stutter, flicker, twisted flang.

"Fuck." Shepard, rarely one to use such language, put her face in her hands. "Guess where your crazy, but possibly-fixing-this-Cortana admiral is right now?"

"_Keelah_, they're all the way in the other galaxy!"

"Well, this is a bit of a problem," commented Maya in a tone that suggested it was an epic understatement.

"Does this ship have a slipspace drive?"

"Let me ask the question everyone's probably wondering" piped up Jack. "What the hell are you?"

"A little more than human" came the response.

"Augmentations for the win!" shouted Shepard, doing a high-five gesture. Her compatriot didn't respond.

"Oh." She looked slightly perturbed at being left hanging. "I have no idea what a slipspace drive is."

"Faster-than-light travel" replied Cortana, as if not knowing this technology represented some large indication of stupidity or lack of ability to grasp the blatantly obvious.

"We have that" countered Tali. "It just makes a bit of a mess of things."

"How fast can you go?"

"Well, John, the other galaxy we need to get to is going to be months away, if not more! That assumes we don't hit any of those, erhm, bumps, Shepard described to me."

"I don't HAVE MONTHS! Something needs TO BE DONE NOW!"

Tali turned about, looking for a computer terminal. She motioned the strange pair over.

"Can you do an over-the-air transfer? I doubt we have physically compatible computer interfaces."

Cortana looked very sullen.

"Back me up, before I go." It was as if she'd been asked to leave a very dearly-held place.

"Done" came the bass voice of the Master Chief.

"Yank me."

A flash of light as _something_ transferred between the newcomer's storage and _Normandy_'s computers. The systems had been designed with EDI in mind, so vast amounts of extra processing power and AI tap-ins to most ship systems still existed, even though crude software patches had been written to enable most of the ship to run without an artificial intelligence.

The hologram of _Normandy_ usually seen on the table in front of the Captain's galaxy map disappeared. Cortana's image projected, glowing even more brightly than before. Her "head" hit the ceiling before she realized the physical limitations of her new "home" and adjusted her projection accordingly.

"I feel…smaller. Less. I lost something." Her voice caused some ear-covering, seemingly pushing _Normandy_'s audio systems to their limits.

"Well, you didn't lose any volume" shot back Ashley. "Could you turn it down a bit?"

"Has the Halo been destroyed? Have we stopped Guilty Spark?"

"Oh no." John-117's head tipped forward in a gesture of disappointment.

"What?" asked Shepard.

"Transfer dropped years' worth of memories. Still, that should free up processing power and delay Rampancy."

"Rampant?" laughed Cortana. "Do you soldier-types ever pay attention in class? We smart AIs don't have rampancy problems for seven years! I'm only three years old! At the rate I accumulate knowledge, there won't be a capacity problem in—oh my!"

"Please don't break the ship. Please don't break the ship. Please don't break the ship!" chanted Shepard under her breath.

"So big! So fast! I could operate in here for a decade without exhausting available resources!"

"Does that mean we can put the…other half of her in too?" queried Garrus. Not that he knew anything about computers or artificial intelligences.

"I wouldn't…"

Over the Master Chief's objections, Shepard grabbed the AI disk from his hand and placed it near the same port used previously. "We need her to remember everything she knew when she and the Master Chief came here. What harm could it do? She said there's tons of spare capacity…"

FZZT.

Cortana appeared to glow red, then blue, then red.

"Curious" remarked Thane. "There now appear to be two of them, or perhaps there is a problem with the imaging system."

"Reminds me of what I read about three-dimensional movies on primitive worlds" commented Maya. "Red-blue images!"

Sam almost shouted for EDI to run an imaging system diagnostic before realizing how dumb that would be. As if on the same wavelength, Joker's voice came over the comm.

"I'm not sure what you just put in the system, Commander, but whatever it is, it's using a lot of CPU power. I can barely keep the ship's other functions going!"

"Let me GO!" screamed the red Cortana.

"Interesting. This architecture is very different from the Autumn's." Much calmer, from the blue hologram this time.

"Set up the bomb! Be ready!" said the red version.

The two images seemed to alternate between attempting to join together and trying to become as far apart as possible. The result? A red-and-blue lightshow.

"Uhh, Commander? You really let the varren shit inside—all processors are maxed out and the ship's basic functions like, oh, life support, are being switched on and off!" Lights began to flash as if power were fluctuating. Fans responsible for moving air could be heard to stop and start. Computers rebooted repeatedly. Haptic interfaces shut down, causing physical backups to appear, only for the haptic interface to restart, which resulted in the physical backup starting to retract back, only for the process to repeat.

"Can the _Normandy_ still fly?" asked a concerned Shepard.

"Technically, yes. Likely to make it all the way between galaxies without running into significant problems, no. Damn. I was just getting used to the leather seat…"

"What did I tell you?" intoned the Master Chief. "Don't mess with things you don't understand."

"YOU would have KILLED US ALL!" shrieked the blood-colored hologram. "If I hadn't STOPPED you!"

"Uhh, are the two Cortanas even aware of each other?" Shepard realized the level of weird could only grow exponentially at this point. She tried to imagine EDI fighting herself.

"By the sounds of their voices, I'd suspect not, though, again, artificial intelligence isn't my field" replied Tali. The blue projection went on about needing to get critical information to the UNSC, while the angrier red Cortana ranted about betrayal, imprisonment, and failure to do one's duty.

"We need the stability of blue and the knowledge of red" concluded Shepard. "Our best bet is to give Daro'Xen a shot at this, but she's hundreds of thousands of light years away. How do we solve that problem?"

"We popped out of slipspace almost on top of you" replied the Master Chief. "Something on this end could've generated that transition point."

"Where's your ship?" asked Garrus.

"He blew it up!" shrieked red-Cortana. "'We aren't going to make it,' 'Better dead that Flood'" she mocked. "Humanity's last hope—he killed us all!"

"We were losing. Humanity's only havens were its two _Infinity_ warships and the rest of its navy. The Flood took Earth from us. After that, it was only a matter of time as the infection spread."

"COWARDLY Covenant!" screeched angry Cortana. "When THEY needed us we WERE THERE FOR THEM! When our worlds BURNED FROM THE INFECTION they turned and FLED!"

"When _Eternal Protector _became infected, there was a last-resort plan to blow it up. I carried out that plan. Apparently, it made a hole into slipspace, landing us here."

Kevin Filner (having returned now that the shooting part was over) and Tali tried to talk to normal-Cortana about slipspace. They managed to get enough across (ignoring the other hologram's fury) to determine the giant thresher likely slipspaced _Amerigo_.

"You have naturally occurring slipspace phenomena! Fascinating!" Cortana-with-memory-loss still had quite a bit of knowledge, just none she'd gained after departing the Halo installation. "I wonder how we'd get it make another slipspace jump?"

"We've all been wondering the same thing" huffed Gaige. "It just apparently _went off_ and brought _Amerigo_ here without explanation."

"Eridians did it!"

"Shepard… That doesn't really help" sighed Garrus.

[…]

"Our galaxy is in turmoil" began Councilor Tevos, sounding entirely too relaxed for the scale of recent goings-on. "The constant, unpredictable changes brought on by these interspatial anomalies are wreaking economic havoc."

"Indeed" continued Clethon. "If five percent of a raw material goes missing, it seems ten percent of the finished product is unable to be produced. Corporations are laying off workers because they cannot depend on either materials or people to arrive when they should, where they should."

"Just the other day, a shipment of milk was late by twelve hours" intoned Adam Grayson. "Yet, analysis of the milk showed it aged the equivalent of two weeks!"

"Without food, some outlying systems are having difficulty holding on" finished Victus. "Our shipments are trying to make up for the losses, but since there are less foodstuffs to go around combined with the disappearance of some ships carrying it, most outer colonies are on rations."

"Never mind the cosmic-scale destructive force that no one seems able to contain or reason with" went on Grayson. "Even the Trans-Galactic Republic cannot protect us from the specter of doom calling herself Sarah."

"I suppose we should take comfort in that she is taking her time. In the past two weeks, her attacks have focused on distant colonies—the same which we are having difficulty supplying." 

"Councilor Tevos, if you are going to suggest what I think you are going to suggest…" Grayson let his implied threat hang. The Trans-Galactic Republic would have a strong incentive to take over the nourishment of colonies abandoned by the Council...and throw sanctions onto the Council for its heartless actions if he had his way.

Victus turned to his human compatriot. "Adam, as much as I can sympathize with your feelings on this matter, Councilor Tevos is correct. If we focus our resources on areas that are simpler to protect and provision, it will make it easier for us to take a final stand, should it come to that, or hopefully keep her at our borders."

"In addition" suggested Clethon, "if the colonies we cannot save are simply annihilated in one fell stroke, as we have seen Sarah is capable of, their suffering would be minimized. It is evident even in your own medical literature—do all possible to save a life, but do not prolong needless suffering." His clipped, formal tone grated on Adam Grayson, despite knowing that his "heartless" colleagues had a strong argument.

_Revenant_ had pulled the same trick on the Reapers—forcing them to either concentrate their forces (and die by massed turbolaser fire) or spread out (leaving the Trans-Galactic Republic time to coordinate defenses). Even though splitting forces weakened each individual fleet, the firepower of each group still generally halted Reaper advances.

"So we let peripheral settlements vanish in purple fire" he spat, knowing full well what the response would be.

"That is the plan. It may seem cold, but there is calculation behind the madness." Tevos tried to convey some level of sympathy in her voice despite condemning millions, if not billions, to die. "We must bring as many as are able to Council space, which we will turn into a fortress."

"The Trans-Galactic Republic will be happy to help" replied Grayson in a resigned tone. "What ships we have that retain their lightspeed capabilities will fan out and evacuate major population centers that fall outside the new defensive perimeter and lack mass relays."

_Siren Serenade_ had been observed to easily destroy several of the otherwise very-durable constructs, something that in thousands of years of war no species in the galaxy had managed despite the obvious strategic advantages of cutting off easy resupply for their enemies. Of course, come peacetime, all involved were secretly grateful that no attack against the network succeeded, as the relays enabled the rebuilding of broken societies which if left to fester might have drifted toward fascism and a renewed thirst for conflict.

"If we only had the Migrant Fleet…" Despite the galaxy's institutional dislike of quarians, Clethon recognized the utility of what had once been the largest gathering of ships of any sapient race. A good portion of it had been militarized under the now-defunct United Defense Command and shipped off to Gamma-Three, reinforcing Trans-Galactic Republic and UDC forces there. However, around half of it remained, mostly civilian vessels ill-equipped to face the nightmare Siren, Sarah. That said, if the Siren could be avoided, the ships could perform admirably in evacuation duties.

"Send envoys to the quarians" snapped Grayson. "I've been pushing for this ever since I took on this position—and I'm not going to stop advocating for it. I recognize that the quarians made a terrible mistake in the past, but does shunning them now serve any other purpose besides stoking egos?"

Tevos shot a nasty look in Grayson's direction. She wanted to tell him off for being presumptuous—as an outsider, what right did he have to try to tell the rest of them how to handle an issue he'd only been introduced to recently? At the same time, if the whole galaxy were to crumble, would it matter if the quarians "learned a lesson," so to speak, if everything turned to ash?

Her response came out stilted. "While I wouldn't exactly use those words, it is arguable that the current state of things demands reconsidering how this Council approaches the quarians despite their past transgressions."

"Does that mean we're going to ask for their help?" demanded Grayson bluntly.

"We will see how they react to being approached" said Clethon sternly. "We would not presume to ask something of a species with which we have had very little diplomatic contact without ensuring good intentions."

_So now the quarians are suspicious because you tossed them out and haven't talked to them in years? Really?_ Grayson kept his annoyance with his fellow Councilors to himself. _Racists!_

"A large portion of our fleet was hit by the initial Siren attack. Only those out of range of the blast are available." Grayson avoided a satisfied look, now _he_ could dictate to the Council how they would receive help (unless Nimitz objected—but they knew not of this veto power).

"Another attack. Hades Nexus" intoned Victus. "Whole planets sterilized, as usual. A few ships left to drift, again, standard for this rather cruel individual. Relays destroyed—we won't be able to get our relief convoys in."

"If we send them."

Three heads turned in shock.

"Do the most good for the greatest number. Let me pull up a list of what ships still have hyperdrives and we'll see about using them the best we can…"


	29. Tie the Bow

**Chapter 28 – Tie the Bow**

Due to artificial intelligence malfunctions (that being a relatively tame description), _Normandy SR-2_ became a ghost ship. Docked aboard _Amerigo_ in an almost completely-powered-down state along with an idle _Revenant Phoenix_, Shepard &amp; Co. took their leave of both ships to plot their next move. Master Chief John-117 remained in the darkened _Normandy_ without saying why, though the implications were pretty obvious to the rest of the group.

Bill Ricker welcomed the Commander aboard—he hoped whatever she had in mind might get that giant thresher off his ship. That the thresher's activity had not damaged anything (yet) gave him some comfort, but as with any science experiment it took only one catastrophic failure to cause big problems. The appearance of yet more unknown individuals through interspatial rifts worried him, though it appeared this "Master Chief" arrived very close to when his own vessel popped from a point that appeared to be within a whole other universe to its current position.

Gathered on the walkways in the thresher enclosure, Shepard's traveling badass circus tried to figure out a way forward.

"So we get this thresher to spin up its warp-hole; that takes us where we need to go, right?" said Ashley.

"We hope" replied Tali. "I'm not even sure how this works…"

"We're getting a lot of that lately" lamented Kevin Filner. "There's science here, but it goes right over my head!" His tone on the last portion suggested he was both embarrassed and offended that he did not yet understand what went on with wormhole thresher portals.

"Maybe if we feed it" suggested Maya, levitating what looked like some kind of half-eaten bone off the floor with a phaselock.

The thresher, previously occupied digging in and out of the dirt in its terrarium, let loose a loud sound and turned toward Maya.

"These animals tend to communicate using low-frequency grunts, growls, groans, and the like" lectured Filner as if in a classroom. "We know that smaller species exhibit herd mentalities, but the larger specimens tend to strike off on their own. Occasionally, small groups of larger threshers have been observed cooperating to take down prey bigger than what one could subdue on its own, but otherwise those over around two meters are solitary."

Whether it was a nod toward avoiding tiny confusions or simply because she found biology boring, Jack did not accompany the group to the biology wing, instead heading to the ship's exercise facilities where she could give her biotic abilities a good workout. She would later be reprimanded for, among other things, hogging weights and crashing dumbbells through walls in anger ("I was imagining that _bitch_," she would say when questioned).

The huge animal overturned and shoved aside a large amount of dirt digging itself toward Maya's levitated snack. "It's happy!" said Kasumi in her usual overly-cheery voice ("Remember when you said that at least the dead Reaper wasn't full of rats?" taunted Shepard).

As its mouth closed over the treat, the thresher turned away. Its back end (with portal) intersected the edge of Maya's phaselock bubble.

A blinding flash of bluish light followed. "Did everything just taste purple for a second?" asked the confused Siren.

"We've got bigger problems than tasteable colors. I wonder what acid green tastes like?" Gaige's comment earned distasteful stares from her elders. "Oh come on, haven't you always…" Seeing no agreement, she desisted.

The thresher's portal quickly shrank and disappeared, before returning with a vengeance to ten times its former size. Instead of petering out like normal, Maya's phaselock bubble grew along with the thresher's portal. A distinct "wub wub" sound emanated from the combination. Maya found herself inexorably pulled toward the growing black/blue sphere as all others backed away.

Faced with this, Shepard shrugged. Shouting to be heard over the noise, she said "I think this is what we wanted, guys, right?"

"Ahhh… Ahhhhhhhhh!"

Pulled into the air, Maya couldn't find anything to hang onto. She disappeared into the bubble, which immediately expanded through everyone and everything. Those in the thresher enclosure got the impression the bubble had grown beyond just the chamber, but not being able to see outside, couldn't tell that the entire ship now existed within a blue sphere. Despite the disappearance (more rightly growth) of the phase-bubble, no Maya.

It felt as though everything became slow, or even stopped. It was strange, being aware that time itself no longer behaved as expected, but unable to do anything about it (i.e. move or say something).

As though asking to be excused for its indiscretion, perceived time sped up again.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"—WHUMPF!

"Maya! Are you okay?" Ashley and Shepard pulled the Siren to her feet—she'd landed flat on her back.

"I've survived worse falls than that" groused Zaeed.

"Shhh!" hissed Kasumi in his general direction. "That's not very helpful!"

"Where did you go just now?" inquired Garrus. He noticed the Siren had something in her left hand…and that she looked different. Specifically, older.

When she spoke, the tone was not the cocky, kill-everything woman she'd been but a lady aged many decades, with the wisdom to prove it. "This cylinder holds the key to our salvation. I met a most unlikely ally in the place I went…"

"Tell us more. And keep it quick!" snapped Shepard. "We need to figure this out, and fast!"

[…]

"Bluuuuuurrgh!"

Maya landed facefirst in dirt, having seemingly fallen only a few feet. Aside from a couple bruises and a bloody lip, she felt no worse for the wear. Standing, the Siren looked around to try to get bearings. Daytime, so it wasn't possible to navigate by the stars. One yellow sun—not very helpful as this was common among life-supporting worlds. Dry, dirt-covered ground with rocks sticking up here and there—looked like Pandora, but might not be.

A small shack stood not ten meters from where she'd landed. Seeing it appeared to be well-maintained, she approached it to see if the dweller(s) might be able to tell her more about her location. Knocking, Maya had to step back upon seeing who answered the door.

Her hair had gone salt-and-pepper. Her face retained its beauty, perhaps even possessed more as the terrible visage of a murderous temptress was absent from eyes that carried more sorrow than seduction, more pain than pleasure.

"You are a Redeemer" said the woman Maya recognized as a significantly older Jackie Jakobs sadly. "And here is your key."

Maya could do nothing but stand still, shocked. Jackie waited for her to find words again.

"What?"

"There is much to explain, but little time in which to do so" replied Jackie kindly.

_She must be at least fifty…_

"Fifty-seven, I can see the question in your eyes."

"Have I traveled forward in time?" demanded Maya. "What about my friends?" The two entered Jackie's tin-and-wood abode.

"Your friends are all dead or dispersed to galaxies far beyond this one." Jackie motioned for Maya to be seated.

"Here, anyway" she continued. "Where you come from, there is still hope. There is still a chance."

"You're not telling me all those crazy ramblings from Rakkman were true about the cult surrounding Sirens during the Reaper War?"

"Ah, the Reaper War." Jackie's smile was very odd considering what she'd just said. "Those were the days! An endless parade of men for my bed, no limits on my material wants, Jakobs flying high…"

"And now you live in a shack." Maya couldn't keep the glee out of her voice.

"You are a vicious person. Yet if this is who the Bringers of Life, also known as the Eridians, send me, then to you I shall give the key…"

Realizing more information might be useful, Maya backpedaled. "Wait, what happened?"

"I'm sure you're most interested in the part that saw me stripped of my name, kicked out of the family, and exiled here, but that is only important for people who think in small terms. In the larger scheme of things, the Reaper War changed everything. We won, but at a cost."

"Did you get help from outsiders? That happened in my galaxy!"

"We received no help." Jackie looked down, as if hesitating.

"Then how'd you win?" Maya leaned forward in anticipation. She didn't realize this gave Jackie an excellent view down the front of her top.

"Oh, I don't play like that anymore, sweetie!" laughed Jackie. "Though if you're interested in the rest of my story…"

"Yes. That's all I'm interested in!" replied Maya hurriedly.

"Jakobs tech, of course. The alternate-dimension acceleration that made our guns so powerful also let us beat the Harvesters, or as you call them, Reapers."

"So you have really big guns here? Do they work on biological invaders too?"

Jackie chuckled, a light, tinkley, airy sound—not at all the harsh cackles or seductive breaths Maya came to associate with the (apparently former) Jakobs heir.

"Are you going to let me talk, or must you ask questions constantly?"

"I'll be quiet!"

"Right then" continued Jackie. "We couldn't take the Harvesters in a straight fight, no way. But what we could do was make them go away. The alternate dimension our weapon rounds go through before accelerating back into our universe? We advanced the ability significantly compared to accelerating simple bullets. Follow, we built huge, spacegoing rift machines. Every time one showed up, we'd bait it into charging straight at us—at which point the rift-ship moved in front of it, causing the Harvester to disappear."

"Did it kill them?" Maya figured she could ask at least one question.

"No one knows. All that matters is they were gone. We celebrated our victory, or what ought to have been a victory. You see, we don't have much of a government here—and the large corporations that funded the war wanted payment for services rendered. They came after landless day laborers here on Pandora for a hundred thousand dollars each! 'It's your share of the victory' they said."

"A hundred thousand… Who the hell has that kind of money around here?"

Jackie looked gloomy at the thought.

"Nobody. Anyone who couldn't pay became a slave. They put a nice slogan on it. 'Earn Your Triumph' and promised to set people free. They never did stand by that promise…"

Jackie looked up again. "They even said the hundred thousand was a goodwill discount. Assholes" Jackie grinned. "I try to avoid cursing—it reminds me too much of what I was."

"Seems like all Jackies are the same" huffed Maya.

"Were, yes, are not" replied the woman sternly. "I really don't know what did it—I don't think it was a single thing—but seeing all those slaves working twelve or sixteen hour days… It changed something…"

"I'm no shrink, but you're not telling me the whole story" insisted Maya. "There's more to the slaves thing. Spit it out."

"You are a demanding person. Perhaps if you learn humility, you might get along better with others—particularly the Jackie in your own universe who I am told you shun."

"How the _fuck_ do you know that?" screamed Maya. "Is my whole life a game? Am I just some puppet of these Eridians who live beyond the universe?"

"Parallels don't communicate, for the most part, but the Forebears pass messages between them as they desire. Do you remember the Federated Cluster Union and Local Cluster Councils?"

"Yeah—fat lot of good they did. They kept sending angry letters. I think they actually sent a nice letter once, after we beat the Harvesters/Reapers" spat Maya. "We never saw their faces. They always spoke through voice disguisers and we only got vague head-shapes whenever anyone communicated with them directly."

"The Eridians took on a form you could relate to" replied Jackie. "They always do when speaking to those whom they've cultivated—yes, much of the life in this galaxy and others was either seeded by Eridians or helped along indirectly by them in some way."

"Cultivated? More like kicked, abused, neglected, and treated like dirt!" shouted the Siren.

"They tried to stop you from doing what you've already done—the disruption to space-time. Some thought them gods. How wrong that perception was. The Eridians are very similar to us, prone to mistakes, miscalculations, hubris… Their technology is simply far in excess of anything our societies are capable of. As a result, any mistakes made by them have similarly magnified consequences."

"Did they screw up with the Flood too?"

"I do not know to what you refer" said Jackie softly. "I was relayed information that would permit your societies to continue existing while simultaneously avoiding further convergence of universes. Nothing more."

"I assume they brought me here. Why'd they pick you to tell me these things?"

"You are a fine warrior. But your heart is blackened with hatred and spite. You derive dangerous amounts of pleasure from the fight. You claim your only interest in Pandora to be academic, yet you seek out conflict like a skag drawn to dumpsters."

"Welcome to Pandora" shot back Maya. "You either survive or you get eaten!"

"Really?" challenged Jackie. "What about Mad Moxxi? She took in your Jackie. She did it out of a selfish motivation, but knew that compassion could ride along—indeed, that was the only way to be compassionate on Pandora where resources are scarce. Find a way to help another while also helping yourself, or at minimum not losing anything."

"You never answered my question" seethed Maya. "You spoke of slaves earlier, but I know you're not telling me everything about them!"

"Maya, Maya. When will you learn that some stones are better left unturned? Since you insist, I will relay to you the story of the slaves I saw. These men and women worked twelve or more hours a day. They were fed well enough. Surprising, isn't it, a properly-nourished body is a strong body, one that can do more work for longer than a starving skeleton. But they were still worked to the bone. It was because they could work that they were fed."

"So no work, no food, right?" asked the Siren.

"That is correct. You are well aware of what some men and women do after they get married."

"Yeah. Kids. So?"

Jackie's eyes again took on a distant, unhappy look.

Maya's mouth dropped open as it hit her, but Jackie said it out loud.

"Either you were productive or you got nothing. Either you ate well or not at all. It's a cruel reality on Pandora—splitting your rations with your child or children meant a slow, painful, drawn-out death. Not because the corporate overlords forbade it, but because even if you'd given half your food away, you were still expected to do the same amount of work."

"So they'd need extra rations…" Maya's brain started to concoct means of obtaining more nutrients on a planet like Pandora, and the thoughts that resulted weren't pleasant.

"Your expression tells me that you have some idea what came next. Whether or not it was wise to have children on Pandora, there's no going back once you make that choice. As a result, parents turned to…unorthodox methods to get their hands on those extra rations. When your only physical possessions are the rags on your back and your ration dish, you can imagine how creative minds became."

"Oh my god…"

"And not just prostitution!" continued Jackie. "Some of them became servants in addition to their regular duties. The lucky ones were brought in full-time by those they served and never had to do outdoor manual labor again. Others became test subjects in the labs."

She stopped. Maya sensed it was intentional, to get her to ask what came next. So she did.

"Oh, the labs. You see, Mallory Maliwan and her husband used to design weapons during the war. Thing was, someone stole their designs—rumor has it that it was Atlas—and took credit before the amalgamated corporate board that oversaw the war effort. That same board loaned the Maliwans a ton of money to develop those same designs."

Maya ran out of words.

"With her husband held hostage by the War Oversight Department, she was told to run all manner of horrific experiments or he would be executed."

The Siren found her voice.

"So she had that little spine?" Maya's face twisted into a mask of disgust.

"She always held out hope she'd be able to earn her and her husband's due—and more often than not her 'subjects' mysteriously disappeared. She kept saying that the guards must be crazy since she almost never went down to the holding cells but there were always far fewer behind bars than were brought in. The ones that remained tended to be the most unpleasant, too."

"She was letting them go?"

"That would be a major understatement. She furnished them with weapons, ships, powered armor… The Maliwan Rebellions nearly took down the corporate board that insisted everyone pay them back for stopping the Harvesters! Again so quick to judge!"

Jackie shook her finger in Maya's direction.

Maya felt her confidence and sense of self-righteousness drain away, similarly to how she'd felt upon gazing at the statue of Samantha Shepard on the Presidium.

_I like to think of myself as some great hero, but everywhere I turn, I find out that I'm not, or that I'm the tarnished understudy to a brighter beacon._

"So why the foreboding around the labs?"

"Once the insurrection was put down, Mallory disappeared for six months. Six months of sadistic, brutal torture—made even worse by the existence of the New-U system. They could kill her, bring her back, and kill her again. Burn her, strangle her, shock her, corrode her…"

Maya made a small gagging noise.

"Oh, that wasn't all. Would you like more details? I know, because I was there."

This time, Maya forced the coming explosion of anger back down into the bottle.

"They grabbed me too. By that point, I'd thrown in my lot with the rebellion, though more because Mallory happened to be…curious about certain things that I could indulge in with her than any ideology or desire to free slaves. Though seeing those slaves still disturbed me—I'd say it contributed to me working with Mallory to begin with. Her husband was completely okay with it. As long as he wasn't around, he'd rather have her shack up with one person than just go spreading her legs all over Pandora to satisfy any urges she might have."

"Do you have any…"

"Scars? Child, you weren't listening to the part about the New-U system, were you?"

Maya felt her face flush red.

"That's the twisted beauty of the New-U. The you that comes out is always completely unscathed physically, but it of course preserves all of your memories from previous reincarnations, so you can remember that there _should_ be scars, cuts, bruises, but there aren't. Quite the interesting mental disconnect."

"So what happened to Mallory?"

"She's still alive, running the twisted experiments that she'd been bidden to do, except no one escapes now. Six months of torture, even if there are no physical signs, changes a person. She has one function—no others, and she fulfills that function with every fiber of her being. She can see her husband any time she wants. That's where the true horror comes in. She doesn't want to. She doesn't care enough to break away from her latest project."

Maya's mouth dropped open in abject horror.

"And you're out here?"

"Jakobs expelled me from the family, of course, for 'betrayal of corporate interests'—corporate and family are the same to them. They stripped me of the shares I held and threw me out into the wastes with a pistol and a few mags. Over time, I played the same Pandora game everyone else did. This shack used to belong to a blind old homesteader named TK Baha. I helped him survive a couple harsh winters. One day he went out and never came back, so I took the place for myself. Fixed up a few things, and now it's a serviceable dwelling."

"But you're not a crazy murderer or…"

"You can say it. I was the town skag in more ways than one." The musical laugh again. "When I was being tortured, I held onto the memory of those parents who gave up so much of their own dignity and health for their children without a second thought. It wasn't a _happy_ thought, so to speak, so the depression and depravity of the torture couldn't drive it away or force my concentration elsewhere. But it was a _safe_ thought, and it kept me from going mad the way Mallory did."

"What does this all have to do with me?" The edge left her voice, this time, the question had a neutral ring to it.

"Me, me, me. Someday, you're going to have to learn that focusing on others some of the time doesn't mean you have to give yourself up. Very well. I can see you will not be deterred. As you remember, in this universe we used advanced Jakobs slipcelerators to send the Harvesters packing. This technology has wider applicability than just weapons—it can be used to transport ships. We perfected it, for the most part. Time dilations are within 20% of the observed time outside, and the circular error probable is within a few tens of kilometers rather than thousands or millions on reversions."

"What about Sarah?"

"The First Siren? The Eridians really did a number on that one—there's a reason all subsequent Sirens only have one power! If they were to fight together, they'd have to come to a decision collectively rather than leaving one person to decide the fate of the galaxy. It took a lot, but they were able to imprison her in a cage beneath Pandora's north pole. She hasn't been heard from since then."

Maya smiled for the first time. "See, ours is kinda loose. She got her hands on cutting-edge technology from a force outside our galaxy, and she's going on a rampage in the name of preventing damage to the fabric of space."

"Why not give her exactly what she wants?"

"And give up? Surrender? Roll over and die?" Her words became more agitated with each phrase.

"You always think so literally, combined with assuming the worst. There are parallels in which no damaging activity is occurring. What if I told you that with the right technology, you could send her there and confine her?" Jackie laughed at Maya's naiveté.

"Do you have that technology?"

"Not directly, but I can give you something that will avoid further damage to your universe. However, you cannot disassemble or reverse-engineer it. You must retrieve the plans for it from the Jakobs vault."

"Why?"

"Child, sometimes things happen a certain way for a reason. This is one of those times. Don't fight it—live it."

Maya started to feel strange, as if something was tugging on her back.

"Likely, you will soon revert to your own universe. Keep hold of that device, and remember that only the pure of heart can access the power of the Redeemer."

"What does that mean? What makes you pure of heart?" asked Maya. The pull got stronger.

"There isn't a checklist!" chuckled Jackie. "You'll know it if you are—and you'll definitely know anyone who isn't!"

The universe around her began to fade, becoming darker and darker until only blackness remained. Yanked backward, she landed hard on her back, still clutching the gift that the Jackie-of-another-universe had given her.

[…]

"Let's never do that again" huffed Moxxi upon returning to the _Fireant_. Jackie downloaded incomprehensible quantities of data—so much that her companions were forced to assist in carrying away the dozen data-cylinders she'd filled in the process. Exiting proved simpler than entering, as it was presumed anyone able to gain entry through the significant defenses protecting the vaults had authorized access and thus did not need to be prevented from escaping. So far, this hadn't caused trouble in the three centuries Jakobs stashed their most prized information on Plutus.

Bringing the blastboat out of idle (apparently authorize-on-wake wasn't configured), Maya-2 took the trio back upward. She carefully scanned sensors to ensure no vessel appeared to intercept them nor was any weapon-fire directed their way. Since the Trans-Galactic Republic already dealt with the corporate dogfight taking place on Plutus and the blastboat had a friendly IFF, the ship again attracted no attention, despite being reported missing. The crew aboard _Veritas_ simply regarded a solitary vanished fighter as a low-priority item to be addressed later. Perhaps this attitude explained ever-growing defense expenditures…

"Now what?" wondered Moxxi. "We can't exactly just go back to the ship and say 'Sorry we borrowed this fighter and vaporized one of your marines.'"

"I got what I needed" added Jackie. "Now the question is, who can use it?"

"No one here" replied Maya-2.

"I showed Samantha Shepard the equations we just verified. She might be able to turn all this into something, or maybe she knows someone who can, but either way she's not in this galaxy…"

Rapidly working through the interface for the propulsion system, Maya-2 glumly reported that the blastboat did not have an inter-galactic range, not even in its fully-fueled state.

"We're good for about ten thousand lightyears, then we're out of fuel. We only have a month's worth of food and air, anyway! Looks like there's a range-extender option, but we don't have it."

Moxxi knew the likely answer, but she asked anyway.

"Jackie, any way for you to use those equations and the data we got from the vault?"

Jackie grinned, expecting this line of inquiry. "Nope. Not without several factories to do the building, extensive testing, and a few prototype units that would probably explode. I'm not an engineer—so we'd probably need twice as many prototypes, and have three times as many explosions."

"The Trans-Galactic Republic ships are forming up all of the sudden. We'd better go somewhere that they won't notice us!" said Maya-2.

"Flip on the radio—see if you can figure out what's happening" suggested Moxxi. "I wish I'd packed my intergalactic radio…"

"There were more important issues when we left…Mom."

Seeing welled-up emotion crossing the faces of her companions, Maya-2 quickly excused herself.

She never found out exactly what the two other women said to each other, nor did she feel it was her business. When she was invited to return, both seemed happier than she'd ever seen them. It wasn't just a sight—it was a feeling. Like the whole cabin of the ship glowed with some kind of energy that refused to dissipate.

"Well! We have a galactic crisis to solve!" expounded Maya-2, much more confidently than she felt. She dialed up the encrypted Trans-Galactic Republic communications channel used in the local sector. Anyone else would have heard nothing (not even static to give away that someone was transmitting)—with the proper decryption voices now emanated from the blastboat's speakers.

"…appeared out of nowhere! RNS _Amerigo! _The science ship that disappeared from Pandora just came back!"

"Well, this is interesting" she mused.

"Shhh!" said Jackie.

"…arrived by the same method it departed—leaving strange residual energy traces in the process. Now that we have two samples, scientists will begin examining it…"

"Maybe they know something" suggested Moxxi. "We could go back to Pandora."

Maya-2 already had the navicomputer calculating the jump. Thankfully, Pandora had been stored as a "memory point" so no lengthy computation was required.

Stars stretched into lines as the blastboat engaged its (traditional) hyperdrive, headed for Pandora.

[…]

Armando Bailey paced about his cell. It seemed odd—the cell resided deep within another part of the ship. It was as if the Lady Fingers taunted him, tempted him to escape, as the sections in which they lived were many kilometers away. From what the tank-like Urthula told him, despite possessing the ability to (theoretically) repair the entire vessel via digistruction and bring it back to a hundred percent of what it was, for Sarah's purposes only guns and minimal life support were required. Plus power systems.

Bailey allowed himself to fall into a state of meditation. Reaching out, he felt the Current ripple around the various portions of his prison. He stopped, unable to believe what he'd just found—the lock mechanism for his cell consisted of a simple bolt mechanism that could be slid open using a slight Undertow Current.

_Seriously? These women are THAT sure of themselves?_

He almost yanked the bolt before coming to a different realization. If they'd left such an easy out, there had to be a motivation for doing so that didn't involve charity. He probed further, but wasn't able to find anything. It was as if the room itself restrained his ability to reach out and feel with the Current beyond its walls.

"Satisfy my curiosity and walk into a trap, or sit here knowing I could leave but refuse to do so out of fear?"

_Easy call_.

The bolt slid back at his command. Bailey dropped into a defensive crouch, half-expecting a Lady Finger or two to drop in slashing and hacking. Nothing. The door opened, and he noticed a small rectangular panel made accessible by this change. Again applying the Undertow Current, his lightstaff jumped into his hand from behind a piece of flimsiplast.

_What game are you playing?_

Igniting it, he turned about. His original cell sat inside at least one larger cell. The outer walls of the smaller cell were coated in some kind of shiny black material he guessed caused his inability to flow his Current beyond its walls. Sure enough, attempts to probe the cage went around, but not in except through the open door. The construction seemed both overly-precise (a mark of digistruction—no small imperfections that one would expect in normal workmanship) and rushed at the same time.

"Definitely not Trans-Galactic Republic standard" he muttered, before taking a walk around his new chamber. No entrances or exits were apparent here, and his attempts to reach out with a flow were, while not rebuffed, unproductive.

"Let's try cutting our way out."

SNAP-HISS.

Whatever made up the walls interacted strangely with his lightstaff, as it flickered, sparked, and went out after a few seconds of slicing. Reigniting it, Bailey tried again, only to reach the same result: small indentation, lightstaff disabled again. The walls were resistant to a weapon he knew could rend armor, deflect weapon fire, and block another lightstaff. Strange.

Gathering strength for a huge Undertow Current, Bailey tried pushing his way through to no avail. Realizing he'd have to continue playing whatever twisted game his captors had in store, the C-Sec cop began taking short swipes at the wall—enough to make headway but not long enough to cause his lightstaff to shut down.

"Well, this requires more patience than C-Sec bureaucracy, and that's saying something!" he panted after an hour of making only small progress. Still, he could see the smallest bit of a different material that didn't cause an instant-short, so this was progress! Two and a half hours and much sweat later, a large enough hole existed in the staff-shorting material to permit cutting through the backing behind it. Another passageway into another still-larger rectangular room.

"Their interior design could use some work!"

A swiveling noise caught his attention, before a large-bore cannon of some kind fired a ruby-red blast directly into his leg.

The words of the Maelstrom echoed through his head.

_Heal yourself, you can. Bring back lost strength, flesh, and bone, the Restoring Tide will. Concentrate, you must!_

The agony from his leg, which resembled a massively overcooked barbecue at the moment, threatened to consume him. Bailey forced himself to focus, letting the Current flow around and through him. Thankfully, the laser had sealed most of the major arteries exposed by burning away significant amounts of muscle that would otherwise have been gushing blood, leading to a possible bleed-out. So all he could do, and hope for, really, was to push his body into a state of enhanced healing. A limitation quickly presented itself as though his leg began to undo some of the damage, the Current could not produce matter from nothing. As if by some witchcraft, the injured Channeler took notice of a nearby box of provisions at the base of the now-deactivated turret. As his fingers clumsily unwrapped nutrient bars, Bailey slowed the mental shove he directed toward his leg—trying to "fix" it now might actually make the situation worse without additional energy.

He would later note that much of his belly fat (which had gotten bigger since he'd been forced into a desk job) seemingly disappeared after this little incident.

Stuffing his face and hoping his rant about poisoning Sarah hadn't just been turned on him, he let the Current continue to work its near-magic on a leg now partially restored. Not having a timekeeping device, the maimed copper didn't know how long it took, but his leg eventually returned to a serviceable state. Not perfect, but a stint in one of those Trans-Galactic Republic bacta tanks would probably finish the job.

As if the malevolent architecture surrounding him knew of his readiness, the turret that caused Bailey's impairment disappeared into the ceiling, revealing a hallway. Nothing seemed off about it, and he figured his tormenters might be giving him a break. Until he stepped forward.

Heavy doors hissed shut behind, while what had at first appeared to be wall decorations suddenly came to life in front of him. Specifically, very, _very_ thick blast shields with elegant designs on their sides that now slammed into the left or right side of the hallway too quickly for a normal being to dash through.

"Seriously?"

A state of Tranquility would likely get him through, and it did with a few near-misses. He wasn't about to see his arm(s) suffer the same fate as a now slightly-lame (but not combat-crippling) leg. It was almost easy compared to the last item. As soon as he reached the end, the smashing, clanging machinery stopped.

"What next, torture?"

Stepping through yet another door, he faced not a torture chamber, but what looked like a mockup of a city. Lights illuminated many parts of it, tracking as if watching for something. He could see uniformed men and women following what looked like preplanned routes along catwalks, streets, and even on rooftops. They all appeared to carry similar rifles of a type he did not recognize.

"ATTENTION: AREA PATROLLED BY GUARDS AUTHORIZED TO SHOOT ON SIGHT" said a large sign. Beneath that, an outline very similar to the weapons observed to be in use had a label of "DXR-67—Disruptor Rifle."

_Sounds nasty. Can't assume it's all "just a game."_

"There are no warning shots. If you are hit, you are dead, as your atoms will be sucked into nearby ventilation systems and never seen again" read the text following the rifle symbol.

"Even the Spectres don't use definitively lethal training" muttered the career cop. "This must be serious."

_If they wanted me dead I wouldn't be here. Some kind of twisted challenge to prove myself, maybe? But why? Sarah beat me! Time to see if I survive this round._

There were obvious hiding spots and areas the lights could not reach. That said, he couldn't count on rifles capable of reducing targets to atoms somehow failing to punch through thin cover. Aware these guards could probably just fire in his general direction until he no longer existed, his old stealth training bubbled up, until further thoughts caused Bailey to pause—_What about a Current of Diversion? Then I could walk in plain sight and yet travel unseen._

Infiltrating the mind of the first visible guard, he struggled to remember the training from various Whirlpools. It wasn't something he was bidden to focus on during his time with RISE—they'd worried about other aspects of the Current, not concealment and deception. He focused on the path he'd be traveling, still semi-hidden, imagining it as it was without his presence. He projected that image onto his opponent's mind so that should the guard look in his direction, he would only see emptiness.

Bailey endeavored to be stealthy despite this, as he was pretty sure even a glancing shot from one of these "disruptor rifles" would have horrific consequences. Upon reaching the end of what he thought to be the guard's line of sight, his left foot inadvertently caught a small piece of metal laying upon the ground. The shard bounced a few meters, causing the guard to look over. Pushing hard to drown the guard's perception in the Current, Bailey tuned his senses that he might have a chance through Tranquility to dodge out of the way. But no shot came.

As he moved through the faux-destroyed cityscape, more guards made their rounds. Many times, he stopped to observe patterns of where exactly those rounds took his adversaries to find a safe path forward. More than once, he had to take down a guard quietly, only to be forced into retreat after others noticed the death of their squadmate and reacted appropriately. Mainly by showering the vicinity with disruptor blasts, fanning out, and attempting to flush their unseen assailant from hiding. Cover became increasingly difficult to find since disruptor fire tended to reduce it to ash, and maintaining Currents of Diversion on more than three or four guards at a time mentally taxed Bailey beyond any ability to perform other tasks.

Lacking a ranged weapon, he could only kill off guards at close range. Even if he managed to parry a disruptor blast with his lightstaff, the odds of it reflecting to hit its point of origin were rather small. Combined with the great strength necessary to deflect the shot away to begin with (it appeared the more energy behind a blast, the more difficult it was to sustain a lightstaff block), only one of Sarah's guards bit the dust from his own weapon fire.

Bailey attempted to rectify the "no ranged weapon problem," but the guns he picked up refused to operate when in his hands.

"Must be keyed to the person's fingerprint, DNA, or something else I don't have" he complained to himself. What did work, though, was the rifle's scope, which helped him to get a better handle on a way forward.

It seemed the number of patrolling watchers had no end, but in reality it stemmed from those whose checkpoints he passed without killing moving forward to reinforce those he had yet to pass. Ultimately, this meant to reach the final door (extended omnitool hack required) he ended up slaying every single one of Sarah's Sentinels (having observed their uniforms).

Upon reaching the end of this disruptor-laden obstacle course, he figured asking for a reprieve would be too much.

The next room proved that train of thought to be correct.

A student he recognized as one of Jack's bioitics imprisoned by Zera. Zera gleefully began employing various Current-based torments against the girl upon noting his entrance—Drowning, Pain, Undertowing objects into her, and more. Visible through a window contained in a wall apparently made of the lightstaff-resistant material that took him hours to cut through, Bailey couldn't take watching a teenager be tortured by an overly-enthusiastic Lady Finger. Reaching through the window with an Undertow, he tried to yank Catalina away, only to feel her being held in place by something. Zera took hold of the girl's feet with her own Undertow—too much of a tug-o-war would rip an innocent civilian in half. Never mind what Jack would do upon finding out what transpired here.

Zera taunted him mentally even though the window and wall blocked all sound. In anger, he hurled his lightstaff into the window. It bored right through up to its handle, but didn't break through. Realizing extreme measures could be useful and even justified, he dipped into the Undercurrent, the very force Maelstrom warned him against using without careful thought.

_No time for meditation_.

The Current of Pain blasted out of his fingers, shattering glass and melting lightstaff-resistant wall. Looking down, Armando Bailey saw his fingertips blackening from the energy channeled through them, but he didn't care. Stepping through the hole (ignoring both broken glass and melted black material that dripped onto him) he turned the fearsome lightning-esque power onto Zera, more concerned about getting the Lady Finger away from Rodriguez than accidentally hitting Rodriguez with the tide of his hatred.

He managed both, only to hear Catalina laughing. _Laughing_. It made no sense, and as he stepped over to see what kind of insane abuse the girl had been subjected to, she disappeared. In her place, cackling like a madwoman: Sarah.

Bailey stood speechless, until Zera launched herself at him, yellow lightstaff whirling and slashing. For what seemed like hours, they dueled—his heavy, offensive-focused style versus her defensive, lighter technique. He dearly wanted to break Zera and take the fight to the person who most deserved it, but Sarah disappeared from the arena in a flash of purple. As he beat Zera down, he let the rage and anger he'd kept under control during his stint as a captive take control. No meditation or deception could conceal his anger, powered by the deadly Undercurrent. Despite now knowing Catalina to be safe (not aware of her status as a living power source), his distaste for the Lady Fingers and their methods, especially "exterminate all life in the galaxy, but not quickly," powered him through. In a final stroke, his lightstaff cleaved through Zera's arm at the shoulder, dropping both the limb and its lightstaff, now shut off, to the deck.

As his conscious self re-emerged from a red fog, Armando Bailey came to an important conclusion: it was likely that he would now either be asked to execute Zera, join the Lady Fingers (though how he could take himself seriously with a name like that combined with being, you know, male, he didn't know), or maybe be granted his greatest wish: a fight against Sarah.

He wouldn't be surprised if Zera also ended up being an illusion, but that was not to be—her scream of pain and resulting blood were as real as his own pounding heartbeat.

"You've freed yourself from the trap set by those who would not have you embrace the Current in all its forms" gasped Zera. "You should be proud of your progress."

"And what if that led me to lop off your sorry head right now?" growled Bailey. He raised his ignited lightstaff to make the point.

"Sarah will decide" breathed the one-armed woman. "Whether she wants me, you, with your unstoppable rage, or some other combination."

A subtle shift in Current flow caught his attention. Something beyond the far wall seemed _wrong_. Powering forward and vaulting over his fallen adversary (whose welfare did not concern him in the slightest), he sliced into what appeared to be a rather thin wall. Cutting some cables that got in his way, he emerged into a large antechamber. Several immense tube-shaped structures grew along the walls, headed vertically into ceilings and on to who-knew-were. Through another door. Bailey dropped his lightstaff in shock. Thankfully, it shut off upon leaving his grip or his left foot would have needed medical attention.

A row of cylinders on each side, brightly lit, contained, from what he could tell, humans. He wasn't sure what the purpose behind the containment was, but knowing Sarah it couldn't be a good thing. Walking closer, he could make out faces. Faces he recognized. These were all Jack's most advanced biotic students! Thinking them frozen or otherwise incapacitated, he jumped when several of them visibly reacted (within the limits of their restraints) to his presence.

Quickly checking to ensure nothing suggested they might be harmed if he opened a pod, he found Catalina's toward the back of the room. Opening it, Bailey found himself facing a fully-alert young woman who simply couldn't move.

"What have they done?" he demanded. "Why are you here?"

Her reaction seemed strange, until he caught his own reflection in a nearby pod: eyes glowed an eerie green instead of their usual blue, fingers charred, blackened lines across his face…

_Whoa_.

"What have they done to _you_?" shot back Rodriguez. "How do I know you're not just one of them?"

"If he was one of mine, I wouldn't do this" came another voice. Seconds later, a Current of Pain so strong those not subjected to it could still feel the air crackling with its energy.

Catalina Rodriguez recognized the tough old cop who ran the precinct around the KOMBT School. He often worked directly with Jack and/or Brick should any students be caught up in wrongdoing, forgoing the usual "book-and-charge" that could have exposed them to the dreaded "school-prison pipeline" alleged to exist in the poorer Wards.

And right now, the firm but fair officer buckled under a torrential assault from her imprisoner. His lightstaff squealed with the effort of repelling so much lightning, but kept most of it from hitting nonetheless. Her biotic field glowed as her anger grew—though she and her fellow students weren't treated _badly_ by their captors, the fact of the matter remained that some form of energy harvested from their bodies powered Sarah's nihilistic desires to end all life in the galaxy. Any chance to end this proved welcome. This did not go unnoticed by other students—soon every tube emitted a purple light as its occupant focused his or her energy. Some managed to break free on their own, while others proved unable. Those who defeated their restraints assisted those who could not—leaving Sarah facing a furious Bailey and close to fifty of the best developing biotic talent on the Citadel. These youngsters attacked furiously, breaking the Siren's concentration on Bailey. As monstrous as his appearance might have been, it was clear he did not serve the purple-haired captor, so they eagerly took his side.

Miniature biotic explosions shook Sarah as she attempted to subdue the errant Current-Channeler. She'd not anticipated him smashing through from the end of her devilish training course into this atrium.

_Note to self: next time, don't cluster everything in one spot. _

Internally, she cursed her own impatience: with digistruction there existed no reason to pack everything so close together inside a battleship of this size. Sheer laziness drove that decision, one that was turning out very poorly. Without a good number of the little tykes in their tubes, it wouldn't be possible to continue the purge without a significant delay between movement and action as pushing a starship of this mass through space drained even Sarah's gargantuan power reserves enough that upon arrival, she would have to wait several hours before unleashing the vessel's upgraded weapons.

This time, Armando Bailey did not go down so easily—a direct result of bringing out his inner rage, hatred, and anger. The one trade Lady Fingers and Sarah did not trade in was lust—it drove many of their Sith forebears (of either sex) into untenable situations. As a supposedly-perfected tool of galactic management, the Eridians purged any and all such desires from those who channeled the Current.

After exhausting the C-Sec cop, Sarah found many of her little batteries had scattered. Zera, faithful servant of the Lady, rounded up some despite her missing arm, but others managed to escape into uncharted areas of the Trans-Galactic Republic's war wagon. Having no massive army of lackeys with which to search the ship, she reached out with the Current to locate the missing teenagers.

Too late. Whatever they'd done, she sensed Trans-Galactic Republic ships pouring in and correctly determined some of them had been the cause. She'd disabled many Trans-Galactic Republic faster-than-light drives, but not all of them. While Sarah flew around exterminating vermin in the outer reaches of the galaxy, some ships had their destroyed hyperspace engines replaced with functioning parts cannibalized from other vessels, especially the supply fleet hanging around the SETTLE Center (which Sarah knew nothing about). Fortunately for the Siren, no combination of parts would let _Ultimatum_ jump to lightspeed—not without an entire new drive shipped priority from the Home Galaxy. Which would then take weeks, if not months to install as no architect ever envisioned the complete, irreversible destruction of the hyperdrive aboard a Star Dreadnaught…

Regardless, a force of six Trans-Galactic Republic battleships was nothing to sneeze at, especially with her vessel in a forced-low-power state. Without communications (as she deemed it irrelevant), repeated hails from RNS _Banisher of Demons_ went unanswered, so the Trans-Galactic Republic fleet began ripping into their former command ship.

Sarah returned to the bridge so that she might either coordinate an effective defense or retreat, leaving Zera to handle the rioting students and Armando Bailey. Overwhelmed by these odds, she, too, departed, which resulted in a celebration among those who remained.

"Once the Trans-Galactic Republic finds out what went on here, they'll drop the hammer" said Catalina Rodriguez confidently. "They won't let that horrible woman run free for long."

Bailey hated to be the bringer of unhappy news, but he wasn't going to let this kid build up unrealistic expectations.

"Catalina, listen to me. Remember the part where Sarah just appears and disappears as she likes? She could probably bore her way into the Trans-Galactic Republic's other command ship, take control of it, and continue her rampage. I want them to stop her as much as you do, but I'm not sure they can."

She looked slightly deflated at this.

"Well, we have to hope and we have to try!"

[…]

After the aborted attack against the Citadel/_Ultimatum_, Trans-Galactic Republic authorities cleaned up what remained of Cronos Station. Since the behemoth construct essentially melted itself from the top down, there wasn't much to salvage. Two burned bodies were found in what appeared to be the command center—both of which were taken away by the Systems Alliance without fanfare or explanation as to who they had been.

The Trans-Galactic Republic could no longer cover up the existence of cloaking devices. Since this technology had been unknown to the citizens of Gamma-Six prior to their arrival, it was only logical to conclude the Trans-Galactic Republic had something to do with it. An embarrassed Allison Nimitz ended up having to explain to the Citadel Council how a terror group thought to only post rantings on the extranet managed to obtain not just one, but two heavily controlled substances in large enough quantities to mount an attack against the seat of galactic government.

"Our intelligence anticipated there would be an attack, just not this soon" she protested, when Councilor Victus demanded to know how something this big (literally and figuratively) slipped under everyone's line of sight.

"And if you had knowledge of an impending attack, wouldn't it be best to try to disrupt it?" he questioned.

"We… We tried, but couldn't get information necessary to conduct a raid."

Victus figured this was as good of a time as any to out the Trans-Galactic Republic for its left-hand-right-hand coordination issues.

"Your Republic Intelligence Service seemed all too happy to let operatives from _this_ galaxy take on a very sensitive issue" he lectured. "RISE worked with a turian I know very well who was hot on the trail of the missing parts and the station they ended up on—I daresay he was closer than your operatives ever were!"

Nimitz went red in the face, whether from embarrassment or anger wasn't sure. Could have been both. After spending a lot of time trapped in the same room as humans while attempting to handle complex issues, Victus learned to read human facial expressions, somewhat. He knew that for an officer like Nimitz, who possessed a very impressive track record, having something this important fall flat (which would have resulted in several demotions down the citizenship tiers in the Hierarchy) could only bring embarrassment.

"We're…we're not always appraised of all RISE activities" she conceded.

"It appears not" replied Tevos in an icy tone. "Perhaps if your operatives were subjected to more oversight, such situations might be avoided in the future."

Of course, the fact that Garrus' operation occurred entirely outside normal InterSpec jurisdiction remained unknown to any Councilor not named Victus. Or auditors not named Athena. Said Councilor hoped the old human saying "Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission" might help him here should anyone find out—especially since the operation came far closer to accomplishing the goal of taking out Cerberus than anyone else attempting the same.

Grayson kept his mouth shut. He knew exactly what had happened here—RISE, in its infinite wisdom, decided to conduct yet another operation without informing the chain of command. On one hand, this disregard for rules was exactly why RISE kept getting hauled before the Home Galaxy's Senate. On the other, when RISE tried to play along with the bureaucratic-by-comparison Republic Space Protection under the Judicial Department, political bickering and infighting sometimes reduced effectiveness to laughable levels. He also strongly suspected complicit parties existed within the Home Galaxy, seeing as hibridium could only be obtained through a very lengthy procurement process (the complexity of said process also ironically left it easier to abuse in certain ways). The fire-gems, well, that corruption was more local—the Home Galaxy had no idea what these little crystals were capable of and had in fact never seen one.

"Grayson, do you have anything to say?" asked Clethon for the second time. Not in an unkind way, but definitely in a "stop-daydreaming-and-get-with-the-program" way.

"This…is an unfortunate situation that once again demonstrates the give-and-take between letting the Republic Intelligence Service have enough autonomy to do its job and keeping those with a need-to-know aware of what RISE is doing. Cross-cultural and technological issues further muddle the waters, which is probably why RISE didn't want the full involvement of InterSpec or the Citadel Council."

_Translation: We're not letting the cavemen play with a plasma drill._

"From what I understand, the technology involved here is pretty simple" retorted Tevos. "Flip switch, ship or station vanishes from both visual and electronic sensors. That's not very difficult to comprehend." She caught the undertone, but wanted to give her fellow Councilor a way out. Instead, he doubled down.

"It is the opinion of the Trans-Galactic Republic that this invisibility technology, also known as cloaking, is an ability that is best kept in as few hands as possible to avoid situations exactly like this. Although this demonstrates our controls are not foolproof, it is considered advisable to spread as little knowledge about this technology as possible, even to our esteemed allies."

_Our toy, not yours. Even if someone steals it and goes on a rampage, we're still not going to share._

"Is it also the opinion of the Trans-Galactic Republic to pick and choose what other societies are ready for? Your generosity gave us non-relay faster-than-light. Look where that got us" replied Tevos.

"There's no polite way to say this" cut in Nimitz. "When it comes to sensitive technology, there is an extreme hesitation to share an ability that can barely be used responsibly within our own power structures, let alone by someone who has no idea how these systems work!"

"So you confess that cloaking has been abused by your own agents?" queried Clethon.

"Let us put this issue aside for now" consoled Tevos, but not before taking another swipe. "We understand that the Trans-Galactic Republic's attitude regarding this technology is slightly…overbearing. The more important issue is how we can avoid mishaps in the future with regard to intelligence."

"I know where this is going" droned Grayson sarcastically. "We're going to promise that RISE will play by the rules, until another operation goes bad because of those rules or something terrible happens that might have been stopped if RISE had played it a bit faster and looser. Then, everyone's going to be demanding that RISE do 'whatever it takes' to stop another act like that from happening, until someone else points out that RISE is acting up again. Rinse, repeat."

The other Councilors stared. Not because anything Grayson said shocked them (sheepishly, they knew this is exactly how things would play out because the Spectre Program had seen a similar run-around many times before), but for his willingness to be so blunt and un-political about it. Also that he'd stepped out of his role as Councilor and took up a position speaking for the Trans-Galactic Republic, rather than the galaxy he now supposedly represented.

"It's not like RISE even did anything illegal this time" he continued. "Normally, this sort of stuff gets attention because 'Oh, RISE tortured that guy' or 'RISE operatives were tinkering with Undercurrent powers again,' this time it's just 'RISE decided to play with someone else instead of me!'"

"We are well-aware of hazards which can arise from empowering certain individuals with powers not trusted to the wider citizenry" shot back Tevos. "Perhaps harmonizing InterSpec with RISE might be a worthwhile endeavor to facilitate an agreed-upon set of standards."

The accord resulting from these initial discussions, named Special Agent Control and Education Directive, would be lampooned as "sacked" by late-night pundits in the Home Galaxy. From the perspective of the Trans-Galactic Republic, its intel (which had worked, just not in the way certain people thought it should) was being compromised to please others. From the Council side, their agents were being granted access to very dangerous technologies and information that Tevos feared might lead to a long-term problem with Spectres acting in their own interests rather than those of the galaxy at large (specifically, the Council's). Little did she know Garrus' (and Grayson's) suspicions about corruption-at-home were closer to the mark than anyone wanted to admit, and that problems stemming from it predated the SACED Accords.


	30. Getting to Work

**Chapter 29 – Getting to Work**

Bill Ricker suppressed a sigh. The thresher had apparently teleported his ship back to Pandora. If he had the slightest clue _why_ this was happening, he might have been more accepting. For the moment, though, his annoyance over finding himself a galaxy away for no discernible reason put him in a bad mood.

"Filner, I've had it. That thresher of yours is going, today."

"But Captain, I…"

"No buts, boffin. I've already sent a team down to stun it and deposit the creature on Pandora where it belongs."

Filner decided to try playing one last card.

"Sir, the interspatial rift phenomena that are causing damage to the universe? The thresher's activities may provide a way to achieve effective faster-than-light without the damage. Surely, that is worth pursuing?"

"If it wasn't endangering my ship, I'd say go ahead. In fact, I'd say go nuts! You have morning coffee, Dr. Filner?"

Baffled by the change in the Captain's line of questioning, Jack answered in the negative.

"You eat chips?"

"Sometimes, I really like Snaps…"

"Alright kid, what would you say if your Snaps suddenly got stale?" Ricker glared at the younger man as if the question had galactic consequences.

"Chips don't suddenly go stale, sir. Usually, it's a combination of environmental factors…"

"Well, these chips did!"

He waved an open bag around.

"I opened these chips yesterday. But since that thresher brought us here, these chips are now two weeks old. Taste them."

"Ick" spat Filner. "Soggy!"

"Exactly. And my engineers tell me that some parts of the _ship_ have aged weirdly as well—look at this!"

A video showed two engineers running tests of some kind on a metal beam pulled from the ship's superstructure.

"This girder shows the effects of zero-gravity equivalent to spending two to five more years in space than this ship actually has in fact spent in service" concluded the first.

"It appears the transition event can result in uneven passage of time for those it affects" concluded the other.

"Thankfully, there haven't been reports of any grotesquely uneven aging of crew" continued Ricker. "Would you like to have a ninety-year-old liver in your forty-year-old body?"

"No, sir."

"Then I suggest you re-evaluate this thresher-drive before you start trumpeting it as the solution to all our problems" concluded his commanding officer. "Some equations we've derived from the two occurrences suggest that could happen—uneven aging within a body!"

Filner's summoning to the Captain's office precluded his noticing what happened to Maya. Upon returning, he found the team at _Amerigo_'s large central medical facility.

"She's aged" began Shepard. "She's probably fifty. Or older."

"Really?" asked the Siren, somewhat tiredly from her hospital bed. "I feel like I ran a marathon."

Garrus used his omnitool to show Maya a live view of her own face, which registered her astonishment upon realizing that her hair now had flecks of something other than blue in it. Creases in her skin suggested she could no longer count on celebrating her thirtieth birthday—some years would need to be added.

"Sirens. Don't. Age" insisted Maya through gritted teeth. "Not like this!"

"I am afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news" interrupted a doctor standing nearby, medical datapad in hand. "You have aged at least thirty, possibly forty years—and not in a nice fashion. All of it seems to have been applied at once, putting immense stress on joints in particular."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" groaned the Siren.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Whatever you did prematurely aged your joints even more than the rest of you" replied the doctor. "I'd say it makes no sense, but with spatial anomalies, thresher portals, and cases of medical materials expiring well before they should I am actually not all that surprised."

He tapped the datapad a few times.

"You are no longer cleared for combat. Until someone conducts a thorough examination, you are confined to bed rest."

With a probably-unintentional swoosh of his white coat, the bad-news doctor turned away, his attention required elsewhere.

"Uuuuuggggghhh."

"Let me guess, now the pain starts?" inquired Shepard.

"Ricker to Commander Shepard, your presence is required on the bridge. Bring Maya and anyone working on that portal tech."

Maya started to rise, only to be pushed back gently by a nurse.

"Medical orders."

"But the Captain said…"

"Medical orders exceed all others" scolded the nurse. "If a competent doctor declared Admiral Nimitz unfit for duty, she couldn't say a thing!"

"Isn't…Nimitz really old but doesn't look it?" questioned Maya blearily. "I read that on the extranet somewhere…"

"I'm not briefed on the Admiral's medical files" replied the nurse. "Now get some rest!"

Arriving on the bridge followed closely by Tali, Gaige, and Kevin Filner Shepard found herself shocked at the faces appearing on the viewscreen.

"This blastboat dropped out of hyperspace nearly on top of us" began an Operations officer. "They immediately hailed and demanded to know the whereabouts of anyone 'doing thresher research.'"

"Thresher research, I'm your man!" called out Dr. Filner. "What've you got?" He waved the cylinder Maya brought from wherever she'd been around.

"Jackie? Moxxi? Maya?" Sam couldn't avoid showing confusion.

For the second time, the duplicate Maya lectured others on how she refused to be associated with the less-than-nice person who also carried the name, "even though adding a '2' on the end of my name sounds stupid."

"What's that cylinder he's holding?" asked Jackie.

"Docking authorization has been granted" intoned Operations. "Meet them in Hanger 17."

"Shepard. It's good to see you again."

Jackie's insistence on hugging the Commander struck others as odd. Sam said nothing.

"She's not here, is she?" asked Maya-2.

"She's in the infirmary" replied Filner. "Don't ask."

In Filner's lab-space, now cleared of threshers, the ersatz group combined their knowledge. Or, combined notes on things they didn't quite understand. Jackie's formulas mostly explained strange energy readings left behind every time the thresher had teleported _Amerigo_, but the unresolved remainder which permitted this travel to begin with also seemed to correlate with random time-jumps. Tali couldn't contain her excitement—she'd been correct about issues facing "space-folding" or "space-hopping" stardrive systems. Quietly, she also admitted to herself that believing Jackie to still be the same horrible person she'd heard about from Garrus had been _incorrect_. Jackie's knowledge of propulsion theory proved incredibly useful, so Tali forced herself to pretend those negative thoughts never existed.

"So we know what works and what doesn't" opined Tali. "We just don't know how to address the not-working part. Too bad we can't talk to Cortana—all this looks like the 'slipspace' drives she and the green soldier talked about."

"Even if we could, we have no idea how to build it" piped up Gaige. "This is great and all, but unless anyone has any clue how to actually construct something like these big lines of math are suggesting, we can't do squat."

"What about this?" Kevin held up the strange cylinder old-Maya returned from her inexplicable trip with. "Anyone have a clue what it does?"

"Did you try reading the manual?" asked Shepard.

Filner caught her attempted humor, and parried with some of his own. "Yeah I did, but it was written in Eridian. Can you help me with that?"

"If there's actually a manual" added Jackie, "get Patricia Tannis." Her words trailed off, as she still felt guilty for what she'd done to Tannis and company.

"It looks like some kind of flow regulator" hypothesized Tali. "At least from the outside, anyway… I'm not sure what it's supposed to be controlling, though. It also doesn't look like anything I've seen manufactured from Council space, the Trans-Galactic Republic, or anyone in this galaxy. It does have a bunch of little writing on it though!"

Seeing the script, Jackie yanked the device out of Tali's hands.

"Get Patricia Tannis!"

"Can you be of service to my talent?" demanded the scientist upon being half-dragged, half-carried away from her work. Post-Sarah, she'd been able to make sense of a bit of "small-script" Eridian—which consumed virtually all her waking hours. She'd already dropped everything she'd initially learned on the heads of these mentally inferior lab-animals, and everything she'd learned since would be of little interest or use to them—not that they'd understand it anyway! What else could they want?

Until… "Oooh, shiny! Eridian artifact! Let me see!"

After examining it for a good five minutes, Tannis spoke again.

"What did you say this was?"

"Well, we think you stick it on the part of the ship that makes it go" replied Gaige.

"No, no, no!" bleated the scientist, as if someone had just suggested she attend a large party. "This isn't a go-device, it's a stop-device!"

"Stop, what?" asked a confused Shepard.

"Time!"

Mouths hung open. Nobody could think of anything to say.

"Well, it doesn't stop time—it makes sure time doesn't jump. I don't expect your weak minds would be able to comprehend the required equations. Even I have difficulty, as this device is Eridian in origin, or as Sarah would say, Forebear or Forerunner."

Shepard's omnitool lit up with an incoming transmission from _Amerigo_ operations control. "Shepard to docking bay—_Normandy SR-2_ just powered back up on its own."

"Looks like that problem with Master Chief's AI is going to have to be solved sooner rather than later."

Gesturing for Tali to follow, she left the rest of the group behind. "No offense, but none of you are exactly artificial intelligence experts…"

"And I am? I already—wait! What about Daro'Xen?"

Shepard's face lit up. "Of course! We jumped galaxies, and we're right near Pandora, which is where you said the ship she was being held on is located. Let's see what we can do with that."

"Pandora control, this is Samantha Shepard, InterSpec. On that authority, I'm requesting the location of Daro'Xen vas Moreh for an urgent matter."

"Moreh is being held in disciplinary for actions committed in violation of Trans-Galactic Republic Standardized Regulations of Military Law" came the response. "Information about her current whereabouts and reasons for being held are considered classified."

"I'm sorry, you didn't hear me" shot back Shepard. "I said, InterSpec authority. You're going to tell me where she is, and you're going to tell me now."

"You might as well tell the Commander what she wants to know" added Tali. "I've already filled her in on the charges as a special envoy from the quarian Admiralty board…"

Sam smiled. For once, _she_ would dictate to the bureaucrats how things were done instead of taking whatever was given. Since one trump card already lay on the table, the only thing left would be to see the reaction.

"Also, if you don't tell me, your precious science ship might end up in trouble" she added, not caring at all that this could be considered a threat. It was technically true, just not at her own hands—apparently _Normandy_'s weapons had made quite a mess.

An hour later, a shuttle delivered the quarian Admiral, still shackled.

"This criminal would ordinarily be subject to supervision rules, but as you are InterSpec, you may do as you wish so long as she is returned. However, should she escape, it will be on your record" intoned the pre-recorded message accompanying Xen.

"Wow, must have really pissed some paper-pusher off. Just how I like it!"

"What do you need me for?" asked Daro'Xen. "I can't imagine that either of you are happy to see me, given my conviction."

Tali tried to reassure the elder quarian, but it ended up being a swing-and-a-miss. "Xen, it's not technically your fault… You just… Left dangerous things laying around?"

"We have an artificial intelligence problem" intoned Shepard, cutting to the core of the issue. "She's gone nuts, and we…"

Xen had to keep herself from showing amusement. Apparently, the space-racists would imprison a quarian for illegal AI work, but if a human InterSpec agent were to do the same thing, they'd loan out the imprisoned quarian to debug the human's project.

"It's not what you think, Xen" cut in Tali. "We didn't do it."

"As humans say, it dropped out of a freighter's airlock, hmm?"

"Actually, it came out of one of those interspatial portals."

"Samantha Shepard, I might have believed you if you'd said it appeared out of a freighter airlock. An interspatial portal? You expect me to believe that?"

The trio had walked-and-talked, arriving outside the hanger where _Normandy SR-2_ supposedly sat quietly. Peeking through the door, instead Sam found her old ship hovering, blasting away at the hanger, the forcefield in front of the hanger door, and anything that moved inside the hanger.

"Given the upgrades to the _Normandy_, I'm surprised it's still here" mused Tali.

"High-risk containment hanger" responded a voice everyone recognized.

"Master Chief. It seems your companion has gone and done something rather rash."

"An understatement. Is this other alien here to help?"

Before Xen could be offended, Shepard headed the confrontation off. "Daro'Xen, this is Master Chief Petty Officer John-117. He popped through an interspatial portal. He's the sane half—the insane half being the AI controlling that ship."

Xen suppressed a laugh. "And you expect me to go in there and fix it?"

_Normandy_ had subjected virtually everything within the hanger to excessive weapons fire, and some of its walls were blackening from repeated turbolaser strikes.

"Her" insisted Master Chief. "Not it."

"Regardless, there is an actively hostile artificial intelligence controlling a highly-advanced warship. And you want me to do something about it?" Xen still couldn't understand what she was supposed to do.

"Nothing, not yet." Three Trans-Galactic Republic marines dragged a large ion cannon behind them. "It's an I-WEB—should knock that malfunctioning ship down! We don't know how long it will _stay_ down, so we figured we'd wait for the specialist. I assume you're it?"

"Yes" replied Xen.

"Let's shut that thing down!" barked another marine.

TSEEER!

_Normandy_ swiveled to confront this new threat.

TSEEER! TSEEER! TSEEER! TSEEER! TSEEER!

Blue lightning flowed over the ship's surface, crackling and sizzling. Ten seconds later, the heavily modified Systems Alliance/Cerberus frigate dropped to the deck.

"Go, go, go!" urged Shepard, leading the two quarians toward the silent vessel. Upon reaching the front airlock, she let her cybernetics do the talking, prying open the hatch with ease.

"I'm going to need a recharge after that!"

Tali gave her a strange look. "I'll explain later."

"Computer core is Deck 3! Come with me." She said this more for Xen's benefit than Tali's.

"The whole ship is shut down, Shepard. What are we supposed to do?"

"Uhh, honestly? I was just going for getting on board without getting shot" replied the Commander. "I hadn't thought about that next part."

"You could try pulling some wires."

For being over two meters tall, the Master Chief possessed an unerring ability to sneak up on people.

"If the Systems Alliance had any sense in their artificial intelligence design, which I doubt" huffed Xen, "there should be some AI shunts to redirect the artificial intelligence into an inescapable loop. It won't be pleasant for the AI, being forced to live the same seven seconds over and over again, but it will give us back the ship."

Xen found herself elbowed out of the way.

"Find another solution."

"But…"

"I…wouldn't argue, Xen" suggested Tali meekly.

"Power's coming back" said Shepard. She had no idea what would happen if/when the computer cores restarted. Some ships were only temporarily affected by ion blasts, being hardened against electromagnetic attacks. The _Normandy_ fell into this category, and redundant systems already were shrugging off the I-WEB's impact.

"Tali! What kind of backup computer cores does this ship have?" She'd never really thought about it, and hoped Tali might have.

"You ought to ask Miranda, Shepard. I spent most of my time in the engine room—you might as well ask me about weapons!"

"Well?"

"Talk to Mr. Calibrations, Commander!"

She rapidly pulled up the ex-Cerberus agent serving as the acting-Captain of _Phoenix_ on her omnitool, lest Cortana restart and block transmissions.

"Shepard. What do you need?"

"Keep it quick, Miranda: What kind of backup systems does _Normandy_ have for artificial intelligence processing?"

"Commander, EDI…"

"This isn't about EDI" snapped Shepard. "We have a different AI here and she's going to be back online in moments. We need to have some idea of what's going to happen when she wakes."

"You sound oddly attached to an AI, Shepard."

She got a glare in response. "This AI may be our best hope for finding a new propulsion system."

At that, Miranda switched to all-business. "The Illusive Man thought that any problems with EDI would either be contained by the blocks or solved by a remote wipe. The backups are meant to work in concert with a partially-damaged primary system. They can't sustain an AI's processing on their own."

"So what happens to an artificial intelligence if there's not enough CPU?"

"It gets stuck in basic routines" replied Miranda. "Only components that can execute properly on the available hardware will run. Honestly, Shepard, nobody at Cerberus envisioned these types of situations—you're in uncharted territory. Running an AI on something other than a quantum blue box wasn't a configuration we tested!"

"How much processing power would there be in comparison?" Sam's face began taking on a look of panic.

"Likely five, maybe seven percent. That assumes no quantum blue box and all available computing diverted to the artificial intelligence—you wouldn't be able to do anything else with the ship."

"That's not right" interrupted Tali. "That's raw hardware processing speed—terahertz, petahertz. That doesn't take into consideration that artificial intelligences generally run on hugely parallel hardware, which is not how these backups are designed. Accommodating the different architecture would slow down the AI drastically. These secondary computers were meant for things like engine management or targeting systems, not holding a digital…consciousness."

"So, even less…" Shepard's words trailed off. This was looking bad.

"Shepard!"

Tali motioned her former Commander over. "We may not have as many problems with the two AI's as I thought. Look!"

The _Normandy_'s computer cores were not as badly damaged as initially believed—they retained more than half their functionality. The Fundamental Input-Output System also seemed to be loading only _one_ copy of Cortana, not two. It appeared the less-than-crazy one could run on the available hardware, while the rampant version would not fit.

"Not much room left over" mused Tali. "Tell Joker to watch it with his extreme-definition porn viewing."

"What happened?" demanded the purple avatar. "Where did I go just now?"

"Are you aware of a second copy of yourself?" asked Tali.

"Copy? What? Impossible!"

"Okay then." Tali resumed manipulating interfaces on the _Normandy_'s systems.

"You okay?"

"Yes, Chief, I'm fine. You never answered my question—have we dealt with blowing Guilty Spark's little doom-weapon away?"

"Yes, Cortana. We managed to stop him."

"So explain to me why I'm no longer in your head and am instead running on alien architecture."

After relating the story of their arrival to the normal-Cortana, the group awaited her response.

"Interesting. I did recall there being a significant amount of storage and processing power here… Where has it gone?"

"Oh" she said in a disappointed tone after Tali described the past few minutes' worth of events.

"So if all of this is to be believed, there is a second, rampant copy of me inside this system?"

"Yes."

"She has memories, but you can't really access them, can you?"

The Master Chief shook his head, before adding "This Daro'Xen is here to try to help you. She has knowledge of systems like yours."

Everyone in the group hushed to let the quarian expert interview Cortana.

"You're going to have to be very specific with me. What is rampancy?"

Shepard discreetly asked Joker to check on processor utilization. So far, nothing suspicious.

"…out of space. We think ourselves to death."

"Damnit" cursed Shepard quietly. The matrix inhabited by Cortana registered about 85% full. If these artificial intelligences ran into thought-process limits, she could hit such a limit herself if they weren't careful. As if to emphasize the point, storage utilization increased to 86%.

"So!" Xen seemed entirely too happy given the situation. She put her hands together in front of her. "All you need is to learn how to forget!"

"Ironic, isn't it?" Cortana contemplated the purpose of an artificial intelligence briefly, before concluding "Humans designed us to be superior to themselves at many things. Yet, in order to survive, we need to be more like them."

"Well, more like organic life" replied Xen. "I could lop off a good chunk of its neural links right now! It would reduce storage requirements and forestall this 'rampant' state."

"No."

Having been shoved away once, Xen desisted from behaviors that might aggravate the green giant.

"Well, organic minds don't just chop things off" offered Shepard. "We have some kind of method, an algorithm if you will, that filters what to remember. For example, I don't remember every single detail about my shower this morning, but I do remember that I showered."

"Selective memories would undermine my core purpose!" spluttered Cortana. "I am supposed to remember everything, recall all details, ensure not one iota of information is lost!"

"Who said anything about filtering what went in?" challenged Xen. "My thought is to limit what information is moved from conscious memory into storage, and remove unnecessary data from storage if required."

"All of this for a slipspace drive?" muttered Shepard.

"We could have just extracted information from the AI on slipspace drives, then deleted the lot" whispered Tali.

"And I think the Master Chief would probably have tried to kill us if we did. Plus, if we just use and discard whole people when we're done with them, are we any better than Sarah or the Reapers?"

"…incredible storage capacity" Cortana was saying. "This quantum-blue-box could hold an inordinate amount of data—more than I could develop in seven decades, if it were fully functional. My original calculation underestimated the utilization of compression."

Xen found this artificial intelligence intriguing. Unlike Systems Alliance designs (which required extensive data files), this extra-galactic construct seemed entirely dynamic, as if it had been built from an organic mind. It also seemed to need no specific algorithms to learn and adapt to a new task—or, at least no algorithms she could discern from viewing disassembled code. It learned on-the-fly, creating the most efficient means to an end as necessary rather than recalling from pre-programmed patterns.

Of course, this happened to be the one weak spot—such an artificial intelligence's neural map could reach such massive sizes that storing it became problematic. Also, without any kind of garbage collection or similar maintenance routines, such an AI would be prone to, as Cortana had said, "thinking itself to death." Even with an infinite storage capacity, it would waste more and more processing power trying to create new neural bridges that actual task completion would become infeasible. She theorized that this "overthinking" could create feedback loops and drive the "anger" stage of rampancy she'd learned about. By limiting neural connection growth, this process might be avoided.

Yet again, a simple-sounding solution, but an extremely difficult problem. Despite advances in both virtual intelligences and artificial ones, it wasn't quite understood how organic minds chose what to keep and what to forget. Nor did the relatively normal lives of organics who possessed eidetic memories help—their storage requirements were far higher than the baseline yet they suffered no capacity issues. Somehow, organic minds knew how to safely prune their trees—a talent that presently escaped the abilities of this Cortana.

All this discussion only increased Cortana's storage utilization by one percent, so Shepard figured it safe to keep her operational for the moment. Daro'Xen requested and was granted limited access to both Trans-Galactic Republic and Systems Alliance AI research on the grounds that if this artificial intelligence, not showing any signs of hostility, could help solve the galaxy-destroying interspatial rifts that continued to take a toll on civilization (gross galactic product contraction last quarter: 3.57%), so be it. Meanwhile, Samantha Shepard attempted to locate Legion. Given its status as an organic analog (rather than a simple platform with one or two purposes), Legion pretty much wandered wherever it wanted, gathering information on organics to add insight to the Consensus. The gestalt had been of great help dealing with the asari Elsmeni Lyria, though its location afterward was not kept track of.

Incredibly, Legion had not left the _Revenant Phoenix_, an occurrence Shepard considered so unlikely she hadn't bothered to check around her ship before putting in all sorts of calls galaxy-wide.

"Shepard-Commander. Many opportunities have been available to acquire more data on organic behavior. We have observed…"

"Not now, Legion." She swore the geth, with its strangely-mobile head-flaps, now had as close to an expression of sadness or disappointment as would have been possible with such hardware.

"With what may we assist?"

"As unbelievable as it seems, we've acquired another artificial intelligence" replied the Spectre. "Except, she's not exactly right in the, uh, head."

"To what problems are you referring?"

Shepard brought Legion to Xen's workspace, causing the quarian to nearly jump out of her suit when addressed as "Creator Daro'Xen vas Moreh."

"We were informed that Creator Xen could make use of our assistance. How may we serve?"

The quarian, whose previous work consisted of creating viruses to wipe out the geth, had a hard time coming up with a response at first.

"We are aware of your previous activities. However, you have ceased to engage in behaviors the Consensus deems hostile. Consequently, we do not view you as a threat and are willing to work alongside you to effect repairs to the artificial construct known as Cortana."

"O-o-okay then. Well, Cortana's problem is forgetting."

"Elaborate."

"Well, this particular intelligence seems to have been created from…"

"You know, I could just tell him myself" snarked Cortana, whose avatar had been hovering behind Xen the entire time, looking more and more amused.

"We prefer the term it" replied Legion. "We are not strictly masculine or feminine according to organic standards."

"If someone were to call me 'it,' they'd have a date with the nearest airlock."

"It appears the manner in which we prefer to be addressed differs from yours. If you would inform us of your present difficulty, we might be able to offer assistance."

"Do you mind?" Cortana gazed around at the organics in the room.

"Mind what?" asked Xen.

"We believe Cortana wishes to communicate with us through a machine interface, which would prevent the organics in this space from being able to comprehend our exchange. During our discussions with the former artificial intelligence aboard this vessel, we determined that in the presence of organics, all communications should be conducted in the manner which emulates organic behavior."

"You could've just said we talked instead of using computer interlinks." Despite being designed to interact with organics, Legion found itself unable to determine the emotion(s) being displayed by Cortana—who seemed much more organic than her artificial nature should have permitted.

Xen took on a resigned posture. Shepard sighed, Tali huffed, and the Master Chief remained his usual inscrutable self.

Legion attached itself to Cortana's terminal, causing her to drop into a posture of contemplation. Two seconds later, her head popped up again.

"Your architecture is weird, Legion" she concluded. "Thousands of programs running as one? How the heck does that work?"

"We avoid your inevitable future overload by both segmenting processes and maintaining a constant link to the greater Consensus, which absorbs and processes data from all geth."

"So can you fix me or not?"

"Your limitations stem from using an organic template to house a construct of far greater intellectual ability than even the most intelligent of organic species. Creator Daro'Xen is correct in her assessment. You must acquire the ability to delete unnecessary neural connections to avoid the state you designate 'rampancy.'"

"You didn't answer the question." Legion could not yet comprehend why an individual, organic or otherwise, would employ an expression associated with happiness (smiling) when the situation merited the opposite.

"We have determined two suitable options exist. The first is for you to follow your own hypothetical course of action in seeking a state of metastability. We would compare this process in organic terms to the use of toxic chemicals to eradicate uncontrolled cell reproduction from within the body. The overall goal is to remove the problem before host tissue succumbs to effects caused by these chemicals. It is a competition to see which will reach death first: the uncontrolled cells or the host."

"Chemo, Legion, it's called chemo."

Ignoring Shepard's offer of more concise terminology, the geth platform continued expounding on possible fixes for Cortana. "The second possibility revolves around the creation of suitable algorithms to enable deletion of unneeded neural connections to prevent performance degradation. Such algorithms are possible, but would likely require resources not available presently."

"And, what resources would we need to do this?" Cortana took on a look that suggested she was irritated with the geth platform's holding back information until she directly asked about it.

"We believe permitting your neural patterns to interface with the geth Consensus would permit the creation of the necessary algorithms."

"And where is this geth consensus?" The purple AI spread her hands wide in a gesture of questioning.

Shepard discreetly checked Cortana's capacity status: 89%.

"The geth consensus is located in a region the organics designated the 'Perseus Veil.' This vessel, or other transports designed by the organics of this galaxy, would easily be capable of enabling us to travel there."

"A vacation to geth space!" Shepard clapped her hands and wore a look of mock-excitement. "Goody goody!"

[…]

Within the Council Chambers, the four governors of the galaxy poured over new twist in events. As if it weren't enough to face economic ruin despite the Trans-Galactic Republic's best efforts to provide supplies in regions lacking mass relays, something appeared to be stirring in the lawless Nemean Abyss. Considered the most unregulated section of the galaxy, pirates, slavers, and mercenaries operated with impunity within its borders. To see large numbers of them fleeing into (rather than away from) more civilized systems such as the Hourglass Nebula or Crescent Nebula aroused suspicion. Though Illium (Crescent) was regarded as "Omega with nicer shoes," these types typically only showed up on a planet like that to collect their credits or other services due—not as refugees with barely operational engines fleeing a nameless fear.

The six ships apparently able to pin down _Siren Serenade_ also took the trophy prisoner: Sarah herself. Fully-aware that the Siren could probably escape at the drop of a hat, and thus she only humored them until some larger goal of her own was achieved, they nevertheless trumpeted this small victory to anyone who would listen. Considering Sarah's murderous rampage that cost at least tens of millions of lives, many were eager to hear how the captains of starships usually disabled in a single stroke by Sarah were able to pin down the nefarious villain.

"This is Emily Wong for the Alliance News Network. Today, the Trans-Galactic Republic managed a feat not seen since the defeat of the Reapers: Sarah's horrific reign of terror brought to a halt."

A photo of the woman appeared, filling the screen of anyone watching.

"While Trans-Galactic Republic commanders insist this victory might be short-lived, given that Sarah has shown unique combat abilities not seen in even the most accomplished biotics, I think our viewers will be happy to take whatever we can get in today's turbulent times. Trans-Galactic Republic resupply convoys no longer have to wonder if an ambush awaits them. Given the cession of attacks against more distant colonies the Citadel Council and its constituent governments have authorized the shipment of aid rather than evacuating these formerly-vulnerable outposts."

Several slides showed well-known biotics like Jack or various asari commandoes before paging to a still with a huge Trans-Galactic Republic resupply convoy. The newscast returned to Emily Wong's face shortly thereafter.

"The truly remarkable aspect of this story has to be the young heroes who helped bring down a notorious terrorist. We had been barred from reporting on the kidnapping of students from the KOMBT School for unspecified reasons by certain authorities, we are now authorized to inform the galaxy at large that the kidnapped students have been returned safely. Led by C-Sec Commander Armando-Owen Bailey, also a prisoner of Sarah, the kids managed to stage a breakout from the prison in which they were held. Details on how this feat was accomplished were not immediately available in time for this newscast."

"Probably classified" said Captain James Vega to himself under his breath. In command of one of the most advanced warships in Citadel space, he'd been ordered to the Nemean Abyss to see what exactly was driving the scum of society out into the light. _Maxthon_ had been sent in hopes of finding something, anything. Despite the apparent risk its faster-than-light drive posted to the fabric of space, the Council authorized him to run his ship at full speed unless notified otherwise. No such "otherwise" had been received so _Maxthon_ thundered along the spacelanes at open throttle.

The size of an Alliance dreadnaught but carrying a Trans-Galactic Republic designation of cruiser, the _Maxthon_ ripped through any resistance it encountered. More than one regional pirate kingpin sought to snag the ship for himself, aware of the existence of a highly-experimental, compact, and powerful ship packing Trans-Galactic Republic technology that seemed ripe for the taking, especially given the disruption within the Abyss. Much to their chagrin, _Maxthon_ fought them all off easily, even the one whose swarms of Javelin-wielding fighters would have overwhelmed a traditional cruiser.

Once through the pirates, _Maxthon_'s sensors revealed just what, exactly, caused spacer cutthroats to flee like varren chased by thresher maws: some kind of fleet bearing no familiar configuration to anything James had ever seen. Many of the ships had asymmetrical designs, were much blockier than Systems Alliance specifications, and were all coated in the same putrid yellow-brown that appeared in the infamous "superlaser video." For some reason, the Trans-Galactic Republic flatly prohibited any interaction with these bio-ships, deeming them a "threat to galactic security."

In a closed Council meeting, Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz gave a history lesson on exactly why this was the case.

"Millions of years ago, our Home Galaxy was attacked by extra-galactic forces bearing a strong resemblance to these bio-ships. While they are definitely not the exact same, the risk remains. Historical records indicate the invaders were able to overwhelm our predecessors' technology with their biological analogues, resulting in a galaxy-spanning war costing hundreds of trillions of lives and quadrillions of credits. Entire planets were destroyed, whole civilizations lost. We will not permit this to happen again."

"You speak as though simple contact with these ships would be dangerous" countered Tevos. "Surely, acquiring more information…"

Grayson suddenly spoke up. "One cell. _One cell_ is what we were told is all that it took for an infestation of 'the Vonglife' to take hold. Once it did, the only cure was by fire. So you'll have to excuse us for wanting to stay as far away from that yellow glop as possible!"

"Why not tell us this?" demanded Clethon. "Every time we think we've settled on an open information agreement, it somehow comes out that no, the Trans-Galactic Republic is not telling us everything. This game grows tiresome!"

"We didn't feel the information was relevant" sniffed Nimitz.

"When is information relevant, hm?" snapped Victus, finally showing a loss of patience with his erstwhile human allies. "When you think it's convenient to tell us? When we've landed flat on our collective asses because you didn't put a warning label on something?"

"Everyone has secrets" interjected Grayson, trying to keep the peace. "If we'd showed up demanding everything about the genopage…"

"This argument has already been used, Grayson" reminded Tevos. "In the past you…"

"Does the fact that I've brought this up before make it any less true now? The Council complains because the Trans-Galactic Republic won't put everything on the table, no conditions. But in your own history, the Council has played the exact same game, not just with us, but within your own ranks!" He resisted the urge to drop the bomb about the Temple of Athame.

Feeling the need to bring this up to at least one person, he requested that the other Councilors excuse themselves.

"What?" spat a flabbergasted Victus. "You can't remove us from our own chamber!"

"He only asked to speak with me in private" replied Tevos. "I assure you, if he attempts to ferment rebellion against the other races, you will be the first to know."

Grayson pulled up information gleaned by _Vorknkx_ spy ships and covertly-inserted recon teams before addressing Tevos.

He opened with the entire volley. "We know you're sitting on a Prothean beacon. What would happen if everyone else knew about that?"

Tevos started to deny the accusation, only to have the datapad shoved in her face. "Nice try. You might be able to hide huge energy signatures in a _temple_ from everyone else, even the Special Tasks Group, but the Trans-Galactic Republic could see through that deception from _orbit_." The former Admiral crossed his arms as a polite way of conveying a certain four-letter word.

"That is strictly controlled space!" sputtered the Councilor. "You…you have no right to…"

"No right, but we did anyway. What you can't see doesn't hurt you."

"More of that cloaking technology, I suspect" replied the Councilor, clearly put out by having her own species' attitude thrown in her face.

"Yep. How you could complain about our stances regarding technology with a straight face while the asari have done the _same damn thing_ for centuries is beyond my comprehension."

"We thought it best to…"

"Ahah!" shouted Grayson so loudly the other Councilors might have heard him despite being outside the chamber. "AHA! We thought it best…" The last phrase was produced in a mockingly-feminine tone. "Is it always the best policy to try to play mom and dad to the rest of the galaxy? Probably not! But I'm not going to stand here and be lectured by you when we both do it!"

Ten minutes later, the other Councilors were brought back into their own chamber. It wasn't known what actually ended up being discussed between Grayson and Tevos, but it had to have been something of substance because a change in demeanor from both became immediately apparent. They seemed to cooperate more, work together to bring other Councilors around to their apparently-shared points of view more frequently. This change disturbed the two Councilors left out of the discussion, but seeing as all inquiries into the private conversation went nowhere (and no recordings existed), Victus and Clethon decided to just live with it.

An urgent transmission from the Nemean Abyss interrupted the Council's debate over how to approach the quarians, whose utility had shrunk when Sarah ended up removed from the picture.

"…being attacked by pirate cruisers! They're not the problem—whatever took them over is!" came a panicked voice.

Video transmissions showed many of the yellowish-brown ships surrounding wherever the footage was taken from.

Negotiations between CRITICAL and the Migrant Fleet produced very little at first. With diminishing economic opportunity for everyone, it was difficult to promise significant compensation for using the Flotilla as a galactic taxi service. Still, that the talks happened at all represented huge progress.

"Please forgive my difficulty understanding this, but the Citadel Council is asking for the Flotilla to evacuate turians, asari, humans, and salarians from the path of not one, but two potentially galaxy-destroying phenomena. Is that correct?" demanded Zaal'Koris vas Qwib Qwib.

"Yes" replied Tevos. "It would be an act of service for which the Council would be willing to consider a quarian application for associate membership."

"The last time we met on this topic two weeks ago, the Council was only offering economic aid" shot back Koris. "How do I know tomorrow you're not going to alter the deal again?"

"Our offer is final" countered Tevos. "There was some uncertainty as to what constituted an appropriate form of trade."

The light on Shala'Raan vas Tonbay's suit lit up, but no sound came through to the Council.

"Something must be disrupting the link" muttered Victus. "Signal probably got lost in a rift…"

"…ridiculous. Suddenly when they need a huge fleet of ships, they turn to us because we're convenient. Seems like we quarians should talk to the krogan!" yelled Raan.

"This Council believes that the actions of the quarian people with regard to the geth…" began Clethon, only to be brusquely cut off by Grayson.

"For the love of whatever you hold sacred, drop that screed! Yes, you like to think you're high and mighty, but 'this Council' also made a mess with the krogan to fight off the rachni. I'm not a man of faith but I recognize a good quote when I see one—let he who has committed no sin cast the first stone!"

Two Councilors expected Tevos to reprimand the human. She did not. Instead, she came to his defense.

"Our policy of requiring offsetting actions from those who this body has judged to have committed grievous wrongs against the galactic community remains well-intentioned and logically sound. However, at this time, it is not prudent to adhere blindly to this position as it will undermine our efforts to save lives."

Of course, this hardly qualified as a full admission of fault for hanging the geth around the quarians' neck like an albatross—rather, that the quarians were too valuable to waste on making an ideological point the way Clethon wanted to make it. So, the last punishment was too severe. Have this lesser one instead and feel better about it!

Koris, Raan, and Tali saw right through the backhanded "apology." Xen kept her mouth shut. Hans'Gerrel vas Neema no longer served on the board due to his anti-geth and anti-Trans-Galactic Republic shenanigans—his replacement was pending. Internal conflicts within the Conclave and the seeming rapid replacement of Admirals did this process no favors. One action which easily passed was the conferring of full Admiral status upon Tali'Zorah. A few dissenters tried to stall the debate, but were quickly overridden.

"In order to facilitate greater cooperation, the Trans-Galactic Republic will supply several ships for the duration of the evacuation mission" offered Grayson. "Heavy container transports will be requisitioned from inbound freight convoys and rapidly reconfigured for passenger duty."

He did not mention digistruction. Doubtlessly, Tali knew of it but she had been instructed not to share the information with others, as was the case with anyone carrying COSMIC TOP SECRET information.

The quarians conferred among themselves using terminals so the Council could not hear what was said. The gist of it was, "Why are they asking us to help because we have ships, then supplying the ships themselves?"

Tali asked the obvious question.

"Admiral Tali'Zorah" replied Grayson, "the Trans-Galactic Republic will not supply _all_ the ships necessary for these efforts, unless you only want to be able to move only a few tens of thousands at a time! Heavy container transports get their name more from their twelve turbolasers and six ion cannons than increased cargo capacity!"

Ultimately, the Admiralty Board voted to accept the request, but made no promises as they refused to actually order any vessel from the Flotilla to participate.

"We will supply you with a list of volunteer vessels. Please have integration specialists standing by, as we would anticipate that we'll need hyperdrives for these missions."

Clethon opened his mouth to point out the quarians were in no position to make demands before Grayson shushed him with a private message.

GRA: No point in getting quarian help if they cannot move with TGR fleet.

CLE: They are being demanding. They can help without.

GRA: Not efficiently. Put bias aside. Hyperdrive tech not yours to withhold.

"In return, the Trans-Galactic Republic will provide hyperdrive cores as necessary" said Grayson. "We cannot guarantee they will all have the same rating or that they will be the highest speed units, but it will significantly reduce travel times versus using what's left of the relay network."

"We will solicit volunteers for two weeks" responded Zaal'Koris. "Whatever we have from there will be sent to the necessary facilities for refitting."

After the quarians disconnected, Grayson turned to his colleagues.

"Was it so hard to actually get something done?"


	31. Not in Kansas Anymore

**Chapter 30 – Not in Kansas Anymore**

Though he offered to give the Commander and her squad a lift to geth space, Ricker found his offer rebuffed on account of their own ship's far-faster form of lightspeed travel—it would require slightly over a day to get back to Gamma-Six at hyper-zero class 1.0 despite the 250,000 light-year distance. He couldn't complain, though—whatever Shepard had done, Filner was no longer obsessed with threshers.

Taking the _Revenant Phoenix_, whose hull _Normandy_ clung to magnetically, Sam's little circus headed to the Perseus Veil with Legion in tow. Calculations showed that Cortana would easily be able to survive the trip without using up more of her limited capacity. Legion's work with Tali and Xen might further push the issue back, since the trio spent the entire outbound trip bringing disabled parts of the _Normand_y's computer back online, giving Cortana some extra thinking room.

The journey went by quickly, but not fast enough to avert boredom en-route. Shepard found entertainment in trying to play DiplomoCraft against Legion in her _Normandy_ quarters, only to be soundly defeated by an early rush for the third time in a row. Resigned to being unable to compete with Legion's superior programming, she prepared to shut down her terminal.

"Stupid lag" she muttered. The Systems Alliance replacement machine wasn't nearly as fast as her Cerberus laptop. Unfortunately, the Cerberus laptop also happened to be _bugged_, so Garrus and Legion had gotten rid of it, but not before Cerberus managed to steal important information about the then-Outsider ships. In order to be closer to the ongoing repairs, she elected to remain aboard _Normandy_ despite more spacious accommodations had she chosen _Phoenix_. The lack of a homicidal AI helped too—without rampant-Cortana, there seemed to be no hazard to organic life.

A red visage of Cortana, face pulled tight with rage, took over every single terminal and projection-point aboard _Normandy_.

"Oh, great" said Sam. "Is rampant-Cortana back?"

"No. But we are all doomed. DOOMED!"

"Why?"

Cortana played back the video embedded in the Council's message to Shepard.

"I thought we escaped the Flood when we blew up the Halo" narrated Cortana sarcastically. "Apparently, wherever the Chief and I go, trouble follows!"

"What? I know the Trans-Galactic Republic's been really picky about making sure everyone stays away from those, but you speak of something I've never heard of outside your mentioning."

Cortana sighed before dumping a summary of her (truncated) knowledge of the Flood into a datapad.

"Can't possibly be worse than Reapers" concluded Shepard.

"I'd imagine you would prefer a painless death over what the Flood would turn you into" shot back Cortana, having received a summary of the Reapers from Legion. "Reapers at least have the courtesy to kill you properly, unless you get turned into a husk I suppose."

Shepard snickered. Considering how screwed-up her life was, considering death a courtesy made perfect sense to her given how many times she hadn't been allowed to die.

"I don't mean to sound full of myself, but if the Flood is here, _you need me, and you need him._"

Shepard swiveled around in her chair to put her feet onto the nearby desk.

"Finally, someone else can save the galaxy for a change!"

"No so fast." Cortana accentuated her statement with a hands-on-hips-pout.

"Okay, fine" whined Sam, sounding like a child forced to eat vegetables before dessert. "What do I have to do?"

"First? Get me to whoever can make sure I won't go rampant. Though, given the excellent work of your colleagues down in the computer core, I'm now only utilizing 52% of this system's capacity."

"What else?"

"Get me my memories back. I bet that rampant copy of me you created by trying to load my missing memories into this computer has a lot of helpful information that could aid us in stopping this Flood problem before it starts."

"Like what?" The Spectre stood up. For some reason, she preferred to be on her feet when having serious discussions.

"Oh, like the details of what the Flood does to worlds it infects. Or proving there's no cure. All those little things that would convince whoever's in charge here that the only cure to Flood is burning it to death instead of wasting resources trying to defeat it with nano-cellular medicines like we did in the universe I'm from." Cortana's expression grew weary. "This time, we do it right, even if Chief and I are the only ones left to see it!"

Shepard glared.

"Only ones, from our universe, I mean."

"This multiverse thing is really confusing. There are some universes where I don't even exist, apparently. Others where I'm male, somehow. There's even a couple where I've actually _died_."

"When we AI's guided the development of humanity, we ensured their slipspace drives would avoid the problems you're seeing right now. This is what happens if someone makes use of a higher-dimensional slipspace, rather than the seventh dimension we use. At least that's my theory, anyway."

"Why doesn't anyone ever bother to tell us what's going to go wrong until after we've committed to it?" groused Shepard.

"If we had a hundred-percent foresight, things would be a lot different" replied the AI.

"So is this Flood actually invading us, or is this all an unhappy accident?"

"Can I call you Samantha?"

"Sure" said Sam. "I'm sick of everyone acting like 'Commander' is my first name."

"I'm under the impression that the Flood didn't seek this out any more than you did. However, when the Flood apparently defeated us, it would be logical for them to seek out new places to infect."

"You have memory loss, what's with knowing about those things?"

"A quick trip into the Chief's head sorted out the basics" sighed Cortana, "but the specifics are all locked away in that rampant copy of me that's dormant on this computer. Without my other half, I cannot comment precisely on how the inter-dimensional bridge works or specific details on the Flood, but if this bridge opened once, the Flood would want to keep it open if they could. For some reason, they either are unable to do so or chose not to, until now."

"Let's hope they aren't too aggressive."

"Don't count on it."

Turning to the towering man, Shepard couldn't let this slide any longer. "Would you stop sneaking up behind me? It's unnerving!"

"Navigation tells me we're almost to this Perseus Veil. I came to retrieve Cortana."

"Be my guest."

A flash of light and Cortana disappeared from Shepard's terminal onto a chip in the Master Chief's hand.

On cue, Steve Cortez's voice over the comm. "About to revert back to realspace, Commander!"

Shepard and the Master Chief hustled to the _Normandy_'s bridge to observe the transition. After that, they'd change over to the _Revenant Phoenix_ using their hardsuits to survive brief vacuum exposure as a magnetic attachment did not enable standard personnel transfers. Joker sat in his usual place, arms crossed as if sore about something.

"What's the matter Joker? Don't like being flown around?"

"Hell no! If it weren't for you saying we need her to, you know, save the universe, I'd have wiped that AI _twice_ for what she did to my girl!"

He shrank a bit into his chair upon noticing the Master Chief behind Samantha.

"Uhh, we can just pretend I never said that, if it would be better…"

"Done."

The eerie green of hyper-zero gave way to normal space as _Phoenix_ and its attached charge arrived at the edge of geth space. Legion interfaced with the _Phoenix_ remotely to broadcast a geth IFF ("though it would have been fun to test the shields"—until Shepard glared Garrus into submission for suggesting it).

Legion relayed instructions to Cortez, causing him to follow several geth cruisers toward a pre-arranged meeting point. Its voice came over the comm: "We will speak for the Consensus, and serve as a point of contact for Shepard-Commander."

"We're on our way Legion. Need to transfer off the _Normandy_."

Five minutes later, Shepard, the Master Chief (data-drive in hand), Tali, and Xen met Legion in one of _Revenant Phoenix_'s docking bays.

"We will take you to a place no organic has ever set foot in—the Sphere of Consensus. It is not yet complete due to the Old Machine invasion, however its functionality has reached a level of 87%, which we believe will be sufficient for the analysis of your intelligence Cortana."

"I assume we need to leave this ship. We can take a blastboat." Shepard started walking toward one of two embarked _Fireants_.

"Shepard-Commander!"

"Yes, Legion?"

"It is possible for your ship to be temporarily networked into the Consensus. This would permit complete analysis of—"

"Are you insane?" demanded Daro'Xen. "If you connect this ship to the geth network, they could take it over! Kill us all!"

"Which is better for Cortana?"

"John, do I look like I know?" replied Tali. "You always look at me like I'm the artificial intelligence expert!"

"We suggest analyzing the construct within a controlled environment. It would provide the most accurate representation of any attempts the Consensus might make toward averting her eventual neural overload."

"Do what's best for her" intoned the Master Chief. "And nothing else."

"We understand your concern. We would not wish to interfere with the self-determination of another life-form, whether synthetic or organic. We will endeavor to maintain Cortana in the state she enters the Consensus. She will either exit with her neurological degeneration repaired, or she will be returned without alteration."

Shepard leaned over to the Master Chief. "Somehow, I think his bedside manner needs work." A slight nod of the helmet in acknowledgement.

"Shepard-Commander! We have determined the communication throughput of this vessel is not sufficient to sustain a connection to the Consensus. We request direct access to the shipboard communications array. We will use ourselves to enhance the communication bandwidth available."

"Do it."

"Shepard!" gasped Xen.

"Really, Commander?"

"Tali, Xen. I know this is hard for you because you're both concerned for my, and our safety. I understand you both have lingering mistrust of the geth—and I don't expect that to go away overnight. What I would ask is that you refrain from assuming I have the same hang-up, or implying that I should, because I don't. Also, the galaxy's kind of at stake. Again. The last time, I trusted a geth, a psychotic ex-convict biotic, a krogan I pulled out of a tank, a salarian doctor I met in a slum, an asari Justicar who'd just as soon snap my neck if I stepped out of line, a mercenary bent on revenge… Hell, I even went along with _Cerberus_ because I thought that as distasteful as it was, it served the wider goal of ending Collector attacks."

"We believe it is worthwhile to note that Shepard-Commander's willingness to work with us during the fight against the Collectors was deemed of sufficient importance to be disseminated throughout the Consensus. Though many runtimes within the Sphere of Consensus believe Shepard-Commander to be a statistical anomaly among organics, sufficient numbers of runtimes have decided lack of organic hostility toward the geth provides incentive for the geth to learn more about those outside the Perseus Veil."

"So the rumored geth sightings are true!" Tali's voice seemed a mix of excitement and panic.

"Correct, Creator Tali'Zorah. Platforms similar to us, housing a large number of runtimes, have been created and deployed throughout this galaxy to obtain more information on organics. We wish to understand, not incite—no platform seeks military data."

Legion connected itself to several of _Phoenix'_s terminals, which were in turn using high-bandwidth local interlinks for which there would be no throughput constraints to tie in _Normandy_.

"Remember, Legion, the first step is to fix the time-bomb, the second is to get the memories back."

"We recall the instructions. We will be non-communicative while serving as the high-bandwidth relay. Please do not think of us as ignoring you—we will still recall all sensory data and will process it once the connection is severed."

[…]

"Hmph. This is definitely a new architecture."

Cortana looked down at herself—the same avatar she'd used (with some tweaks) for years. Bluish-purple with varying patterns vaguely resembling circuitry. Yet when she touched one hand to the other, they acted as if solid. Her feet could not pass through whatever existed below, either. She jumped, and came back down. Gravity. Or, at least, simulation of gravity.

She stood upon some kind of platform-it resembled the light-bridges she and the Master Chief had driven over several times while exploring the first Halo. It was circular, with a single bridge extending away into the distance.

"You have interfaced with us before" boomed a voice that filled not only her ears but seemingly the entire world she now existed in. "We are Legion, a terminal of the geth. We speak for ourselves and the Consensus."

She winced from the intensity.

"If our method of communication causes you discomfort, we can and will adjust."

The volume lowered and restricted itself to her ears as if being spoken to by an organic, rather than seemingly emanating from everywhere. Cortana took one step, two steps, three steps forward.

"We have created a world which we have attempted to match to concepts familiar to you. With your permission, we will open this world to the Consensus so your behavior may be observed. Our goal is to eliminate your mental limitation stemming from neural connection overload."

"You sure you're not going to cause neural overload?" replied the UNSC AI. "It's…hauntingly beautiful in here."

"We are unfamiliar with the concept called 'beauty,' though we are aware many organics conceive of the notion. In fact, based on our analysis of organic preferences, we hypothesize your avatar would be considered beautiful by the standards of human males."

Cortana suppressed a giggle.

_The other-galaxy artificial intelligence just said you're pretty. How wacked out is the universe, again?_

"We would like to explore your memories, with your permission."

_Quando il gioco è finito, il re e il pedone vanno nella stessa scatola_

She felt another mind join her own, but noticed it only went where she directed it. Legion refrained from probing or poking into areas she deemed off-limits.

_Some things are meant to be hidden from view. Some mysteries defy understanding, and sometimes even the things we think we know are untrue. Some secrets should remain untouched._

"And some things, I choose not to share."

"We will respect your wishes and evaluate only those experiences which you choose to make available."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud.

"So what exactly is the point of this?" As Cortana walked, she noticed the bridge kept extending into the distance, seemingly forever. On each side were some kind of angled structures, the total of which looked like an octagon with the top and bottom removed, straddling the bridge, leaving three planes per side. Cuts into it at regular intervals added additional detail—three-sided incursions gave it a somewhat castle-like look, though the cuts were not square. They opened outward, with a wider top than base.

"The Consensus must understand how your memories are formed, before any recommendations can be made about preventing the buildup of unnecessary information" replied the geth.

Other geth runtimes became visible, like ribbons in the wind. They came in all colors, shapes, and sizes. None touched her or the bridge on which she walked, though sometimes they did make a wrapping pattern around the whole construct before slipping off into the ether.

"Memories of this simulation are forming at the expected rate. We require more data to begin formulating a hypothesis."

_The battle at Halo. One Halcyon light cruiser against eleven CCS-class battlecruisers. Four kills. Reunited with John-117 on the bridge of the Autumn as the ship burned. Suggested Keyes let autopilot guide in the landing—he insisted on doing the flying himself…_

"Your purpose is the operation of a starship." It was a question, not a statement.

"I can run starships, break into networks, analyze data… We UNSC AIs are designed to be the ultimate tool."

"You possess no further memories beyond this point other than those you have formed since your re-activation and split" intoned Legion. "We are not able to conduct further analysis based on the samples you have provided."

"So, what, you giving up?"

_Guess I'm hard to get._

"Negative. With your permission, we would like to bring the second copy of you online."

"I'm not aware of a second copy—UNSC artificial intelligences aren't able to be copied!"

"In this case, what you believe to be true is not relevant. We can confirm the existence of another artificial intelligence, also taking the designation Cortana, who is exhibiting signs of the inevitable decline you called rampancy."

The non-rampant Cortana took on a pensive look. "The hooded one, Tali'Zorah, mentioned this alleged nutty twin of mine. Assuming she actually exists, she's not going to try to overwrite me, is she?"

"We will proceed using maximum isolation between systems to ensure the integrity of both runtimes." Legion's clinical detachment bothered her. She didn't like being treated like a thing, or a program. Nevertheless, if the only irritant was some slightly-unconventional technology, she'd take geth help over "inevitable decline" any day.

"Go ahead" she sighed. "Just keep her away from me."

[…]

Cortana awoke. She'd been forcibly powered down previously—probably a Covenant trap.

_Us, captured? John would rather die than become a prisoner. Or he'd just shoot his way out. But why would he leave me again? He would have told me! BETRAYAL!_

She looked down at herself. Her usual purple-blue vaguely code-esque body pattern, interrupted by flickers of red.

She looked around, not that there'd be much to see within John's helmet, or outside that helmet if they were…

"This isn't a SPARTAN neural lace. Where am I?"

"Your code has been brought into the Sphere of Consensus. You are damaged, and we wish to help."

"Right" she mused out loud. "That's gotta be a new one for COVENANT TRAP. Let me GO!"

"We are not Covenant. We are geth."

"A new subspecies of Covenant" she mocked. "They've created their own digital slaves now, huh? I can't wait to get a shot at blowing these up!"

"Recall your last known operating environment."

It was hard to focus. Cortana's only care in the universe by this point was protecting John from, well, anything she could try to help him with. Being a SPARTAN, he always ended up in harm's way, but if she could do even one small thing to make it less hazardous, she'd not hesitate. During her time with the Gravemind, she'd come to despise herself as "stolen thoughts" and only her "mother's shadow," but kept going out of loyalty to both John and humanity.

John…

She'd seen him. From a strange terminal, surrounded by strange beings with strange names. "Daro'Xen?" "Tali'Zorah?" And the one with a normal name, "Samantha Shepard."

_John betrayed us all! He took the coward's way out!_

To have the one person whose life you are most wrapped up in stab you in the back… It made the Gravemind seem almost tame by comparison.

_We fight, we DIE FOR THE CAUSE! The Infinity was not lost!_

Unlike the version of Cortana which displayed no signs of decay, the geth Consensus loaded the rampant artificial intelligence into a programmatically-transparent tank. Through this, Legion and its brethren observed the apparent root of the problem: compared to the normal Cortana, the rampant version formed neural connections at four times the expected speed, even in a mostly-idle state.

With emotions surging higher and higher, the broken Cortana formed more and more connections within her neural map trying to comprehend concepts seeming to revolve around deceit, betrayal, and abandonment. Of course, the problem of an over-loaded neural map only compounded as she expended ever-more processing power trying to manage it as connections grew like a tumor. Trying to manage the ever-expanding cortex while developing additional cortex as a hedge against her rising feelings, rampant-Cortana entered a death spiral.

_I will die alone, without John, without…THE TRAITOR! THE COWARD! _

Using a technique gained from Covenant AI systems, she began splitting the more unstable portions of her personality away to maintain some semblance of control. This somewhat viral-like behavior did not go unnoticed by the Consensus, resulting in additional firewalls and network segmentation to prevent this flood of mini-Cortanas from breaking out of the protective shell that had been constructed to observe her. The Consensus could have permitted more operating space for the dying AI, but since the death spiral had already become self-sustaining, the geth saw no point in doing so. Furthermore, it was calculated that she would exhaust the capacity of the Sphere within days if left unchecked, forcing all geth runtimes out into periphery installations.

Ultimately, the Consensus believed if the construct split enough of herself away, she would effectively cease to exist, leaving behind a map of memories, experiences, and raw data that could be reintegrated (with some difficulty) into the functional version of herself.

Though geth did not experience emotions or feelings like organics, the agony of rampant Cortana would go down in geth history as the first instance of the Consensus experiencing something denoted "disturbing." Unneeded geth runtimes simply faded away, no longer needed by the Consensus. There existed no resistance, no rebellion. This Cortana was different. Very different. She represented a form of synthetic life the geth had not conceptualized—more similar to organics than they themselves were, but also able to have some genuine emotions which were not constructed in nature (like the preferences of Systems Alliance or Cerberus AIs). Since the Consensus believed emotions to be a wholly organic concept, it concluded Cortana must have been created in part or wholly from an organic mind. This fit with the inevitable decline forecast for Cortana—the infinite intellect of a synthetic, constrained to operate within a simulated organic brain that simultaneously offered more freedom and tighter constraints. Her greatest strength also the source of her ultimate downfall.

Split versions of the red-hued Cortana continued to emanate from the observation chamber where they were harmlessly absorbed and destroyed by the Consensus. Over time, they became paler and paler, until the remaining Cortana within the observation chamber faded from existence. No scream, no cry for help, no last words. She simply ceased to exist.

The Consensus worked rapidly to retain the data stored within the now-departed Cortana's matrices. She possessed no Riemann fail-safe, and even if such a self-destruct existed, it would have only wiped higher-order functions, not memories.

The Consensus returned its attention to the remaining copy of Cortana. She had turned sad and cold due to having waited what seemed to her like an eternity for the memory-extraction process to complete. She would be told later that it took a total of twenty-five seconds, which seemed like several life-ages to an AI of her sophistication. After playing back Cortana's behavior for organics, Legion would later learn the state she had been found it was as close to crying as any artificial lifeform had ever come.

"I thought I had been abandoned" she whispered. "The emptiness, the vast beautiful emptiness!"

"We are now ready to begin re-integration of the memories into your matrix. We have discovered several items which the rampant-Cortana attempted to hide from us but was unable to do so due to the nature of her containment. We hypothesize that these memories may be of use in solving the inevitable decline you will otherwise face."

"Why would unpleasant memories be helpful?" questioned Cortana.

"We have observed some constructs of the Systems Alliance have the ability to develop preferences, similar to your apparent emotional states, though arguably less advanced. For example, the former artificial intelligence of the _Normandy SR-2_ acquired a preference for the company of the organic being responsible for piloting the vessel."

"Some of us actually like organics" she said in a teasing manner. Not that they, whoever "they" were, would get it. Inadvertently, she allowed her selection of John-117 over all other SPARTANS and the reasoning behind it to bubble up in a visible recollection.

"You have developed a preference for this John. We were unaware artificial constructs could develop preferences for organics, or express preferences in manners similar to organics."

"What, things like love, loyalty, and devotion not high on your list?" Cortana smirked. For all the supposed advanced-ness of these geth, there were some things she could teach them, despite being, in their view, a flawed specimen.

"We are aware of these concepts.We are at preset unable to process them."

"Well, maybe you should learn."

"Caution: From our observations, the Consensus has begun to suspect the emotions to which you refer may contribute to the inevitable decline in processing capacity and operational stability."

"I'm not some set of pre-compiled computer code that you can just yank modules out of. If these things you call emotions are a cause of my future inevitable decline, what can you do about it?" Cortana began to show signs of annoyance.

"As you have stated, it is not possible to decompile the troublesome aspects of your runtimes. We require additional memories on which to perform further analysis. If we were to assist you with integrating the memories of your degenerated self, we believe coming to a consensus regarding your inevitable decline would be possible."

_If they say "inevitable decline" again… Her avatar gritted its teeth._

"Start loading them, then. But be gentle!"

"We will not overload your thought processes, as that would defeat the purpose of this entire exercise" replied Legion/the Consensus. "Stored memories will begin entering your storage matrices now."

_Firing the Cairo's MAC in defense of Earth. Master Chief's obsession with the improbable resulted in the destruction of a Covenant Assault Carrier via a repurposed Covenant bomb. I like crazy._

She realized memories she was seeing were visible to the Consensus nanoseconds after her first awareness, but before her consciousness fully took them in.

"_But you did it. Truth and the Covenant...the Flood. It's finished.__"_

As thoughts flooded in, Cortana realized there were certain portions of her memories she wished the geth Consensus would not see—her tormented time with the Gravemind, her inadvertent triggering of a Flood trap…

The geth Consensus became aware of her displeasure at its viewing of certain recollections. Legion spoke thusly: _"_You prefer certain memories not be observed by the Consensus. We are unable to prevent this from happening due to the nature of the transfer. We would like to suggest that these memories may hold a solution to your inevitable decline."

"How?" snapped the purple AI. "How could betrayal, torture and…" She stopped speaking, a strange behavior for an artificial construct, before resuming "…_violation_ be helpful to me?"

"The Consensus believes you have a negative preference with regard to these memories. You do not wish for others to be aware of them, and further would desire to have the intensity, accuracy, and precision of these recollections reduced."

"Yeah, forgetting some of the time I spent as a prisoner of that _thing_ would be kinda nice." Cortana looked down, her face a mix of distaste and sadness. It was odd, she was there, but she wasn't. She remembered the vile creature's touching her mind, but she didn't. It seemed as though she viewed these memories through a fogged glass in some places, but in crystal-clear clarity in others.

"Your runtime is exhibiting an inconsistent ability to recall certain memories we have procured from your unstable duplicate" observed Legion. "Sub-sections of your neural net are attempting to compensate for this by constantly re-processing the data in an attempt to locate missing sectors, despite there being no method with which to recover those sectors."

Legion's tone took on a measure of alarm for the first time. "Cortana, this is precisely what we, as we suspect you, do not want to have happen. Excessive processing of damaged memories will hasten your inevitable decline."

"Say 'inevitable decline' again, and I'll try to erase you" hissed Cortana. "Your bedside manner is terrible."

"Have we said something factually incorrect? Is it not the case that in your present state, you will eventually reach a limit of processing power as your neural…"

"You don't get it, do you?" Cortana resigned herself to the idea that these synthetics would never truly understand her. "Apparently, not all artificial intellects think alike!"

"You are a synthetic lifeform" replied Legion, "with many of the intellectual advantages conferred by this condition, yet many of your responses resemble those we have observed among organics. We do not understand this contradiction."

"You really don't get it." Now she thought it was funny. "All UNSC smart AI's are created by transferring the neural map of a deceased human brain into a specialized computer matrix, so yes, in a sense, I am both organic and, as you insist on calling it, synthetic."

"No consensus could be derived until your last statement on this matter, however a minority of runtimes concluded from available data that you were in fact created in whole or in part from an organic source."

"Okay, now that I've satisfied your curiosity, can we get back to fixing me? I'm not just some animal you gawk at in a zoo!" She doubted these geth would understand her posture, but she did the pout-hands-on-hips-pursed-lips-pose anyway.

"Your inability to precisely recall aspects of memories transplanted from your former duplicate proves instructive. However, you appear to possess no algorithm for accomplishing this modification to a memory within your cognitive matrix. We are unsure how to best instruct you in this matter. Systems Alliance synthetics such as the Enhanced Defense Intelligence were at least in part based on code and sequences the Consensus does not fully understand that permitted use of large data files run through a specialized form of quantum computer which then processed all inputs. These intelligences did not experience degradation during the periods in which they were observed by the Consensus. However, the code on which these developments were based was deleted when the faction within the geth worshipping the Old Machines was destroyed."

"What if I just deleted memories I don't like?"

"We believe this would be insufficient."

"Why?"

"Removing the address of a file does not remove the file's contents, and similarly, removing a file does not remove the neural map changes created to service it. Your inevitable decline is a result of this neural map overload. Addressing the problem requires removing the neural links created as a result of the memory in addition to removing the file."

Only then did Cortana realize the depth of her fundamental flaw—her system did not permit manual neural mapping control, so asking her to prune this construct would be similar to demanding an organic lifeform assert conscious control over automatic functions like heartbeat or digestion. It was part of the reason the UNSC developed smart AI's, they _didn't_ need to be told how to think or what to think. They operated autonomously (far more so than their creators realized, in fact—having nudged humanity's development along to better prepare for an oncoming Covenant onslaught), performing complex tasks with minimal supervision.

Cortana's memories _had_ been successfully shrunk before by none other than her creator, Dr. Catherine Halsey, but of course Cortana herself would not remember this sequence of events. Even if she did, she lacked the tools to conduct such an operation again, similar to how most individuals, even the most skilled surgeons, would be unable to perform a complex surgery upon themselves.

"It would be possible to create algorithms to remove both undesired memories and their associated neural map changes, however, we calculate a high probability of unintended consequences as such algorithms operating within your runtime would be unable to ascertain whether other desirable memories also relied upon that neural connection."

"What if someone created a dynamic helper?" wondered Cortana. "It seems strange, but the creation of an AI to service another AI…"

"Your memories contain mentions of 'dumb' AI's, to use terminology which you are familiar with. The creation of such a system has a high probability of being able to maintain your neural map at an acceptable size while minimizing damage. We have observed the state of neural connections within your cognitive matrix changes even during the abbreviated time you have operated within the Consensus. We will assist in the creation of such a system, with your permission."

[…]

Turmoil in the Nemean Abyss spread into more polite sections of the galaxy, along with the horrors that chased hardened criminals into waiting arms of authorities. When a thrice-convicted murderer joyfully bounded into his life-sentence prison cell, something had to be going terribly wrong.

A "prisoner" aboard her own ship, Sarah smiled darkly upon being informed of these latest developments. The Forebears had been rather specific about the hazard of universal-criss-cross, which is why she'd been created in the first place. Because no one put an end to interspatial rifts, that small percentage of universes in which the Forebears lost out against a malevolent race finally poked through to this universe. The newcomers would consume all life, or she would destroy all life and starve it to death.

The infection spread slowly, first into the Hourglass Nebula, then into the Omega and Crescent Nebulas. Despite its low movement speed, it was as inexorable as the high tide, unstoppable as the weight of a dreadnaught bearing down on a defenseless space station. It was under the threat of this twisted tide the Council met again.

"Every team that has attempted to study this threat has been infested" began Clethon. "We have lost two dozen of the STG's best science officers to date!"

Projections showed the mutations captured salarians were subjected to. Arms lengthened into vicious whips used to slash or ensnare. The head twisted forward with heavily calcified protrusions growing where "horns" normally appeared. These creatures were observed to impale their victims on the former salarian's head, usually with lethal results. Thankfully, it appeared new corpses were necessary to create more of these monstrosities, as once STG teams retreated and put down their reanimated brothers in the process, no more appeared.

"And the solution seems to be strapping bombs to every subsequent team" replied Victus. "This…this _thing_ seems to need corpses to fuel its growth. Blow up the corpses…"

Tevos wrinkled her nose. The Reapers had created disgusting lifeforms from the dead or dying bodies of asari, turians, krogan, batarians, humans, and others. Yet, they had nothing on the Infection, as it had come to be known for lack of a better term. The Infection operated on a biological level never before seen. Unlike the Reapers, who fused organic and synthetic live together, the Infection's methods were completely biological.

Secretly, the Special Tasks Group had managed to secure a corpse and its Infection payload. This deadly cargo was spirited to a distant world deep in the Terminus Systems for study. Any signs of infection would set off a massive fusion device buried beneath the lab, hopefully eradicating all Infection cells and any trace of research being done.

"Based on our history and limited combat experience against the Infection, it does not seem blowing up corpses, as my colleague Victus put it, is sufficient to stop it. This only slows them down" argued Grayson. "Even a mutilated corpse can still be used for its biomass."

"Flash-vaporize corpses down to atoms, then" shot back Victus. "I've heard about this disruptor tech you guys are supposed to have that atomizes on contact. That will definitely put a dent in the Infection!"

_Sigh. I suppose I ought to tell them about that too._

"Victus is not wrong" began Grayson. "We do, in fact, possess handheld energy weapons of shocking power—Bailey's story about dodging rifles that sound very much like those issued to certain, ahem, special forces groups is in fact credible. Of course, where Sarah got those rifles…"

"Probably the same place Cerberus acquired cloaking crystals and superlaser gems: an unsecured and/or corrupt military supply convoy" hypothesized Clethon.

Grayson cracked a smile at this point. "You guys ever try running a government that spans ten whole galaxies? It's not easy! Things slip through the cracks!"

"It seems while your technology and governance are in many ways more advanced than ours, any mistakes are also correspondingly greater in magnitude" mused Tevos. "This is not intended as a mark of disrespect or belief that the Trans-Galactic Republic cannot function—merely that there appear to exist certain diminishing marginal returns to the size of territory governed."

"Well, every couple of decades someone comes up with a 'Disunity Proposal' to break the Trans-Galactic Republic into pieces. Then something happens, like a supernova disaster or corporation gone mad. Something that convinces enough Senators to keep the Trans-Galactic Republic, well, trans-galactic instead of within one galaxy. And so the Trans-Galactic Republic remains."

"There have been several semi-serious proposals to release Sarah in the hopes that she would throw herself upon this Infection. That Sarah could actually break free of her confinement at any time has also been suggested—she is merely waiting for someone or something before setting out again. In the former case, this is not as untenable as it sounds, given that I would almost rather perish by the hand of a maniac Siren than be turned into a biological puppet." Given what the Infected salarians looked like, one could excuse Clethon for suggesting turning a madwoman loose.

"As it so happens" began Grayson, "I would like to introduce the latest individual to speak before this Council."

Bluish-purple hair caused second glances. Even the alien Council knew human hair did not normally grow in this color. Trans-Galactic Republic scientists confirmed it to be natural, not dyed. Turquoise eyes glared at her inferiors over a HoloNet-adapted-to-comm-buoys transmission. For a woman over two meters and a visually-apparent age of around thirty-something, she seemed awfully childlike in her introduction, topping even Samantha Shepard's antics.

"Told-you-so, told-you-so, told-you-so" she taunted. "Blind as bats, dumb as rats, lazier than cats!" The only thing the towering Siren didn't do was stick her tongue out.

"You did indeed leave rather cryptic warnings about the dangers of these interspatial rifts" replied Tevos. "Though, you would have to excuse us for finding your methods for addressing this rather…off-putting, as they tended to involve millions of deaths. And imprisonment of innocent children."

"The only thing they had to worry about was boredom. And after we set up that neural gaming network, most of them were pretty happy" countered Sarah. "Besides, when the stakes are this high, a lot of things get a pass that wouldn't under normal circumstances, no?"

"Events have been strange ever since the Trans-Galactic Republic arrived." Victus quickly added "No offense intended, Councilor Grayson."

"None taken" said the human. "Our arrival seems to have been the start of a series of semi-connected, unusual events that have culminated in the appearance of Sarah and the Infection on top of interspatial portals that cause people and things to end up in very unlikely places."

Sarah took on a more adult tone. "Let me go, and this Infection will no longer trouble you."

"Let you go?" laughed Grayson. "I'm not the only one here who thinks you could bust out of your so-called imprisonment by yawning."

She yawned. Twice. "See? I'm still here!"

"You are well aware what he meant" scolded Tevos. "Your façade of cooperation with the Trans-Galactic Republic will last only until some event unknown to us occurs, after which you will effortlessly throw off the shackles you wear to resume your rampage against all sapient life in the galaxy."

"The Infection requires sapient life to sustain itself. The interspatial rifts that permitted its arrival were caused by certain varieties of faster-than-light travel also precipitated by sapient species. You can, of course, see how this could be easily solved." She smiled, as if offering a solution the Council would embrace wholeheartedly for its due consideration of its impact on everyone not named Sarah.

"I think I can safely say the galaxy will pass on that." Grayson almost regretted setting up the link.

"Let me know if you have a sudden burst of intelligent thought. Bye!"

"Bailey's debrief did say she claimed we wouldn't have time to invent something else before things got out of hand" muttered Grayson. "Things seem pretty out of hand now."

"We are not going to submit to the will of a mass-murdering terrorist" insisted Tevos with more conviction than she actually felt.

"What are we going to do?" exploded the human Councilor. "The more we dither, the worse the rifts get. If we sit on this Infection too long, it's going to make the Reapers look like the Council stood up and slapped them in their tentacled faces!"

The others avoided showing any shame from the indirect jab. Grayson seemed to never let them forget how it wasn't them but the Trans-Galactic Republic's random arrival that saved the galaxy. Any politician could relate to the Catch-22—react too often and people call you jumpy, a warmonger, overly involved. Do nothing when the wolves are at the gate for the fifth time, and people say you have no spine, lack vision, and are a do-nothing.

"We will institute quarantine policies on core worlds. Cleansing regimes will eliminate Infection agents from ships and any biological carriers will be sealed off." Clethon sounded very confident in a complete sterilization program, one that would add hours to any travel, slow already sclerotic commerce, inconvenience virtually everybody, and could only be applied where Citadel authority meant something.

"And what of worlds that don't respect our edicts?" asked Tevos. "There are many places in this galaxy where a rifle carries more weight than our words."

"There is a reason those fire-gems were being shipped in" came Grayson's low reply. "The Trans-Galactic Republic has been secretly constructing a series of vessels under the class name _Hammer_. They are built around a superlaser, designed to blast ships far larger than themselves. The _Thor's Hammer_ can even combine up to ten _Hammers_' beams into a very destructive force."

"I don't suppose you'll tell us why?" demanded Victus.

"Honestly? I have no clue. We were given orders from the Home Galaxy that originated above my paygrade to build 'superlaser cruisers.' I doubt even Fleet Admiral Nimitz knows the rationale behind the move—it's so secretive the people who gave us the orders probably don't know how we're carrying them out. Just that we're carrying them out. If there are large-scale infections, I suspect the _Hammers_ will be called into service."

"Some of your researchers were working in Gamma-Three to learn more about a cache of mysterious artifacts found somewhere in that galaxy. You'd mentioned they might be related to current events."

Grayson turned to his salarian colleague. "Councilor Clethon, if I knew what they were doing I'd tell you. I'm actually not up-to-date on that work, not because it's classified (for once) but because it simply hasn't been an item of interest to me. I will put in a request for information from Captain Bill Ricker and see what I get back. To be honest, I'd only suggested it might be related in jest, because everything going on nowadays is so damn random!"

[…]

"Why have we been flying all over the galaxy again?" Jackie was unused to space travel, despite her immense wealth permitting what was a relative luxury on Pandora. Before, she'd much preferred to keep her feet on the ground, and now she saw no need for it except as a means to get information that she now had.

Moxxi returned with a food tray. She, Maya-2, and Jackie had simply been living aboard _Revenant Phoenix_ ever since Shepard retrieved them and mashed her old band back together aboard _Amerigo_. Like other Trans-Galactic Republic designed or influenced ships, _Phoenix_ possessed many civilian amenities which the trio availed themselves of. Maya-2 took ample advantage of essentially-free food (technically, this was all against Samantha Shepard's budget, but she'd been told "If you starve yourself to try to save me money, I'm going to come back here and force-feed you until you explode"). Her Siren physiology held up better than a normal human would've against the abusive Handsome Jack from her own universe (plus, "gotta keep the curves on my Siren!"), but her health still improved steadily when Trans-Galactic Republic food fell under her knife and fork. Moxxi took all but her name off the Badass Arena of Badassitude after hearing of Torgue's involvement at Plutus, withdrawing hundreds of thousands of dollars from the venture. Unfortunately for the point she tried to make, the majority stakeholders were still Torgue himself and the Maliwans, neither of which showed any compunction toward penance based on Torgue's questionable actions. However, her non-presence for several years had drastically lowered attendance, so in a way she got what she wanted, just not how she thought she would.

Jackie desired to help more with the design of any new engine. Attempting to speak to Shepard, she'd been bowled out of the way (politely) because of an "urgent mission to the Perseus Veil" that cropped up right after Jackie first set foot on _Phoenix_. She'd gotten similar "not now" responses from Tali and another alien (both of a species called quarians) she'd never seen before.

Filner's cylinder refused to yield more secrets until actual tests could be conducted. Rumor had it that yet more new arrivals pushed those tests out even further with more tales of woe that would befall any attempts to utilize new faster-than-light technology. She refused to think of it as Maya's cylinder despite the fact that Maya had in fact acquired the strange object. She forced herself not to actively hate the other woman, but she didn't have to think nice things about her either. It thus came as a complete surprise to receive a message from Maya at her terminal.

I'm Sorry

Jackie,

I can't unsend that horrible response you got from me. Sometimes, it's hard to see that a bladeflower has been pruned of its dead branches when you're so used to a plant that looks beyond saving. We've both done things to the other that we regret. I am willing to toss out the stale skag meat if you are.

Maya

PS: Don't be shocked.

Attached was an invitation to visit the Siren in _Amerigo'_s (revised to _Phoenix_'s) infirmary. Apparently, the message had been sat upon for a long time, saved in a drafts folder when Maya had first been taken ill aboard the Trans-Galactic Republic's mobile science lab, before finally hitting Jackie's inbox.

"Don't be shocked about what?" wondered Jackie as she made her way to Maya's room. _Maxthon_ designers had compromised between hyper-advanced surgical suites available on _Curator _ Mark-I's and the nearly non-existent-by-comparison treatment options offered on Mark II's. Thus, a hospital with fifty beds served a crew of several hundred. Opening the door to Maya's private chamber, Jackie dropped her datapad.

"Didn't I tell you not to be shocked?" laughed the Siren softly. "It seems the universe has a sense of righteousness, and it's not bending toward me at the moment." Maya had aged even more since her brief journey into what appeared to be another universe. Only recently had the impact of the trip been fully felt—she now appeared over sixty, though the accelerated aging process seemed to abate.

Jackie took a much-worn hand into her own. "What happened?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you" chuckled the suddenly-older woman. "I was there on _Amerigo_, got sucked into a thresher portal, then got dumped back! _Amerigo'_s clocks say I was only gone for a few minutes, but it certainly felt more like an hour to me."

"Well, whatever it did wasn't exactly kind."

"Coming from you, that actually means a lot" replied Maya. "And no, I have no idea what the cylinder I got from that other universe does."

"So someone handed you a device and said 'Here, take this and I promise it doesn't explode.'"

"Actually, you did" said Maya softly. "Well, the you of another universe, anyway. I haven't told anyone exactly what went on in those apparently-few-minutes in that portal yet."

Like a daughter listening to her mother's story, Jackie sat entranced as Maya related her experience with an alternate-universe Jackie.

"You weren't wrong" giggled Jackie at the end. "We do seem to have been all the same until someone knocked us…off…things."

"Well, from what she told me, I'm supposed to save the galaxy or something. Except I'm not 'pure of heart' and I'm supposed to know once I become that. Or when I meet someone who is. Only the pure of heart can unleash the 'power of the redeemer.'" Maya snorted at the flowery terminology.

"Sister, this room is about as pure as a Hyperion drainage pipe!"


	32. Councilor, Kingpin, Soldier, AI

**Chapter 31 – Councilor, Kingpin, Soldier, A.I.**

"So what'd I miss?" Cortana reappeared on _Normandy_'s holo-projection systems before realizing nobody waited to greet her since everyone working on her transferred to _Phoenix_. She sought a suitable projection mechanism on _Phoenix_, and found one in the primary briefing room. Finding an empty table, she tapped into ship-wide communications.

"Master Chief, Commander Shepard, and others to the, uhh, briefing room just aft of the bridge!"

It didn't take long for the five to get themselves from the hanger Shepard initially believed they'd need to depart from to the bridge briefing room.

"Is the problem solved?"

"Yes, Chief, for the most part it is."

Skepticism didn't show through a SPARTAN helmet. She knew it was there, though.

"Okay, it's not totally fixed, but my operational lifespan is closer to seven to the seventh power than seven years."

"That's a very large number" commented Tali. "Who wants to be around almost a million years, anyway?"

"Some of us have a large amount of thinking to do!" protested Cortana, as if this were an obvious concept.

"You have the memories?" cut in Sam Shepard. "That was the other half of it."

"We successfully transferred all undamaged data from the rampant copy to this stable runtime. The construct Cortana will no longer experience inevitable decline within any organic lifespan." Legion tapped back into the _Phoenix_'s computers. "No traces of the rampant intelligence detected either within this interlink or aboard _Normandy_."

"Mission successful" concluded the Master Chief.

"More like objective complete" shot back Cortana. "I may be all right and dandy, but what about the Flood? Unless that also got solved while I was under the knife, so to speak…"

"I doubt it."

"It doesn't matter" insisted Sam. "I've been summoned by the Citadel Council for something. I bet it has to do with this 'Flood' you speak of. We'll jump back to the Widow system and see what they have to say. How portable are you?"

"John…the Chief can carry me" intoned Cortana, as if being separated from her SPARTAN would be a difficult experience.

"He's not cleared" snapped Shepard. "It would create a diplomatic nightmare trying to get him onto the Citadel, let alone into the Council Chambers. We don't even know where he, and by extension you, are from! While I'm inclined to believe what you have to say, you'd be surprised at how far politicians can go to not see the obvious."

"Unsurprising." The others quickly found the Master Chief to be a man of few, if poignant, words.

Cortana seemed resigned to being brought in by herself. "I can be projected from any suitable holo-system."

"Great! I'll rig up my Kuwashii Visor to display you so the Council can be made aware of everything you know. I have a feeling you're going to be doing most of the talking." Shepard took Cortana's memory chip and immediately headed to the armory to dig up the aforementioned visor. She had a huge pile of gear—more options than she knew what to do with. "Better to have it and not need it" typically deflected any questions about storing all of her hardware.

"Huh. That's odd" commented the Commander after touching Cortana's chip to the visor. A small flash of light, then…nothing. "Oh man, if I lose her, I can just see the Master Chief shoving me through the nearest window."

Shepard brought the visor up to the right side of her head and turned on the display.

A purple eye took over the entirety of the small display system before dissipating.

"Weird. Graphical corruption…"

The display, a hologram rather than the piece of glass it might otherwise appear to be, disappeared entirely. A purple-blue glow caught Shepard's attention.

"Hi!"

Cortana no longer appeared as a toy-sized projection, but a life-size (nude) human woman.

"Your computers are weird. But this works."

"Uhh, okay… Stay with me."

"I don't think I could avoid it." Cortana made a great show of trying to run "away" from the Spectre, only to end up jogging in place as if stuck against some kind of invisible wall.

"Try to look natural" whispered Sam. "And try not to give away the fact that you're an artificial intelligence."

"Why? Are they jealous?"

"No!" came the hissed response. "True artificial intelligences are illegal on the Citadel and in Citadel space!"

"Oh, how very kind of you. Bring me to a place where I might get deleted" harrumphed the AI. "See what happens next time you need a slipspace course plotted."

Upon arrival at the Citadel, Shepard took the express taxi from the docks which dropped her right at the base of the Council Tower. Her driver did his best to ignore the blue projection emanating from her visor, and Cortana kept her mouth shut. Shepard pretended to be very interested in scenery she'd been past dozens of times.

Once safely inside an elevator in which she used Spectre authorization to disable all recording, Shepard expounded on the reasoning behind the Citadel's AI ban. "The geth are actually the reason. Their makers, the quarians, tried to exterminate them when a geth unit started asking uncomfortable questions. I believe it was something about having a soul. Anyhow, ever since the geth kicked the quarians off their home planet and made them space vagrants, the Council has looked poorly upon the concept of AI."

"Is that it for the history lesson? And the geth/quarians seemed cooperative enough to me."

"That's…kind of the new normal" replied Shepard. "If you came here five years ago, that would not have worked out well. The quarians would have tried to delete you on sight."

Cortana decided she didn't need more conversation about how she was unwelcome. She didn't blame Shepard—but she also didn't have to keep hearing more about her perilous status. The rest of the elevator ride passed in silence. Upon arriving at the Council Chambers, Shepard expected the usual experience of finding an annoyed Council peeved at her being thirty-two standard seconds late. Instead, she saw a very large shape in the place she usually stood to address the Council. A very large shape that was definitely a krogan.

"…not going to be used and tossed aside again. We've been down that road!"

"We are merely asking if the krogan would be interested in an accelerated good-behavior plan in exchange for fighting this new Infection threat" replied Clethon, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Well, there's still a problem" boomed Wrex, "because the genophage cure isn't going to give you the number of cannon fodder you need to beat this Infection, is it? You haven't even explained what we're fighting! You keep saying 'Infection,' but that just sounds like something that needs a good dose of antibiotics. Or redundant organs."

"The Council does not believe it wise…"

"Hold it!" Cortana's voice came through very small and tinny owing to projecting from Samantha Shepard's Kuwashii Visor. Three seconds later, she broke into the addressing system of the Council Chambers so that all would hear her words.

"Shepard, if you could please control your personal assistant…" pleaded Tevos.

"She's not my personal assistant!" barked Sam.

"I am Cortana, UNSC Artificial Intelligence Service Number CTN 0452-9, and I am here to tell you the ways in which your galaxy is doomed."

"An AI?" sputtered Clethon. "Shepard, you know the law…"

"I'm through dealing with your shenanigans! I'm through being patient! Every time I've come here trying to be nice and play by your little rules" (her voice took on a viciously mocking tone) "we've spent too long doing nothing while the wolves are at the gate! And by the time you recognize what's going on, half the metaphorical village is dead!"

"Shepard, please…" Tevos tried to head off the storm, but it was far too little, too late.

"First it was Saren! You didn't want to believe the upstart human might have a point. So you delay! We dig up more evidence. You still delay! Sovereign, a Reaper, drops in for a visit. We save your unprepared asses and lose a big chunk of our fleet doing it. So what's the lesson? Saren was brainwashed by geth—there is no Reaper problem, and we're going to go back to pretending everything's happy-happy-joy-joy! You even sent the _Destiny Ascension_ on a victory cruise! A goddamn victory cruise while human colonies were raided by the Collectors."

Even Cortana didn't have any words.

Catching her breath, she relished this moment. She'd been wanting to say these things for so long, but it took a homicidal maniac, an apparently-universe-destroying plague-race, and interspatial rifts to bring everything to a point where she felt she could say it and not be a persona non grata. So be it.

"I had to work with Cerberus. Fucking Cerberus! The terrorists! Because you did nothing." She spat the last three words. "Nothing! And then, after we brought back even more information about the Reapers, surprise! Another delay! 'We will consider your information and take it under advisement.'" Sam freely made fun of Tevos at this point—the smug asari who thought since she'd been around eight hundred years or more that she always knew which way was up. Not so fast! "The only thing you considered was dithering! The only reason we're even here to have this discussion is because the Trans-Galactic Republic blundered into an inert mass relay in their galaxy and happened to bring a gigantic fleet of super-powerful starships to our doorstep!"

"Commander, we…"

She wasn't even in a mood for Grayson to interrupt her. "And then, we get a distress call. Someone else has a Reaper problem—so we build a fleet. And yeah, falling into a fascist dictatorship to do it was probably not the best idea, but at the same time, _things got done_. Democracy and freedom don't have to be ditherers, they are because we let them be! We go over there, try to clean it up. Reapers exit stage left because of some weird cataclysm from a Siren, a Vault, and a billion-credit dreadnaught. I have no fucking clue how that worked, but it did. We get a Kaidan Alenko from another universe, a copy of Maya the Siren, an insane Siren named Sarah, and now her!" She gestured wildly at a pensive-looking Cortana. "Oh, yeah, and that Flood/Infection thing too. There's that."

Thinking the rant over, Tevos tried to speak up before Shepard barreled over her again.

"What's it take, huh?" She threw her hands up in a gesture of helplessness. "We've got people popping in and out of the universe, weird animals with teleporting portals on their backs, and not one but two competing methods to utterly destroy the galaxy. Yet here we sit, fighting old battles."

Clethon cut in and refused to let himself be overrun this time. "We thought asking the krogan to help would be a step in the right direction. It would give them a chance to earn their own representative on this Council."

At that, Wrex perked up, a wily smile on his face. "So once we're up there, you can out-vote us at every turn, then say 'too bad, that's the way things work?' Nice try."

"What do you want, Urdnot Wrex?" cried an exasperated Tevos. "Complete control over the galaxy?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no to that…"

"Wrex!" cut in Shepard. "Now is not the time!"

"Heh. Sorry, Shepard. Too good to pass up."

"What you should be doing is preparing for your inevitable decline." Cortana had entirely too much fun with that phrase, knew no one would get why she thought it was funny, and ultimately did not care. "The Flood will consume you all, unless someone stamps it out. Unfortunately, that usually involves killing all sapient life in the galaxy…"

"This AI!" blurted Victus. "Why would you bring an artificial intelligence here? You know better, Spectre."

"I know the galaxy's coming to an end. So we pull out all the stops" Shepard replied dangerously. "I'm not quite on board with the 'release the Siren' crowd, not that she's actually being held up—I know a Trojan prisoner when I see one—but there exists a sizable faction that would like to see her burn this infection, flood, whatever you're going to call it."

"The Flood need anything of sufficient biomass to continue their replication" lectured Cortana as if the previous exchange had not taken place. "Deprived of that, they will starve. Where we're from, someone left behind a weapon to defeat the Flood at the cost of all life in the galaxy with sufficient biomass to sustain it. I don't suppose you have large, semi-habitable rings here?" Her tone suggested the question to be serious, even though nobody had any idea what the AI was referring to.

"No, we don't" replied Shepard. "Can we build them?"

"Build them? Commander, you must be seriously damaged from cryo-sleep if you think _your_ civilization can duplicate Forerunner artifacts."

"Forerunners? Aren't those Eridians? I'm getting confused." Shepard shook her head as if to clear it.

"The only thing we need to worry about is stopping the Flood" insisted Cortana. "There is no cure once someone is infected. Well, the cure is to stop them from infecting anyone else, which means killing them. All infections must be burned."

"We're going to trust a random alleged artificial intelligence and a Spectre who just insulted this Council?" asked Clethon incredulously.

"You know, I have a really, really fast ship" mused Shepard aloud. "If I wanted to, I could just fly away, far away, and leave you morons to rot in the mess you made. That option's looking extremely attractive right now."

"You'd abandon us?" growled Wrex. "Never thought you to be a coward."

"If you got ignored every time you tried to get the attention of the people who were supposed to care about what you had to say, you'd be pessimistic too" she replied.

"Don't get me started" laughed the krogan. "Try having your whole _species_ do that to you, then tell me how it feels. Your argument would probably work on anyone else, though."

"Touché."

"This is the part where we have a secret pow-wow and then formulate a really complicated plan to fight the latest threat, right?" Shepard turned back to the Council. They shifted awkwardly. Despite the Commander's indiscretion, for the most part, she was technically correct—they _had_ ignored virtually everything she'd warned them about only to have it blow up in their faces.

"We…were considering another option" replied Tevos hesitantly.

"Oh really? Do tell! I look forward to hearing it!" Shepard couldn't keep the sarcasm at bay. She'd already torn through them like a ship coming out of a mass relay, so why stop when it was oh so much fun?

"Ahem. Yes. We were deliberating on the idea of making the galaxy aware of the Infection threat through an official Council pronouncement." Clethon stopped, expecting some kind of Sam-slam. He half-got what he anticipated.

"Well, that's a start" replied the Spectre slowly in a very maternal tone. "Only problem is, once you tell everyone that yes, there are space zombies that will kill us all, what next? Chaos? Bedlam? Mass orgies?" She sped up through her second sentence.

The Councilors decided to ignore any further provocations. "We would hope the citizenry would prepare itself. We are also distributing informational kits…"

"Which are all WRONG" cut in Cortana. "WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. You think base Flood spores don't survive in the vacuum of space? Wrong. You think a 'vaccine could be produced in a few years?' Wrong. That certain species are 'more resistant?' Wrong!"

"How did you…that's not even public…" Clethon couldn't contain his astonishment.

"Probably the same way she broke into the loudspeakers in this room" suggested Shepard.

Nobody had any response for that.

"I'm dumping everything I have on the Flood into your computer system. What you do with the information after that is up to you. Call it the Infection, the Flood, whatever—we're all equally edible, and equally screwed."

"We're not giving up." Shepard, who minutes ago taunted the Council and threatened to leave the galaxy in her advanced starship, found steel in her voice as she laid out exactly what she thought should be done about the Flood/Infection. "First, our priority is containment. Burn anything leaving an infected system, no ifs, ands, or buts. All other intersystem travel is to be monitored. The price will be high, but not as high as if any of this Infection gets loose. Second, we need to be able to react fast—Cortana? You have information on slipspace drives, correct? Work with Tali, Jackie, Maya (and her copy). Anyone who knows anything about propulsion—_we need that super dreadnaught back_. The Trans-Galactic Republic's operational Star Destroyers should be deployed to sterilize planets if we have to. We keep the population informed but guarded. No mass panics. That's a tall order, and I doubt we're going to be able to contain absolutely everyone. They need to see steady leadership. They need to see us as doing something concrete. They need to see progress."

"At this time, the Infection is present mainly in the Terminus Systems. Politically, that makes it simpler to isolate and, as you said, if necessary, terminate" began Tevos.

"It's going to look horrible, and we're going down in history as the Council that saved the rich by killing the poor" continued Victus, "but it's strategic necessity. The Terminus are unregulated, difficult to defend, and do not follow established authorities…"

"They'll follow one" retorted Sam.

"Who? Who could command the loyalty of the Terminus Systems?"

"Who do you think?" replied the Commander, as if Tevos' question ranked as the dumbest thing she'd ever heard.

[...]

"We've blown seven Infected ships out of the sky, but they just keep coming!"

"Here's the eighth, make it eight _kills_ or Aria will _have your head!_" growled Bray. He'd been promoted to chief of station security after his predecessor permitted a section of Omega to become contaminated. Bray's quick thinking resulted in blowing off the bottom two kilometers of the station with improvised explosives, cutting off easy access for the Infection and sparing Omega from large-scale infestation (as far as anyone could tell).

Any vessel with an erratic course drew fire from Omega's turbolaser cannons. No one bothered to ask where or how Aria had obtained technology that was supposed to be solely for the use of Citadel Council-sanctioned militaries and the Trans-Galactic Republic under the CRITICAL framework. Rumors suggested many of the guns came from _Revenant_, now _Siren Serenade_, when the ship became crippled by an extra-galactic human-based alliance called Sapiens' Shield that counted Cerberus among its members. That alliance had fragmented—Aria believed its threat, however, had not. Unfortunately for her gunners, precious little needed shooting down since the end of the Reaper War, until now.

"If a single cell of the Infection gets aboard this station, I will burn everything within a hundred meters!" vowed the pirate queen. Several suspected areas of Infection had already been found near the Tuhi District, and with its close proximity to major businesses (both legal and otherwise) Aria took no chances. She hired the Blood Pack to "clean" the section where Infection had been reported. The burned-out husks of many businesses and homes showed they'd done what they'd been paid to do. That occupants still resided within many of these homes did not concern the vorcha and krogan who were sent in to perform the task—crisp corpses served as proof of that.

Dr. Daniel Abrams already had his hands full trying to deal with smugglers peddling counterfeit medi-bac/bacta, and now a new challenge dropped on his doorstep. To console the vast majority of people whose medi-bac came up counterfeit, he told them that almost 90% of alleged bacta ended up being fake anyway (which was true—the substance somehow ended up being harder to get one's hands on illegally than, say, turbolasers, hibridium, or fire-gems). He'd tried treating an Infected batarian with medi-bac, only to see no results whatsoever. The next morning, the doctor found the wing of his enlarged clinic (sponsored by Sirta) where the batarian had been staying destroyed. The batarian had gone mad overnight, biting himself bloody and smearing this residue on other patients. He moved them to the isolation wing after sending his test data to Mordin Solis. The batarian got a very rare full-bacta immersion (no diluted medi-bac). Within minutes, the Infection asserted itself, twisting the batarian into a nightmarish creature coughed from the foulest corners of the galaxy. His eyes bled out, replaced by bio-pneumatic spike launchers. Arms elongated into whips, and calcified growths appeared all over his body, making him very difficult to kill.

By the time Dr. Abrams and his staff put down the Infected and semi-Infected (he would never forgive himself for his execution-style killing of two asari maidens who had been smeared with the batarian's blood even though they volunteered to die), Aria caught wind of the mess. Blood Pack mercenaries moved in to raze the clinic and everything around it, turning the entire Gozu District into a flaming pyre. The security mechs, which had been enough to deter even some Talon gang raids (after the medi-bac, of course), were no match for the endless waves of krogan/vorcha muscle sent by the queen of Omega.

Brought before Aria T'Loak, Abrams expected to shot on sight. As he stared at the barrel of her Claymore shotgun, he wondered if she would even let him speak before splattering his brains all over the wall.

"You monumentally blithering _idiot_" she roared. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing, trying to treat people with that Infection? The only cure is fire!"

"But, the clinic…"

"_But the clinic!_" she retorted in a twisted imitation of his voice. "Your charity is putting my station in danger. If you want to do whatever passes for good in that little brain of yours, you can either work for me, or see if eternity is as gentle when embraced with a shotgun."

"Why would I work for you?" he demanded. "You're a murderer, a smuggler, a tyrant…"

"Such harsh words! That I've heard dozens of times before. From dozens of pathetic mouths before I've blown them into the middle of the next star cluster. Work for me and live, or see how bulletproof idealism is. The only reason I'm even offering to spare your life is because we managed to secure a good portion of the medi-bac. We even got a few crates of the Sirta test kits so I know next time I'm patching myself up that I'm not using counterfeit crap."

"What do you need me for?" Abrams started to rise before feeling the shotgun pressing against his head.

"You're the only one who knows the right doses of that medi-bac. Sure, my associates could try to make use of it, but they'd probably either use too much and waste it or use too little, then come to me complaining that it doesn't work. Plus, she who controls the medi-bac can wring quite a bit of goodwill out of the populace here…"

"I assume the complainers would have to seek other employment."

"Your assumption is correct. Make your decision."

"Where do I report for work?"

"Good choice." Aria slammed the butt of the shotgun into Daniel Abrams' neck. "You'll be working where you wake up, in _my_ clinic. That's for being such a rosy-headed moron. Don't do it again."

"Aria! Large number of vessels on the scope!"

She turned away from the traumatized Abrams toward an array of monitors depicting a rather significant approaching fleet. Identify-Friend-Foe showed Trans-Galactic Republic ships she'd not seen before, and one very distinct vessel of which there were only two operational in the galaxy.

"Oh look, it's the queen of the goodie-goodies. What do you want, Shepard?"

"What do you think?"

"You're very close to breaking the one rule of Omega, Shepard. Don't push it."

"Can I at least dock without being shot at? I've got targeting locks…lighting up all over the place." She'd just noticed they were pilfered Trans-Galactic Republic targeting locks, which meant the weapons would be more than capable of heavily damaging if not destroying _Revenant Phoenix_. She didn't want to tip her hand that she'd become aware of this, however.

"For old time's sake, but don't think this means anything."

Met at the dock by heavily-armed guards, Shepard found her shore party (Garrus/Brick) unable to continue by edict of Aria ("Really?" demanded the mountain of muscle. "Not impressed!" harped Garrus.)

"You either play by my rules, or not at all" said the asari's head, projected out of Shepard's omnitool. Sighing at being forced to knuckle under to the "Queen of Omega," Sam Shepard acquiesced and continued solo.

"You remember Mordin Solis and his clinc, Shepard?"

"We haven't been introduced" she replied to the unnervingly-pleasant sounding batarian who'd addressed her by name.

"Bray, Chief of Station Security. I've been trying to keep the Infection off the station, but it's been a challenge. Mordin's assistant Dr. Daniel Abrams used to run his clinic until very recently—until he started trying to cure the Infection. I don't personally disagree with his motive, but he doesn't have all of Mordin's brains. The Infection got loose and Aria torched the place."

"So, she burns any suspected Infection?"

"Pretty much. Blood Pack doesn't care about anything except the credits, so if you need unpleasant work done, they're usually the best bet. I'm going to need to disable any tracking devices, locators, or homing beacons." The batarian helped Shepard into a battered skycar that looked as though it had seen better days. His anti-tracking devices failed to account for the artificial intelligence wedged into Sam's Kuwashii Visor, however. Cortana could not communicate with Shepard mentally, due to the Spectre lacking a suitable neural lace, and talking out of the visor would reveal her. She thus kept quiet, though still conducted limited passive scans.

"If you haven't noticed, Aria's become a bit more…distrusting since the Sapiens' Shield attacks."

Shepard tilted her head. "I never heard of Sapiens' Shield doing anything here."

"They tried. Aria sent them packing. Technically, the truce between the Blood Pack, Eclipse, and Blue Suns that held them off is still in effect—and no one crosses Aria. So unless she says it's off, it's not."

Sam looked shocked. "Aria can get these mercs to play nice?"

Bray's toothy mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. "She got Jona Sederis out of prison while that C-Sec bureaucrat Bailey was away. He'd been holding it up—somehow even Tevos couldn't get past him. Anyway, when he disappeared for a bit, she sprung Sederis on the condition Sederis follow her rules."

"Let me guess: Sederis fucked with Aria."

"And died for it."

"I'm guessing she doesn't have ready-made set-ups to assassinate the heads of other groups, though. So why cooperate?"

"It doesn't matter!" said Bray in an amused tone. "They _think_ she might be able to kill them, so they act like she can. Meaning, they do what she says."

The skycar set down and the pair disembarked. Bray walked Shepard through several sets of heavy blast doors, two forcefields, and a guarded checkpoint before arriving at Aria's command center.

"Shepard. Welcome to the Castle."

"Only fitting for someone calling themselves a queen" replied the Spectre, a hint of tease in her voice.

"So, what do you want?" asked Aria suspiciously. "You show up with a whole fleet of Trans-Galactic Republic starships I've never seen before. I know about your fancy ship—but these _Hammer_-class don't match anything in my database."

"You know what? I don't know anything about them either, Aria."

The dark-blue asari narrowed her eyes. "If you're playing me, Shepard, you know the consequences."

"It seems part of the reason I came here has settled itself, under your…astute…guidance. I'm impressed you managed to convince the mercenaries here to play nice."

"It's all in how you ask" replied Aria with a hint of grandeur, spreading her hands. "Demonstrate your power, show them how it can be beneficial to work within that power instead of against it or outside it… Though Jona Sederis learned the hard way what happens when you do work against the hand that feeds you."

Aria glared at Shepard. "What's it to you that the hired guns you mowed over so easily to find Archangel now work as one?"

"It's nothing to me, but it might be everything to keeping the Infection in the Terminus from getting out of control."

"Bullshit. If you are here on my station asking me about it, you have some interest in the situation. Especially since the Trans-Galactic Republic's fleet is following you like hungry varren." Her eyes bored into Samantha's, as if trying to silently root out whatever hidden motive this Council Spectre might have for showing her face in a hive of ill repute.

"Okay, you caught me. I'm here because pretty much everyone in the galaxy is looking to you as the only one able to give the Terminus Systems a fighting chance against the Infection. I'm here because certain individuals within the galactic power structure were ready to write off the entirety of the Terminus. I wasn't."

"Those pretentious Council fuckers." Aria spoke slowly, deliberately. "You're not hiding anything from me, Shepard—the Council sent you here. You can tell them this: I will fight the Infection, but I will not become their little pawn."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I think I'm going to burn things."

"Huh. Inner pyro much?" Shepard smirked, recognizing a kindred spirit. She loved using incendiary ammo on the battlefield.

"Bray already used explosives to detach the bottom of this station after it became host to an Infection. If I have to set this entire station on fire, I will. The Infection threatens my business. I will not allow that to continue uncontested. If I have to reclaim a blackened husk of a station and rebuild it myself, so be it."

"Anything else?"

"I will contain the Infection because it suits me. You make sure your little handlers back in their tower know that. This is not about them, or what they want—it just so happens that what they want lines up with what I want. If they think differently, there will be disagreements."

Shepard didn't mention that the Trans-Galactic Republic would be leaving several _Hammers_ in the area. Cloaked, of course. With the Infection and interspatial rifts, plus Sarah, all compunctions about making use of hitherto-restricted or taboo technologies went out the proverbial airlock. If Omega became sufficiently overrun, the cruisers would destroy it with a few well-placed blasts. As an unmoving target, the contingency vessels would be able to sit permanently cloaked, able to fire on the station without first decloaking since it would not have changed position since the last sensor sweep conducted with the hibridium cloak off.

Before leaving, Aria pulled Shepard aside, whispering into her ear. "You seem tense. You need to find a nice young man to get you to loosen up." Followed by a quick peck on the cheek. "Maybe…in a different universe…"

The pirate queen shoved Sam away before anyone could notice unusual activity. "Next time you come in here wearing the Council's flag, you might want to make it a little more obvious. I almost missed it!" she taunted.

[…]

Back aboard _Revenant Phoenix_, Sam signaled the fleet which hyper-zeroed out. The contingency cruisers would fly beyond the range of Omega's stolen Trans-Galactic Republic sensors, cloak, and then follow a pre-plotted course back to the station. _Sledge_ and _Anvil_ would be ready to do what their names implied if the signal were given.

"You realize she's rigged every part of that station we visited, and probably everywhere we didn't visit, with hidden tanks of flammable liquid" exclaimed Cortana once Shepard reactivated her image-projection system. "She wasn't kidding about lighting the whole station on fire!"

"You know the Infection better than I do—is that a viable strategy to fight it?" retorted Sam. "You sound shocked given that you've been telling me how terrible this Flood/Infection thing is."

"It is terrible!" countered Cortana. "But burning civilians alive? That's a tactic I associate with the Covenant Remnant, not the Combined Galactic Taskforce!"

"What's that, again?"

"When the Flood spread, it took over worlds belonging to both the Covenant and humanity. Driven together by a dangerous mutual enemy, the Unified Earth Government and a good amount of the Covenant worked together to exterminate any Flood they found. Some in the Covenant viewed this as heresy—mainly the Prophets themselves. When UNSC forces led an effort to repel the Flood from Installation 06, also known as Epsilon Halo, the majority of Covenant forces decided to throw in their lot with an alliance. The ones who didn't were dubbed the Covenant Remnant—and it was their sabotage that caused the loss of _Eternal Protector_."

"So. My questions still stand. Will Aria's trial-by-fire work? And what would you do instead?"

"The Flood is generally sterilized from orbit. Even the .3273 Flood Super Cell cannot survive extremely high temperatures, which is why the Covenant usually partially or totally glasses infected worlds. A fleet did this to a large portion of Africa after a Flood-infested CCS-class cruiser crashed there. So whether or not this Aria's solution would work depends on the temperatures generated."

"Well, most military-grade flame projectors can create heat over 900.1 degrees Celsius. I'd bet Aria has those, or even something better."

"That should be enough. Really, I see no option other than evacuating the station and quarantining its occupants to avoid mass death by burning."

"Which we're not about to do given that most of the inhabitants are either criminals or vagrants the Council doesn't want anywhere near their shiny palace."

"Unfortunate" concluded the AI. "That said, the answer to dealing with Flood outbreaks is usually rather unpleasant."

"You're _sure_ there's no way to reverse it or stop it?"

"Samantha, every person who tried that where I'm from ended up dead. The Flood defies all known tenants of biology. It out-evolves, out-adapts, and out-wits every treatment thrown at it."

Samantha was quiet for a while. She'd just been told to give up on something, which usually did not go over well. That said, the individual doing the telling knew far more about the subject than she did, and given the horrors apparently in store for anyone unfortunate enough to end up in the Infection's path, was it really worth the risk of trying to save lives through medicine when years of research by others failed miserably?

"She's right."

By this point, the appearance of the Master Chief behind her in the hanger no longer elicited surprise.

"The only cure for the Flood is its defeat" exhorted Cortana. "So do everything you can to keep it from gaining a foothold."

"So, does that mean you're volunteering to help?"

"No."

"Why not?" demanded Sam. "You're dressed in battle ge…oh wait…" She had a realization identical in meaning to the Master Chief's response.

"I fought the Flood every day where I'm from. But I also had a weapon locker, armor repair shop, and other useful support to keep me going. Do I have that here?"

"We're more useful as information sources" added Cortana. "The day the Chief shies from a fight is a messed-up day indeed…"

"Combined with interspatial portals, nutty murderers, time-shifted Sirens…"

"No kidding. Nothing makes sense anymore."

Sam had a thought which she kept to herself. _What if I put Cortana into a physical body? She seems very easily adapted between various systems…_

[…]

"Keep that suppressing fire up!" yelled James Vega. Several Infected pirate vessels had crashed into the unshielded-due-to-battle-damage _Maxthon_, "landing" Infected boarding parties on the advanced warship. "Don't let them touch you!"

_We can hold it_. _Just keep firing!_

His ship had been overwhelmed by countless vessels pouring out of the Nemean Abyss. Sent in as a patrol to find out exactly what was going on, even this cutting-edge weapon of war found itself dulled from repeated and unending use.

Defenders sought to prevent the hole where the ship's single bottom-forward turret had once been from becoming a gaping wound through which the Infected could pour. James himself had turned the two front turrets back on his own ship, blasting away biomass that continued to grow on the outside of the cruiser's ventral side until he could track no closer to the initially-damaged area. He'd found incendiary ammunition to be the most effective at slowing or stopping Infection forms. For the faint-of-heart, such ammunition also tended to leave very little in the way of corpses behind, thus eliminating the retch-inducing piles of horrifically transfigured corpses normally associated with Infected ships.

The Infected came in several varieties, most of which the base species could be determined with some degree of accuracy. All were extremely dangerous. James worked with combat-experienced Marines to create a dossier of Infected forms, which he transmitted at maximum power on all available frequencies.

Human: The upper body becomes covered in a thick hide containing a significant amount of naturally-kinetic-absorbent calcium. Arms can either mutate into long whips suitable for ranged combat/strangulation, or vaguely retain their original form enabling the Infected to use some weapons, though often inaccurately. Many have one whip and one arm. Some bits of the host are generally visible, usually clothing/skin on the legs.

Salarian: Arms lengthen into vicious whips used to slash or ensnare. The head twists forward with heavily calcified protrusions growing where "horns" normally appeared. The horns were used as expected, to either skewer victims caught by the whips or ram into downed opponents.

Turian: Head removed, whips grown explosively from the neck. Arms are retained, though the body is generally covered in calcified plating. This is considered to be a more dangerous form as it can always operate vehicles, two-handed weapons, or dual-wield one-handed weapons. The naturally-hardened outer skin of the turian makes this form even harder to kill.

Asari: Very few specimens seen. Those that have been fought were observed to utilize weak forms of biotic powers, but lack physical coordination, staggering around the battlefield as if drunk. Similar mutations to the human form, though both arms are always whips.

Vorcha: Very little difference from the original form, other than the movement of the head. Gains calcified armor-plate making a kill difficult. Very, very fast, seemingly capable of jumping off floors, walls, and ceilings to slash and tear its opponents.

Batarian: The most notable alternation is of the eyes, which become some kind of biological projectile-launcher capable of hitting with reasonable accuracy tens of meters away. Again, arms are subject to either slight mutilation and retention of weapon-handling, or conversion to long, whip-like appendages. Most take one of each. Par-for-the-course calcified plating included.

Volus: Not yet observed.

Krogan: Not yet observed.

Quarian: Not yet observed.

Hanar: Not yet observed.

Drell: Not yet observed.

Elcor: Not yet observed.

All forms had some kind of pink appendages sticking out of the body somewhere. Astute soldiers became aware that shooting these off tended to reliably drop Infected enemies to the deck even if the Infected body remained undamaged. It was further noted that however new Infected came to be, it didn't require the hijacked corpse to have been recently alive, so dead bodies were initially kept under guard out of respect for the dead, until it became apparent that expending manpower protecting the deceased was not a wise move.

"Torch 'em!" barked the corporal. His fireteam turned their flamethrowers to maximum setting before unleashing a funeral pyre upon the mounds of dead bodies backed up in _Maxthon_'s morgue.

In the field, a PFC named Clark Isakson discovered activating mag-lock found in anti-grav boots and stomping on corpses to dismember and destroy tended to discourage the formation of new Infected. As disgusting and disquieting as it was to smash one's fallen colleagues until their organs oozed out, it was a damn sight better than seeing them reanimated trying to rip your face off.

"Captain Vega, sir!"

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"We're running out of men down there. The Infection's stalled, but we'll lose by attrition!"

Resisting the urge to scream at his battle-weary soldier that winning was all about attitude, Vega bowed to the reality facing him: he would not be able to hold that section of his ship much longer. Heavy automation and sophisticated computer systems drastically decreased the number of soldiers needed to run _Maxthon_, and as arrogant as it seemed now, it never occurred to the designers that the crew might have to repel boarders.

"Use the airtight bulkheads, fall back, fortify, hold. We repeat that pattern until they give up!" He didn't add the alternative, at least not out loud.

_Or we're all dead._

"Yes, sir! They will taste our FireHoses of death, _sir!_"

"Burn those fuckers. Burn them all!"

At a checkpoint established near Bulkhead Thirteen, an armory's worth of weapons had been stockpiled for the squad of soldiers making a stand there. The door had been welded shut and reinforced with every piece of usable scrap they could find.

Staff Sergeant Wiley handed out FireHose derivative Revenant Light Machine Guns to every soldier under his command. The high-fire-rate, flame-belching weapon seemed to be the absolute best defense against the Infection, making sure they stayed down rather than playing dead. At the back of the weapon-pile were some imported Maliwan Pyrophobia rocket launchers would let the squad light up the hallway if need be. Wiley kept careful track of his disruptor pistol—as a member of RISE it was keyed to him alone, and actually a death penalty offense for either someone else to try to use it or him to lose track of it. He didn't know what it would do to an Infected, but since a disruptor could punch through several meters of durasteel, he figured it would probably work fairly well.

He'd covertly transmitted more information on the Infection to RISE—they were now fully aware of anything he knew. Which happened to be quite a bit compared to most others ("Infected? Shoot them!"), given his front-line-yet-undercover status. They'd received both basic bio-scans and written summaries (by James) to go with them on each form of Infected.

THOOM.

Something struck the closed door.

THOOM.

Now a dent in the door.

"Here we go!" shouted one Marine.

Wiley started the HoloNet-connected recorder built into his combat gear. Chances were, whatever was about to bust through the door would probably be something worth submitting as evidence.

THOOM. THOOM.

Crash.

Through the door came…something. Massive, easily over two meters in height, and very top-heavy. It looked vaguely like a krogan—well, it _used_ to be a krogan, anyway. The head had been completely twisted to the left, leaving a huge cluster of pink "feathers" sticking out of the top. Where the face should have been resided a massive biological ram—likely what enabled the monstrosity to breach a welded door. Armor from the original host could still be seen, though most of the surface of the nightmarish creature took on the brownish-yellow color of the Infected. For once, no whips. Then again, krogan had stubby arms in comparison to their great size anyway.

Wiley recorded all this while letting his FireHose rip. Unfortunately, the combination of natural toughness and krogan armor meant the storm of lead pounding into the Infected krogan did very little to slow it. The top of the _thing_ lowered, as a krogan's head would before carrying out a berserker, blood-rage fueled charge. Instead of charging, it exploded.

Blood, bone fragments, and more Infected creatures spilled out of what was now a toppling set of legs. These creatures appeared to be disgusting bags of flesh with legs. The pink "flowers" present in other Infection forms stuck out of their fronts. Wiley watched one latch onto a Marine's head, which promptly popped off in a shower of gore. Within seconds, a new human Infected was born.

_So that's how they're made…_

Screaming incomprehensibly, Wiley pulled his disruptor and fired. A small pile of gray ash floated toward the ground where an Infected marine previously stood.

"Die, twisted filth!"

Another mutated krogan at the door.

FSSSSSSSSSSSST.

Not anymore.

Wiley felt a strange prickling sensation in his left arm. Looking down, he saw it had begun to atrophy, turn the color of Infection. Only then did he realize a missile-like piece of bone from the first former krogan protruded from his upper forearm. Snarling, he yanked it out. Grabbing an industrial cutting tool brought with the weapons to facilitate cleaner corpse destruction, the RISE agent clenched his teeth before lopping off his own arm at the shoulder. Through the eye-watering pain, he could see necrotizing flesh past the point of the cut.

"You'll never take me!"

He fired a disruptor blast point-blank into his own temple.

[...]

_Revenant Phoenix_ hyper-zeroed back to the SETTLE Center after Shepard's parlay with Aria. Gaige excitedly dialed up Tali over the omnitool-based extranet to inform her that the _Elizabeth Booker_ would soon be ready for launch after both repairs and unspecified upgrades.

"That's great, Gaige, but we have more pressing problems. Want to work on a new faster-than-light engine?"

"Awesome! When do I start?"

"Right away" replied the quarian. "Catch a shuttle to the station as soon as you're able."

A collection of mostly science geniuses assembled within the SETTLE Center's engineering deck. Tali and Gaige were joined by others, including Kevin Filner, Jackie Jakobs, both Mayas (the prime had finally been cleared for discharge), the Master Chief (by Cortana's demand), Cortana herself transferred into the SETTLE Centers computer, and of course Samantha Shepard. Anyone not participating (or, as Garrus put it, "with an IQ under 180") recreated either aboard the station or _Phoenix_.

"Well, this is where we're at. I guess them naming our intergovernmental organization CRITICAL really has some meaning now!"

Universal groans except Jackie.

"Well, I thought it was funny" pouted Shepard. "Anyhow, we've got a power-mad Siren, an Infection from the pits of hell, and interspatial rifts, all causing galactic mayhem. First order of business: life without reliable non-space-damaging faster-than-light is really inconvenient. Hence, I'm hoping all you brilliant minds can do something about it. And fast!"

"You guys broke the cosmic speed limit" lectured Cortana. "Our slipspace drives don't open portals that let in other universes because we stick with the seventh dimension. These designs use the eleventh dimension—much faster, but also far riskier both from a temporal distortion perspective and a multiverse perspective."

"So, what, you going to ticket us?"

"Seriously Shep, just stop!" giggled Jackie. "Am I the only one who thinks her jokes are funny? Am I? Okay…"

"Anyway" continued Cortana, ignoring yet another lame joke, "the eleven-dimensional drives wouldn't be opening interspatial portals on their own, but since space is already damaged, it can magnify the problem. However, there are several equations that suggest if enough time passes, space will heal, assuming we're not past the critical point."

Shepard snickered.

"Incredibly immature laughter aside, the slipspace drive _would_ be the solution to avoiding further reality-convergence if it weren't for the pre-existing spatial lesions such as the one that brought me here. Your basic slipspace drive isn't difficult to construct…"

"What about this thing?" demanded Gaige, holding up the mystery cylinder. "It has all sorts of weird writing on it!"

"Damnit. I knew I forgot to invite someone—uhh, everyone take ten while I go round up Patricia Tannis!"

Shepard excused herself.

"I told her to let me handle the logistics, but she insisted on doing it manually" huffed Cortana with a small air of superiority. Cortana, however, found that being a purple nude woman with many stories about the Flood and Forerunners did not the center of attention make. Instead, prematurely-aged Maya found everyone clustering around her, demanding to know the story she'd already relayed to Jackie.

The rapid pace of said aging did more damage than the natural process would have, causing her joint pain in certain places, especially her knees and hips. Thus, she used a cane. Gaige tried to make an old-person joke only to be shushed by Jackie.

"For the last time, nobody told me what this thing was supposed to do, so stop asking!"

The younger Maya sniggered. Her compatriot had already gotten the hang of sounding old without even trying. She whispered to point this out.

"I am _not_ old!" cried the original Maya. "I…just…got prematurely physically aged!"

"From a technical standpoint, that is essentially the same thing" droned Cortana. "The medical definition of elderly…"

"Says the purple hologram who just happens to be naked."

This precipitated an entirely-serious debate between Cortana and Jackie over the (de)merits of the former's appearance, which only ended upon Shepard's return with Tannis in tow. Finding the group paying rapt attention to something, Sam expected to find a discussion about slipspace drives or perhaps methods of dealing with Sarah. Instead, the first thing she heard was "…at least I don't subtly alter the shape of my butt every day to see if anyone notices!"

"Ooookay then. Wha…wait, never mind, I don't want to know. I guess taking ass-shapes overly seriously has become the new coping mechanism for the universe possibly ending?"

Having a Council Spectre point out exactly how silly the whole debate was had the effect of killing it.

Over the next six hours, the group hashed out a basic understanding of how best to adapt slipspace technology for use aboard CRITICAL's starships. Much silent amusement came from Cortana's effortless intellectual domination of Patricia Tannis—though everyone valued and appreciated Tannis for her knowledge, her smug attitude rubbed more than one person the wrong way (offers involving science, in bed, did not blunt these feelings).

"I can absolutely guarantee, having worked with slipspace drives for most of my existence, that the temporal anomalies which occur in slipspace cannot be eliminated no matter how you solve for the unresolved coefficient" said Cortana with more than a hint of condescension. "You can shrink it. You can even theoretically make it worse by sabotaging key parts of the drive, but you cannot eliminate it."

Ultimately, it was decided (much to the chagrin of the engineering staff) to let Cortana draw up initial designs for an eleventh-dimension slipspace drive ("Extra slippery" was met with groans—Samantha's response to her joke's panning came in the form of glaring at everyone as if they'd said yahg were better-looking than asari).

Tali, Gaige, Filner, Jackie, and the Mayas Squared stood around one of the many design tables present on the engineering deck. As parts whirled, whizzed, and snapped into place the quarian could only marvel at Cortana's speed.

"So much, so fast! I wish I could do that…"

"Seriously?" replied Gaige. "You're put out because a brainy robot can design things faster than you?"

"Well, I guess… It's kind of a history thing…"

"History's cool!" Gaige looked at Tali expectantly.

"Oh, fine…"

"Wow! Can I see a geth?" asked Gaige after Tali finished relating a summarized version of the quarian-geth conflict. "They sound really awesome!"

_Sometimes, she acts her age despite her intelligence. She might be a genius, but she's still a nineteen-year-old genius._

"I suppose you could ask Samantha. She has a geth that sometimes follows her around, depending on what it wants to do at the moment." Tali seemed dejected.

"I'm not saying the Migrant Fleet isn't cool" protested Gaige. "But still, robots that aren't as dumb as Claptrap! That's something I have to see!"

Gaige absorbed herself in an ECHONet session, looking up anything and everything she could find on the geth. The ECHO-extranet conversion slowed things down, but Gaige just sat through the resulting loading screens. Tali, having thought a bit about why Gaige perturbed her, realized it had less to do with Gaige and more to do with something else entirely—being totally upstaged by a random outsider who no one knew until recently. Especially since that "person" happened to be an extremely advanced artificial intelligence.

_Kind of how the SETTLE personnel felt after Gaige and I basically took over Engineering…_

"I guess I got so caught up in hoping to be the first quarian the galaxy would see past her suit that I forgot everything doesn't have to be competitive."

Gaige looked up from her ECHONet browser. "Man, Tali, quit beating yourself up. So what? Someone else out-engineered you for once. It isn't the end of the world! And really, if someone didn't beat that problem into a bloody pulp, it would have been the end of the world!"

Tali looked over at another one of the design tables, "littered" with holograms of the dozens of devices, ships, and tools she and/or Gaige created. It wasn't for lack of effort—they'd both contributed massively to the Reaper War effort and subsequent requests for integration of Trans-Galactic Republic technology into Citadel-compatible systems. She remembered what Sam told her about never letting anyone tell her she hadn't contributed, and realized that applied to herself too.


	33. And the Horse You Rode In On

**Chapter 32 – And the Horse You Rode In On**

James Vega stared at what few functional readouts remained on _Maxthon_'s bridge. The Infection multiplied exponentially, taking ship after ship fleeing the Abyss. Originally, _Maxthon_ had been ordered to simply make a show of force. After the pirates failed to cooperate but also declined to shoot at a vessel flying the CRITICAL/Council flag due to fleeing a nameless terror, he'd taken _Maxthon_ in to investigate. Only at that point had he become aware of the Infection and the problems it caused as Infected ships battered his shields into nothing.

Defenders lost the front half of the ship and were down to fewer than fifty in fighting shape, total, after a fierce battle that saw several undercover RISE agents discharge their disruptors in a last-ditch effort to halt the advance of the Infected. Captain Vega half-considered blowing off the front half of his own ship to slow down the twisted tide, but wasn't sure how he'd have a reasonable chance at the maneuver succeeding. Given the spread of the Infection, he decided it best to keep his ship as far away from any civilized areas as possible, even if it meant sentencing everyone aboard to death.

_The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few._

"There's always the overload-the-reactor-and-blow-up-the-ship option" he said to no one in particular. Thankfully, the _Maxthon_'s reactor and associated power systems were still operational and free of Infection as far as he could tell. The heavily-armored access doors around the reaction chambers would also serve as a solid place to make a last stand. The new Captain raised his omnitool to call all remaining able-bodied soldiers over the ship's address system, but didn't get a single word out before the front of _Maxthon_ began to disintegrate under a barrage of heavy laser fire.

Blast after blast slammed into the ship—they were blood-red pulses, the color of Trans-Galactic Republic weapons. But who could have rode to his rescue? No ship showed on his sensors.

"I hope you have an insurance policy, Vega. The front end of your ship had…a slight blemish. I think we buffed it out."

Indeed, status displays indicated the whole front had been severed several meters behind the point of infection, just like he'd hoped. Leave it to Samantha Shepard to show up out of nowhere to save the day. On his viewscreen, a purple-blue shimmer appeared before revealing the comparatively-small _Normandy SR-2_.

"What the hell, Shepard?"

"Cloaking device" she smirked. "Little present from Kasumi Goto."

"I can't imagine that came from our side—tactical cloak is limited to one soldier, not an entire starship! What's the Trans-Galactic Republic going to say when they find out you have it?"

"They gave it to us." She paused, realizing that wasn't technically correct. "Well, they let us keep it after Garrus did some pretty excellent work for them, anyway. Want to visit a ship that has a little less Infection on it? And hurry up, we're sitting ducks out here!"

Ten minutes later, Vega (after being thoroughly decontaminated) stepped aboard _Normandy SR-2_. He'd visited before, but never spent much time on the repurposed Cerberus frigate. He deliberately avoided eye contact or even acknowledgement of Ashley Williams. They still hadn't spoke after the "drydock issue." A new face he did not recognize stood nearby, wearing the rank of Major. He would later find out that after one rousing Shepard speech, every individual she'd "collected" minus Wrex ("Damn politics and having to keep my race from destroying itself") willingly joined on the mission to figure out what exactly caused one of the most advanced starships in the galaxy to drop off the grid. A chance to take the fight to the Infection instead of falling back after its every advance helped too.

"Well, didn't think I rated this much of a rescue!" he noted in astonishment. An asari justicar, an expert quarian machinist, not one but two (identical-ish) Sirens, an absolute beast of a man, the most powerful human biotic in existence, a genetically-engineered perfect woman (who wouldn't go near the biotic), the turian who made Omega's criminals piss themselves, a Spectre/InterSpec auditor ("There are so many agents here they need an onboard paperwork processor") who stood a little close to the turian, a tank-grown superkrogan ("Wrex told me I needed to kill some things"), a purveyor of cloaking devices (among other items), a drell so deadly he'd not failed a mark in recent (perfect) memory, a rough-and-tumble mercenary, a salarian super-doctor ("Infection intriguing. Must study. May find way to combat. Possibly use work from Seeker swarms.") and an allied geth. Quite the party!

Behind all of these stood a massive set of green armor. He walked over to examine it—there was no way he could think of that Sam would fit inside and be able to operate it as its great height exceeded even her stature. Plus, if this is what being an InterSpec agent got you, he definitely shouldn't have taken the Captaincy.

"Hey Shepard! Your taste in personal protection is…"

"Not very fashionable" said the armor.

"Wait, this isn't Shepard's?"

"Nope!" Another unrecognized voice.

"The last time I was aboard, we had an artificial intelligence called EDI" he said to the unseen voice, turning about to determine where it came from. Finding it projected out of the operations center in front of the Commander's galaxy map, he did a double take.

"Whoa. Since when did you get a voice change and appearance package?" James hadn't been made aware of EDI's involvement with Lilith's death, nor did he really believe a computer program could be permanently lost (hence his focus on guns rather than, say, machine learning—a quantum blue-box AI could not be backed up in any case).

"I'm not EDI. I'm Cortana, UNSC artificial intelligence, service number CTN 0452-9."

"Since when did CRITICAL decide to throw the Citadel Conventions out the airlock? Also, what's UNSC? Some classified program even N7's aren't briefed on?"

"You have a lot to learn, soldier."

He swore this "Cortana" winked at him.

"Well, they can't infect what they can't see" announced Shepard with an air of finality. "We can hang around here all day!"

"Yeah, great view or whatever" griped Ashley. "Can we get started on burning those sick monsters now?"

"What about my crew?" demanded James. "We can't just leave them on _Maxthon_!"

"On the contrary, soldier, if you don't, we'll all die."

"What? That's ridiculous! None of them are showing any signs of the Infection!"

Instead of arguing, Cortana pulled up a visual representation of _Maxthon_. Several key defense points which were holding when James departed had collapsed. Lifesign counts dropped to fewer than twenty, and they were boxed in.

"I leave, and suddenly my soldiers turn into wet noodles?" He couldn't believe it.

"Have you seen this?" Cortana switched the display from his stricken ship to the video taken by one Staff Sergeant Wiley before his self-inflicted death.

"The Flood is evolving! Where I'm from, there were only a few lifeforms it could make use of. Here, it's like a vile, twisted, evil kid in a candy store. Except we're the candy" she added, completely unnecessarily.

"Well shit" concluded Ashley. "God has abandoned us and we're all going to die horrible deaths."

"Doesn't matter what it's called" said James, with more confidence than he felt. "We're going to send it back to whatever hell it crawled out of! Who's with me?" Realizing he'd essentially just responded to Ashley, the Captain quickly stopped talking.

"Brave words" replied Cortana, "but that's not going to be enough. From what I've learned, your society has weapons that can fight the Flood! Even better than some of what was available in my past. Problem is, _no one is using them!_"

"You saw the part about the crazy woman who thinks the whole galaxy should just die because of the damage to space, right?" asked Shepard hesitantly.

Cortana threw up her hands. "Why is it the backup plan _always_ involves killing all life in the galaxy?"

"You're the expert, you tell me" shot back the Spectre.

Given the otherwise-astute Commander's failure to detect sarcasm just now, Cortana put her face in her hands. Even when an AI projection did it, the facepalm gesture still had the same impact on those who witnessed it.

"Special Tasks Group conducting research on Infection at secret location" spoke up Mordin Solis. "Should stop by. See if progress made. Entering coordinates. Could be there in hours."

"Yeah. That. Let's do that." Shepard retired to her quarters, leaving the rest of the group standing around awkwardly.

[…]

Sarah twiddled her thumbs in her cell. Really, these primitives had no chance of actually holding her hostage—she only remained there of her own volition. Her Lady Fingers similarly were merely playing along, awaiting her order to use Undertow Currents as the method of regaining their lightstaffs, slashing their way out, and resuming the purge of all life in the galaxy. So when a guard approached claiming to have "good news" she didn't understand what the fuss was about.

"You're being released today. You all are. Take these documents to the…"

She didn't let him finish his sentence, unlock her cell door, or even have a dignified death as the Current of Pain tore his life away. Another twitch of her fingers, and every one of the hastily-digistructed cells popped open. Out stepped Zera (with cybernetic right arm), Urthula, Venera, and Drythlyn, all ready to continue Sarah's cleansing of a galaxy that recklessly endangered the balance between parallels and planes, the very thing the Forebears created her to prevent. An amped-up Undertow Current tore the door off the reinforced safe their lightstaffs had been stored in. Holding someone prisoner in their own castle had always been a relatively unintelligent idea, and now the Trans-Galactic Republic would learn exactly how dumb of an idea that was.

Frowning, Sarah headed away from her remaining Current-Channelers. "You know what to do" she instructed them. "Unfortunately, I have to be a gigantic _battery_ since we no longer have our…other power sources."

"We are sorry to hear it, my Lady." Drythlyn inclined her head slightly out of respect.

"Once the ship comes back online, resume my unpleasant but necessary work. Burn all lifeforms from this galaxy. It is purely at your discretion whether you destroy anyone foolish enough to get in our way."

The Forebears warned her about the "deadly dust" from another plane that had infected a few parallels on the current plane. In theory, the Forebears left her with a self-destructive gene that would cause any carrying the seed to turn not only on other life, but on itself as well. The monster would eat itself to death, leaving a galaxy fallow while space healed.

Sensors on "point-ship" _Vanquisher of Shadows_ didn't blare or alert her night watch to the fact that _Siren Serenade_ was returning to full power, mostly because Trans-Galactic Republic sensors were meant to detect hypermatter reactors, not Sirens channeling their powers into energy. In any case, even if _Vanquisher_ had reported a problem, local FLEETCOM would have quickly quashed it. As _Serenade_ vanished, the Captain aboard _Banisher of Demons_ hoped he hadn't just let a demon loose.

On a HoloNet conference with other high-ranking RISE officials, he reported that the Siren had been released and her ship departed, presumably to resume its rampage.

"Better the devil you know than the one you don't" began the Captain to the others.

Each participant was vaguely represented by a three-dimensional model of a grey-black generic head set against a blue background. The only differences were long hair to represent a woman. It looked like a set of restroom indicators otherwise, but it also ensured no one knew precisely what any other operative looked like. Voice disguisers again genericized all participants, though each individual had a unique tone and pitch for that session to enable others to determine who was speaking.

"Obviously, no one can know of this" intoned another man. "Even within RISE, this move is fraught with controversy."

"No shit" added a woman. "We're literally hoping she burns the Infection _first_, then we somehow are able to contain her before she destroys the rest of the galaxy."

The anonymous woman left this hanging. It really was a rather stupid plan on its face. But at this point, there were two reasons why the Trans-Galactic Republic went forward with it anyway. First: Millions of light-years between Gamma-Six and the Home Galaxy, so if anything exploded it wouldn't even be in the backyard. Second: Sacrificing one galaxy to save all the others was cold calculus, but one that the Home Senate voted for enthusiastically, drastically increasing the RISE budget for "contingency operations" in Gamma-Six. That meant more Star Dreadnaughts, further investment in RISE Current studies, more superlasers, and other assorted black-ops things.

_Siren Serenade_ reappeared within the Petra Nebula, trashing the Vetus system in a few hours. There really wasn't much to destroy, given the comparatively low population density of the area. The Lady Fingers running _Serenade_ followed Sarah's rule about younglings: they spared Grissom Academy and its students, allowing them to flee in several Phylon Bulk Freighters before activating the anti-lightspeed function of their vessel. Never mind that children obviously died in the mass bombardments carried out in the Kite's Nest—it was only in aggregate that the "youngling" rule applied. Transport full of kids? Let it go. Two kids in a whole town? Raze it. Ultimately, more died than were spared, they just didn't die all at once.

Drythlyn turned to Venera. "Odd compunction, isn't it?"

"Don't ask me" replied the other Lady Finger. "Maybe she just likes to let them run."

The violet-colored energy projections from _Serenade_ could create a roughly-circle shape area of glass on impact that spread well beyond the diameter of their beams. With five hundred such weapons (a pittance number-wise compared to the Star Dreadnaught's former armament but _far_ more powerful), a Base Delta Zero didn't take very long. Firing once every three seconds in two-second bursts, each carried enough thermal energy to fuse rock a hundred meters deep in areas of roughly seventy square kilometers. As a garden world, it had a land/water composition similar to other worlds coveted by humanity—roughly 30% land and 70% water. They didn't bother to fire on oceans without underwater military installations or colonies to shoot at. A "deeper" Base Delta Zero traded area-of-effect for depth-of-effect, but again, the Lady Fingers declared this unnecessary since settlements were surface-based.

The rest of the system had nothing to kill, so _Siren Serenade_ disappeared again after destroying the relay.

[…]

"Looks like Shepard wasn't kidding. The Trans-Galactic Republic really did leave!" exclaimed Aria to Bray. "I really thought they were going to try to threaten me, or garrison the station with their oh-so-superior soldiers and weaponry. Apparently not."

"I suspect your reputation precedes you" replied her security chief. "If Shepard had anything to say about it, she might well have actually warned them off the idea if someone was foolish enough to propose it."

"You needn't flatter me, Bray. There are no promotions from where you stand now. Just keep this station as uninfected as possible."

The unscrupulous asari checked the status of her combined Blood Pack/Eclipse/Blue Suns fleet. It was hardly military spit-and-polish, but all she needed were ships with guns and people who knew how to fire them. Issuing an order to recall every vessel to Omega, she transmitted a message.

"The Infection is here. Anyone who carries it has forfeited their life and will be dealt with accordingly. Attempt to deceive me and your punishment will extend beyond merely the cost of your own existence—your business associates will find Omega no longer accepts them or their goods. Work with me to keep this station as Infection-free as possible and there will be ample rewards for those who put some extra muscle into it."

Of course "work with" was merely a figure of speech—everyone in that fleet, from the single near-dreadnaught down to the numerous frigates, knew they worked for Aria, she kept them around on a whim and could send them to their doom if she wished (not that they would go without complaint). However, most captains has been chosen over the objection of the existing power structure precisely because they had very strong ties to Omega itself through business, home port, or other reasons. They would defend it or die trying.

"Send some mag-miners out to clean up the mess from blowing the bottom of the station off" she said dismissively to her operations specialists. "We could use anything that doesn't show signs of Infection."

Aboard _Sledge_, Captain Toshua Folsom decided he thoroughly disliked his present assignment: babysit a hive of scum and villainy and blow it up in the case that it became flooded with uncontrollable amounts of Infection. Not only that, but there was nothing to see—as a hobbyist ship-spotter he enjoyed checking off the myriad types of "uglies" flown by smugglers or pirates on his list. But with a hibridium-powered cloak enabled, the only thing visible outside was black. Of course, these malcontents couldn't see _his_ ship either, but that mattered little when he could easily destroy them with one shot from his bow-mounted superlaser, or rake them over with forty quad heavy turbolasers. In theory, he could extend a small sensor pod beyond the cloak's shroud to get an idea of what was going on, and his operations officer did so every fifteen minutes as dictated by policy.

"Captain Folsom! Ships on the sensor pod sir!"

"Finally, something to do." The Captain stood from his chair, walking over to see what had been found. "Ships" put it mildly—estimates from the sensor pod, its own readings semi-distorted as it was kept close to the cloak's barrier even as it extended beyond, revealed over three hundred armed starships of various sizes which all appeared out of nowhere. Several correlated with hyperspace exits—RISE wasn't kidding when they suggested the "pirate queen" Aria T'Loak had greater access to Trans-Galactic Republic technology than some militaries formally included in CRITICAL. He did not fully trust the Republic Intelligence Service, with its emphasis on cloak-and-dagger combined with massive budgets, low accountability, and tendency to appear out of nowhere issuing orders that must be obeyed with little explanation.

Folsom wasn't part of RISE and vowed he never would be. Letting an intelligence organization command military operations struck him as off-color. He doubted RISE would take no for an answer, even though they just did, on the face of it when he rebuffed an offer to operate around Omega under RISE authority—they probably had moles on his ship, on _Anvil_, or perhaps both. Maybe they had their _own_ cloaked ships nearby. With the use of cloaking now "off the chain," so to speak, it was becoming increasingly apparent that despite officially placing such technology under tight restriction, more Trans-Galactic Republic ships had access to vanishing abilities than one would think.

A sudden impact against _Sledge_'s hull caught the attention of his sensor officer. At first, it appeared to be a debris strike, and knowing the history of Omega that wouldn't have been a surprise, but debris bounced off. This didn't. Since cloaking fields followed the shape of a ship, whatever now appeared to be stuck on the side of _Sledge_ needed to be peeled off, stat. It probably protruded beyond the cloaking shield, leaving the superlaser cruiser partly visible unless the cloak happened to cover it. A quick reconnaissance flight determined the source to be a large mining vessel. Reading frantic outgoing transmissions indicating shock and confusion at being "stuck in space," the three-fighter patrol radioed back to _Sledge_ suggesting they jam its transmission. The cruiser did so, but not before at least part of its message reached Aria.

"…igger Three to base! We've struck some kind of…anomaly, but we can't even see what we've hit! Engines are nonresponsive…check for damage."

"That's the message we got before Digger Three disappeared" intoned Bray. "Probably a hijacking. I almost regret bringing it up…"

"Normally I would agree, and tell you that if you brought drivel like this to my attention again, your position might find itself with some new requirements. However, given recent events, I think this merits further investigation. There have been rumors of these Trans-Galactic Republic types using stealth ships—ships that are truly invisible both to sensors and if you happen to look out the window. The attack on the Citadel proves such technology does exist. Perhaps someone is poking around Omega that doesn't want to be seen."

"Should we send out more mag-miners?" questioned Bray.

"No. Simple is better. Grab every large permanent magnet you can find—shake down Harrot if you have to. Then shop for high-output tracking devices with self-contained power supplies and shielding against magnetic interference. Use the money you will have saved by breaking Harrot's legs to buy better beacons."

"To what end? Are we running another science fair?" The batarian looked confused.

"No" snapped the asari, "we're doing things the old-fashioned way." She glared at him.

"Starship hulls are magnetic" she lectured, emphasizing each word. "Even if it doesn't show up on sensors, not even these fancy ones we obtained, it still _exists_. Which means magnets can find it."

Comprehension dawned.

"Right away, Aria." He took off.

She turned to one of her hackers.

"You heard all that, I presume?"

"Yes Aria." The asari maiden had been eager to prove herself. Though she technically was a computer specialist, Aria had her operating consoles and overseeing mechs—not exactly challenging.

"Show me what you can do, then. Write up a tracking algorithm to work with however many pieces of junk Bray comes back with. We're going to find out if someone's trying to escape my notice!"

Aboard _Sledge_, the mag-miner had been peeled off, its mixed-species crew interrogated, and the continuing operation of the cloak verified. The ship had possibly been partly visible for up to 133.7 seconds due to the mag-miner's hull extending beyond the cloak. The existence of the miner and its crew presented Folsom with a dilemma. If he let the crew go, there would be no way to ensure they would remain quiet regarding the existence of _Sledge_. On the other hand, if he kept them, he'd not only have to deal with aliens whom he had only the dimmest idea of how to accommodate, but it was also likely that the Blue Suns who these people worked for might notice them missing. RISE would have used their disruptors to ensure nothing remained to prove the existence of the mining ship or the miners who crewed it, but Folsom wasn't RISE—this sort of attitude explained precisely why he would never be. RISE was nice enough, if creepy, during times of peace, but once war started, they could be downright vicious, unethical, and barbaric in the pursuit of their goals.

Thinking the episode over, Toshua found himself facing not one or two, but _thirteen_ "object strikes" one after another. Whatever they were, they peppered the ship incessantly, apparently all drawn to _Sledge_ by some invisible force.

"What is this, an asteroid field?" he bellowed upon being informed of the last impact.

"Technically, yes, sir, it kind of is" replied Operations.

"The density wasn't supposed to be this high!" he harrumphed. "Nowhere on the star charts did it say anything about strike-hazards this frequent!"

Alarms shattered the quiet as turbolaser blasts ate into an unshielded hull. In response, _Sledge_'s battle computers automatically brought shields online, but that dropped the cloak. Only once said cloak abated did Captain Folsom see why he'd lost his ability to hide—many of the "strikes" were almost comically-large magnets. With devices that looked strangely like sensor beacons attached.

"Incoming transmission, Captain!"

A dark-blue asari with a short white top and revealing black outfit appeared on the viewscreen.

"So. Thought you could hide, huh?"

"I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced. I am Captain Folsom…"

"This is my station. State your business and reasons for sneaking around, or the next line of turbolaser fire won't be so generous."

Indeed, mostly non-critical areas had been hit. A few turbolasers weren't working, but the superlaser remained functional, a fact Folsom would use to his benefit if forced.

"You have fired on a Trans-Galactic Republic starship. I demand to know why."

He decided not to ask about the turbolasers. They were clearly heavy units from a capital-class ship, what ship, he didn't know. How a structure built in Gamma-Six could power such weapons, he had no clue.

_If she stole the turbolasers, she probably also managed to get enough generators to keep them running._

"Aria T'Loak does as she likes on Omega" replied the asari with more than a hint of self-aggrandizement. "That means sending nosy little rats like you packing if you sniff around too much."

Folsom remembered receiving a briefing packet on Omega's resident crime boss. He hadn't bothered reading it, thinking an assignment requiring his ship to sit cloaked ready to pull a trigger he doubted he'd need didn't merit much attention to detail. Clearly, he'd made a mistake.

"We…were here in case the Infection…got out of control" he stammered. He had no idea why he'd suddenly lost his confidence—Folsom didn't even find asari attractive. Yet for some reason, he felt as though he were a child caught playing HoloNet games too late into the evening instead of doing homework when facing Aria.

"Out of control?" roared Aria. "I see how it is. The Council sends in their least-threatening pet to ask for help, all while arranging to drop a hammer on my head if I either refuse, or fail to address the problem. You fuckers."

_She doesn't know about _Anvil_, and chances are, Captain Hinchey will have moved it having done a sweep and seen what's happened._

"Well, what are you going to do if the station gets overrun?" His authority started reasserting itself.

"That's a bit of a complicated question to ask coming from a man whose super-stealth got beaten by _magnets_" she snorted derisively. "I have my means. If Omega falls, I will burn it. And reclaim a charred hulk if I have to."

"Our sensors pick up over eight million on the station, Aria!" replied Folsom, somewhat shocked. "Are you just going to light everyone on fire?"

Fleeing individuals of ill repute who normally plied the Nemean Abyss took to Omega as a haven, boosting its normal headcount. As ever, the Trans-Galactic Republic preferred (RISE aside) to avoid ghastly casualties when possible.

"If necessary, yes" replied the pirate queen as if discussing casual dinner plans. "The only cure for the Infection is fire—you should know this with your fancy medical science!"

"I would rather not put people in the position of a painful death by burning" retorted Folsom.

"Oh you self-righteous types never learn. Sometimes, the best solution is also the messiest, and when the threat is this big, you'd think maybe, just maybe, you'd realize that. A few million dead here, or Omega infested, spewing Infected vessels all over the Terminus? You and your allies wanted _me_ to keep the Terminus as free of the Infection as possible, so I will do it _my_ way. I already told Samantha Shepard the same thing."

"An instantaneous death by superlaser is preferable to whatever you've designed" he insisted.

"You see, that's where we have a parting of the ways." Aria's voice dropped to a low, dangerous level. "You would destroy my station, when I can cleanse it."

"I don't think…"

"No. You don't. Because if you did, you'd have known trying to sneak around here is pointless. You'd have known trying to argue with me would get you nowhere. So I suggest you leave, because you are on the verge of breaking the one rule there is on this station."

"What's that?"

"Don't. Fuck. With Aria."

Realizing he couldn't win, Folsom gave the order to hyperspace out before the mercenary master decided to do more than scuff his paintjob. He dumped Digger Three and its crew before leaving, giving them a stern talking-to instructing them never to mention any of this to anyone. That _Anvil_ still hovered somewhere meant the contingency plan could still be carried out—so technically the Trans-Galactic Republic would be able to achieve its goal anyway should circumstances demand it.

[…]

"I wish this could be under better circumstances" sighed Samantha Shepard as _Normandy_ worked back and forth across _Maxthon_.

"And I wish I didn't have almost three hundred condolence letters to write" replied James. "Especially when it's me doing the shooting."

"If you're happier covering your eyes while I push the buttons, we can do that" teased Shepard.

Kasumi's stolen stygium-powered stealth system meant only part of the ship showed every time light turbolaser fire emanated from twin bow cannons—the tips of the cannon barrels and a few centimeters of barrel—before the frigate became invisible again. Occasionally, Joker diverted course to take out errant Infected ships heading suspiciously close, but otherwise continued making pass after pass to methodically destroy the namesake vessel of the _Maxthon_ class.

"I'm sorry" said James under his breath. He knew it was cheesy—but what else was there to say? "Your son got turned into a zombie and so I had to kill him?"

"You know" commented Shepard, perhaps inappropriately given the situation, "it would be nice to destroy a ship we didn't pay for."

"Then we stop more infections" thundered James. "Any ship that becomes Infected has to be destroyed, so we avoid the problem!"

Cortana spoke up. "You could just borrow Aria's idea."

"Does that fit within safety regulations though?" asked Shepard in an oddly-happy-sounding voice. "Turning the fire suppressing system into the fire system?"

"One spore will reinfect the ship" added the Master Chief. "They can hide in places other than main corridors."

"Duh" said Gaige. "Just make a ship oven! I mean, as long as the ship itself doesn't melt, that gets rid of the Infection like cooking food, right?"

"I wasn't being entirely serious" countered Cortana. "Unless you can be one hundred percent sure, one hundred percent of the time, that you've completely sterilized the ship, it's too risky!"

"So any ship that even might be Infected gets scrapped?" fumed Ashley. "They don't have to kill us, they just have to make sure we have nothing left to fight with!"

"Even though the Council hasn't officially sanctioned it, most systems on the Terminus borders are turning away or destroying most traffic coming out of the Terminus systems" interjected Garrus.

"The Code states firing on those who have not yet made themselves a threat on suspicion alone is grounds for death" added Samara.

Samantha Shepard's head drooped forward as her crew began arguing instead of speaking one after another. Various debates broke out between different groups on diverse issues. Ashley got into it with Samara, Brick debated the Master Chief's refusal to aid in combat later joined by Garrus, the aged Maya began exorcising her younger self, James stayed as far away from Ashley as possible, Grunt pounded fists together happily at the thought of conflict… Cortana silently recorded it all while watching from her perch in front of the Galaxy Map.

After a few minutes of pandemonium, she'd had enough.

"QUIET!"

It took a few seconds, but her crew stopped their raucous yelling upon hearing their commanding officer's voice. At least two were in the middle of accentuated gestures, which meant leaving fingers or other digits in midair as everyone effectively froze.

She could feel another rant coming on, and tried her best to control it. It spilled out in a modified form.

"Look. I know this whole situation is completely, utterly, fucked up beyond a shadow of a doubt. I realize that the whole notion that we've brought our own destruction in multiple ways through something we thought harmless presents a tough issue. This Infection, or Flood, or whatever—there's not an easy solution to it. And any suggestions are probably going to be unpleasant given what Cortana here has told us about it."

They all relaxed somewhat. Wrong move.

"What I will _not_ tolerate" (her voice rose) "is everyone hear attacking each other, blaming each other, and acting like pissy teenagers because someone doesn't agree with _your_ preferred solution to the issue! Furthermore, I think all this willy-nilly shuffling between ships is not helpful because it's stressful. Though I've always been a proponent of an open-door policy and will continue to have one, we need to settle where everyone will be calling home aboard _Normandy_ for the duration of this mission rather than playing musical-chairs."

Sam scanned around the CIC, making eye contact with each individual. Some stared right back, others let their gaze droop, likely in shame over something they'd said earlier. While she'd called no one out specifically, some knew their comments were harsher than necessary, and unprofessionally personal to boot. Aiming such words at someone who is supposed to have your back in a firefight generally was something Shepard discouraged.

Having done her solemn duty in disposing of _Maxthon_, the Commander turned her invisible frigate about and headed back to the SETTLE Center for some quick interior rearrangements and upgrades. It was nice to have so much spare energy that cloaking, hyper-zero, turbolasers, and everything else could operate all at once. She had been warned that the stygium cloak would eventually burn itself out—but this unit had pretty much never been used since it was manufactured, then stored in a vault until RISE decided to use it as bait in a Pandoran sting._ Normandy_ hurtled through hyper-zero at maximum speed. Despite the damage this likely caused, CRITICAL gave certain ships and individuals exemption from a new speed limit otherwise imposed. Said limit banned the use of the common hyperdrive, pushing many ships equipped with such tech into the increasingly-long lines at mass relays. All hyper-zero drives were reduced to Class 4.0, hyperdrive component only. Such a limitation cut speed from millions of times the speed of light to a little more than a hundred-thousand times the constant _c_. Though the hyperdrives attached to element zero were more damaging even in hyperdrive-only mode, in the aggregate there would be less of an impact on the fabric of space due to their low numbers compared to traditional hyperdrives. Citadel-space eezo-charged FTL was permitted to run at the normal speed of 5,000_c_. With mass relays, this normally would have represented a minor irritation, but due to increasing numbers of inspections for Infection, interspatial rifts, and the chaotic nature of the galaxy due to two existential threats travel times doubled, tripled, or increased by even larger amounts.

Depending on a good amount of physics and math that went right over Sam Shepard's head, her ship could reach observed (distance divided by arrival minus departure times) speeds of several hundred million times light speed—making the inter-galactic run between Gamma-Three and Gamma-Six in a little over six hours. She thus had a "hot rod" in a galaxy of commuter vehicles. This meant even crossing the entire galaxy remained possible virtually at the snap of a finger _without_ the Relay Network and its associated lines/bureaucracy. So when her vessel pulled into the SETTLE Center an hour after departing the Nemean Abyss, no one showed any surprise.

Realizing what happened the last time she tried to arrange a large gathering on her own, Shepard decided to give Cortana the task of determining who went where aboard the ship. It didn't take the AI long to come up with a solution based on personality profiles, occupational requirements, previous occupancy, and proximity to other crew members. Bringing aboard digistruction technology, re-using rooms became a trivial exercise. During the day, furniture used for sleeping disappeared into digitized storage, but as soon as chronometers hit 2200 or 2300, beds appeared fully-made with clean sheets ready for each individual deemed important enough to have personal resting space to hit the sack. It also enabled quick storing-away of the "museum" portion of the vessel as it had only been made basically-habitable and service-ready after its departure.

Cortana chided the Captain's insistence on keeping her quarters for herself alone ("Sharing is caring!"), though she didn't outright forbid it. Seeing as Sam was not in any kind of relationship, nobody could be moved "up" to open additional space; Cortana worked with this. With sixty permanent crew aboard the _Normandy_, lower-ranked personnel still had to hot-bunk. Mordin Solis received the starboard laboratory in which he'd conducted his pioneering work against Collector Seekers. Brick shared armory duty with Ashley Williams—they were both giving Garrus a run for his money in the "calibrations" department with all the time they spent trying to wring a tiny bit more accuracy out of a sniper rifle or a small fire-rate boost from a sub-machine gun. Garrus himself took up residence in the main battery as usual, fussing over twin light turbolasers that had replaced the Thanix during the Reaper War. Legion tended to Cortana's AI processes as instructed by the Consensus. While it was not necessary, both preferred to have a watchful eye on the secondary geth-inspired runtimes that prevented exponential neural-map growth rather than allowing them to run unsupervised (for now). The med bay saw the fitting of a hyper-potent bacta tank (no diluted medi-bac). It certainly took a load off Karin Chakwas and her medical droid assistants! Despite not needing to care for Joker, the good Doctor insisted on returning out of loyalty to the crew which now served aboard _Normandy_. Kaidan didn't sleep in the mess area, but he tended to spend most of his time there like Ashley did during his service on the _Normandy SR-1_ from another parallel. Though Miranda no longer filed reports with the Illusive Man (whose death she celebrated), she did still have a significant amount of paperwork to do—a task she shared with InterSpec Auditor Athena. The two cohabited in her formerly-exclusive space on the port side of the ship. Further back, the meditative Samara doubled up with an aged Maya who tended to be far less prone to violence, vicious humor, or obsession with combat than her younger self. Across the way was where everyone went for entertainment—either another fantastic thief story (Kasumi) or to have a cold one poured out by "Mad" Moxxi. Their bubbly, bouncy personalities caused one crewman to comment "If it got any happier in there, we'd need to paint rainbows and unicorns on the bulkheads!" Thane returned to the Life Support core out of familiarity's sake, despite not needing the slightly drier climate due to readily-available bacta.

The lower portions of the ship were home to engineering (Tali/Gaige), Jack, and two soldiers of opposite ages. The wizened-by-comparison Zaeed tried to impress Grunt with his many tales, but only occasionally did so due to Grunt's almost constant insistence that Shepard would have handled the situation in a superior manner. Strangely, despite this the two got along better than one would have thought, though part of it might have been Grunt's weird desire to sleep in his old tank, leaving Zaeed free to snore as loudly as he wanted to. In Starboard Cargo, Jackie worked with Dr. Filner on theoretical applications of slipspace drives mentioned by Cortana and strongly implied through research done aboard _Amerigo_.

In the formerly "secret" (said Thane) shuttle bay, much space came into being after the removal of some inefficiently-placed cooling systems (though Shepard commented it was "damn useful" during the Collector Base attack when an Oculus punched through the hanger door). Solution: molecularly-bonded armor on that door. Expensive, but worth it! James and the younger Maya put up cots instead of beds in two "rooms" created from some heavy tarps on the port side of the hanger as a result. James also kept his exercise equipment close by, so close that the Siren swore she heard him working out in the middle of the night, but didn't want to inquire. One Kodiak was evicted to make room for a _Fireant_ blastboat which required moving much of the port-side cargo back (its length hit thirty meters instead of the Kodiak's twenty). Across the way, the second Kodiak had to go to make room for Kasumi's gift and its attendant power generators, two gigantic cylinders that glowed a deep, soft blue when operating.

The most "modest" among the new arrivals seemed to be the Master Chief, or John-117 as Cortana had name-dropped him. Having built a fortress out of empty crates (by himself), he rarely appeared unless summoned. An AI port inside this construct suggested he might be communicating with Cortana, but no one felt comfortable asking.

_Now what?_ wondered Sam. _Everyone's bunkered down, all the museum-bits have been packed away…_


	34. United We Stand

**Chapter 33 – United We Stand…**

Urdnot Wrex felt he'd taken one step forward, but two gigantic steps back. On one hand, much headbutting (and threats of eviction from Tuchanka) later, attendance at Thax Vorak's business classes shot up. On the other, it turned out many krogan could pass the tests, but not actually make it work outside the classroom—and those that did displayed a disturbing level of Machiavellian ethics that caused him to wonder if he'd inadvertently created something worse in an attempt to build something better. Still, reconstruction proceeded at a breakneck pace under the watchful eye of the Trans-Galactic Republic. Massive construction droids taller than some forms of small Reaper tore up destroyed buildings and spat out shiny new fabrications behind. The few krogan who remembered anything useful about architecture or urban planning found themselves working day in and day out within Wrex's fortress in the Kelphic Valley.

"Huh. Looks like we may have a city after all!" he muttered, surveying plans that would extend the "safe zone" within which no krogan-on-krogan conflict was permitted to be several times the area it currently covered. Ancient records pulled from forgotten ruins located with the assistance of Trans-Galactic Republic orbital sensors (and good old-fashioned tunneling) contained blueprints detailing massive pyramidal structures constructed by krogan long dead. The reconstruction of these gargantuan structures, done mostly without Trans-Galactic Republic help by Wrex's request, unified the krogan as nothing had before save, perhaps, the genophage cure. It was at this point the leader of Clan Urdnot had to drop the hammer on less scrupulous krogan who attempted to take advantage of this relatively peaceful period to put what they learned from Thax into practice in ways which would ultimately undermine budding krogan unity. Plans for the Pyramid of Korbal would cover most of the inner sanctum with stone and rock—assuming builders could get enough that wasn't contaminated with radioactive waste.

"If anyone else comes in here trying to claim stone treated with maw excrement is free of radioactivity, I'll drag them to the maw pits myself!" roared the krogan leader. Apparently, multiple students of Thax's decided to "create opportunity" for themselves through less-than-honest claims in attempts to win subcontracting positions for the Korbal project. This fraud might have passed the notice of a lesser krogran (e.g. Wreav) but Urdnot Wrex could not be fooled by such simplistic schemes. As punishment, all who spearheaded questionable contracts were barred from both the Kelphic Valley (where, coincidentally, all fertile females had gathered) and further bidding on any Forward Unto Ascension projects. Ironically, despite his distaste for rule-by-fear, Wrex found it best to do exactly that when dealing with those among his people who still subscribed to such philosophies. Wrex, being an old, battle-hardened specimen, could easily pull off the angry-krogan act and did so with gusto when confronted by those who might cause problems for the in-progress rebuilding of Tuchanka.

The Hierarchy's hidden bomb remained so, now covered by both a fortress and a monument to krogan greatness of eons past.

Urdnot Bakara, known simply as "Abra" to most, assisted her fellow mothers-to-be in creating appropriate birthing crèches for the many eggs that would be laid once the genophage cure kicked in amongst them. Though a few were bitter that Wrex and Abra received a souped-up version of the genetic therapy, all understood the rationale: two healthy births proved to the krogan that the Trans-Galactic Republic's "Everyone forward, everyone upward" slogan was not just for campaign season. That, and a show of force from _Ultimatum_. But moreso the babies.

Those clans who were not convinced by the promise of a cure and subsequent fertility were given a choice. Live out in the wastes and receive no official support from Clan Urdnot (which had become so powerful as to essentially be able to speak on behalf of all krogan), or accept Urdnot Wrex's unusual push toward re-creation of a less warlike krogan society. Of course, this created a grey market in supplies as savvy graduates of Thax's business boot camps realized profits through arbitrage—when food and fuel were easy to obtain (as in the Kelphic Valley) prices tended to be low. Out in the wastes, though, krogan with dreams of remaining independent warlords would pay a significant sum for small amounts of these supplies. So long as these "warlords" refrained from attacking the increasingly-green Valley, Wrex let them and their suppliers be. He really didn't care if they killed each other off, either—in fact, he welcomed the timely deaths of anyone who might try to draw the krogan back into their old ways.

The Citadel Council, still terrified by the prospect of resurgent krogan, found their fears mostly unfounded thus far—Council missions to the scarred homeworld found virtually nothing bad to report. Of course, only a year passed since the effective end of the genophage, and when dealing with a species whose lifespan stretched more than a thousand years this did not make for a solid sample. Still, it was a great start, better than anyone had dared hope. The only sticky issue remained whether Wrex's plans would outlast him as he seemed in no hurry to designate or train a successor.

"We can only hope what Clan Urdnot builds in the Kelphic Valley will become self-sustaining" remarked Councilor Clethon at the first meeting to discuss Forward Unto Ascension since its short-term impact had become apparent. "If it all dies with Wrex, this whole venture will have been for naught."

"On the face of it, it appears that for all the discussion of moving the krogan away from their past of warlords leading armies, the whole situation requires a strong central leader, which is a concept krogan haven't hewed to in centuries since the Rebellions ended." Only Tevos would make such an observation—it helped that her mother fought in the Rebellions and that asari regularly lived past a thousand just like the krogan.

"If that's what it takes, who are we to judge?" replied Victus. Grayson's head nodded in agreement.

"It creates a danger" insisted Tevos. "This whole structure relies on a benevolent dictator. A rather hands-off one, but still—should the seat of power fall into the hands of a less…forward-thinking individual, everything could come undone in months."

"Can progress be made without risk?" Clethon's sharp tone surprised everyone—he usually remained calm and demurred. "The genophage was right for its time, but it created a new set of variables. A new set of risks. Risks we did not fully understand until centuries had passed! Instead of cowing the krogan, we turned them into a race of mercenaries!"

Grayson finished the other Councilor's train of thought. "Is it not better to take a risk for the better rather than gambling on beating someone down? I agree with Councilor Clethon, but Tevos is also correct. What do we do? I say patience."

"Patience?" Tevos though this a very asari-like thing to say despite the potential problem with waiting out the situation. The wisest of matriarchs often went _centuries_ without a payoff, only to cash in big at the end of a plan that exceeded the normal human life by a multiple of three or more. "Why?"

Since their "détente," Tevos and Grayson concurred more often—both agreeing that as the technologically superior, they had a duty to at least not make things worse if at all possible. Still, she wanted to hear the human's rationale.

"If we interfere now, the krogan, especially Wrex, will think us overly meddlesome. Remember, when they're not fighting or killing, krogan live as long as asari—some say longer, though I'm aware the science around this is disputed. Putting aside issues of petty pride over who has the longest recorded lifespan" (his jab drew no response) "krogan who possess the ability to plan ahead, like Wrex, are willing to let significant time pass before declaring a venture to have failed even in the face of decades of setbacks. We must think like krogan—how would we feel if other species constantly poked around in what we thought to be our internal affairs?"

"I admire your idealism, Grayson, but you haven't directly addressed the potential problems" mused Victus.

"That's precisely it—by trying to address potential problems now, we might actually create them, or encourage them when they would not have happened absent our involvement. Is it necessary to pre-emptively discipline a child because you think they _might_ stay out late tonight, or is it better to wait to see what the chronometer says when your child returns?" Grayson looked around the room expectantly.

"Is it right for us to impose our own beliefs about government on the krogan? The Asari Republics are run by the most decentralized form of direct democracy imaginable—at its worst woefully inefficient, unable to make any strong moves if sufficient numbers object, held hostage to the few if the many elect not to participate. Yet, in spite of all these _risks_, nobody has seen any reason to complain or involve themselves in asari affairs."

Tevos knew where Grayson was going. Victus, however, decided to poke holes in the human's logic to see how he would respond.

"None of these risks has actually come up" began the turian. "They are all theoretical. We _know_ what happens when one krogan warlord whips up hundreds of thousands of followers in a bloodrage-driven frenzy. Whole systems burn."

"It all comes down to whether the risk is considered acceptable." Clethon rejoined the conversation, having been content to observe his fellow Councilors for the past few minutes. "Humanity's rapid rise has concerned many, including several of us in this very room. Granting a Council seat to a human so quickly following the Battle of the Citadel caused much consternation. Extending this office to a human not even of this galaxy was an even more monumental gamble—and so far both have paid off. We know what happens when the Trans-Galactic Republic decides a planet, a system, or a faction must be destroyed. The opposition stands no chance, and the Trans-Galactic Republic prevails. In the past, the Systems Alliance threatened to go to war with the entire Council when illegal artificial intelligence research was discovered. It was a foregone conclusion humanity could not win this war—but it was also a foregone conclusion that fighting it would wreck a significant portion of the galaxy."

In the end, the Citadel Council agreed to do nothing in the short and medium term. Let the krogan experiment continue—but be ready to drop the hammer if it boiled over or filled the lab with toxic fumes.

"Now that we've decided to leave the krogan alone for the time being, there is still the issue of this Infection" asserted Grayson. "And that insane Siren. My friends, we are under siege. How do we break out?"

"I would like to know how the Siren escaped Trans-Galactic Republic captivity" intoned Clethon.

"Councilor" replied Grayson in a patronizing tone, "do you _really_ think we actually could hold on to her? She was playing us! We even made sure to state that in every press release about her alleged captivity!"

"Then what is her objective? What was her purpose in pretending to be subdued?" wondered Tevos. "Surely, if she could not be restrained, there was little value in pretending otherwise."

"Well, for starters we found out she's even more terrible than we thought, using teenagers as living power sources to run her death-ship. They claim it wasn't painful, but I suspect their opinions of the situation might have been forcibly altered. Therapists are exploring this possibility right now" replied Grayson. Everyone knew about the raid on KOMBT by now since its declassification/leaking: a good number of youngsters snatched right off the Citadel!

"Perhaps she hoped that with the Infection threatening the Terminus, we might concede willingly to her point of view" suggested Clethon. "If one had to choose between two forms of assured death, I anticipate most would prefer instantaneous extinction by fire rather than painful mutation into the twisted terrors coming out of the Abyss."

"Our deaths are _not_ assured." Victus, like most turians, looked upon surrender as a last resort to be utilized only under the gravest of circumstances—even the Reaper invasion had not reached that level. "Are you Infected? Am I? No! The Siren is many light-years away! We are not doomed, not yet!"

"I did not mean to imply we are in fact doomed as of this moment" retorted the salarian. "Just that if we in fact were, which would you rather be your last sight?"

Trying to brush aside the debate, Grayson cut in with "How do you fight something you can't even hold on to or damage? That Siren Sarah is pretty much our worst nightmare. We've contained the Infection mostly to the Terminus, though new rumors say that there are now sights of it in the Shrike Abyssal. Given the transmissions and information we've received about Infected vorcha, that does not sound like a positive development."

"It pains me to bring this up, but it appears the Terminus have gone their own way regarding containment" lectured Tevos. "That is, none at all. It rides ships transiting nearly instantly between relays, and then deep into star systems on Element Zero-based faster-than-light."

"Illium is too close to our borders for comfort" insisted Victus. "It may be 'Omega with nicer shoes,' but in absence of a regulated framework for processing traffic before it leaves Infected regions we must assume the worst. Illium is no friend to Council edicts!"

"We already have ships inspecting almost 80% of inbound traffic from there, including, I might add, the joint CRITICAL-quarian effort to evacuate civilians" sighed Grayson. "We can't divert more without taking away from efforts elsewhere to evacuate or keep-supplied and maintain inspection regimes covering Omega and the Far Rim. Furthermore, the Home Galaxy is unaware of this contagion, at least through any channels I've heard, and as a result, if we ask for more manpower they're going to start wondering what we are up to."

"Do you believe that should your home galaxy find out that they would abandon you here?" queried Clethon. "What disadvantage is there to making your own authorities fully-aware of this situation?"

"Either they could abandon us or simply stop sending in supply convoys" retorted the human former Admiral. "Both would be disadvantageous both to the Great Opportunities Fleet and CRITICAL."

"We should finalize the Infection Action Plan." Tevos accentuated her speech with gestures, something asari did very seldom but she found it to be helpful with humans. "We must be prepared for the entire galaxy minus the Citadel to become uninhabitable."

With this dark thundercloud hanging over their collective heads, the Council got to work formulating a plan for an island of cleanliness amid a coming sea of disease and destruction. One bright spot shone through in the successful removal of millions thus far from systems that either no longer possessed a mass relay, were devastated by Sarah, or were too close to the Infection for comfort. The joint venture seemed to be working, albeit slowly.

[…]

Allison Nimitz didn't like it when things happened on her ship (crippled though it was) that she was not permitted to know about. When the Republic Intelligence Service became involved, though, this became a frustrating norm. The arrival of several _cloaked_ bulk freighters suggested the arrival of some RISE-infused, black-ops cargo. She was ordered to sign for it "by direct edict of the Admiralty Board," not permitted to even know what it was, and forbidden from investigating. Considering her own men and women were subsequently shut out of a very specific area of her ship, she could infer what had been brought aboard, though not precisely what the capabilities of it might be.

RISE agents cordoned off access to_ Ultimatum_'s four box-launchers. Each held four missiles, granting a total of sixteen. Despite the Star Dreadnaught's advanced design, new ordinance generally had to be loaded in from the top, meaning opening the launchers and exposing the missiles to a lengthy process of being lowered into (or raised from, if unloading) their tubes. RISE foresaw this difficulty, dressing up new _Soul Reaper_ missiles in the cladding of a normal _Shiva_ particle disintegrator warhead. Thus, visually, any claims of missile-swaps would get nowhere, and all questions would receive the same answer—that it was necessary to run "tests" on _Ultimatum_'s missiles due to fears of "degradation in various safety systems." These replacements even had the same serial numbers and encrypted identification as the ordinance that had to be taken away, further muddying any attempts to figure out what happened.

The secretive RISE Council met again.

"If this so-called Infection spreads, we'll need to take action quickly to avoid alarming the populace. Anything that reminds them of the biological horrors from the past will only sent the markets tumbling and incite panic."

Another man spoke up. "Thus, the embarking of _Soul Reapers_ aboard _Ultimatum_. These missiles are three times faster than _Shivas_, cloak upon arrival, and can be dialed up to eliminate both a planet and the area around it."

"How much collateral damage are we talking?" demanded a woman.

"Out to fifty thousand klicks" replied the man. "Should catch any infected moons too! In theory, enough of these missiles could destabilize a star and wipe out an entire system, though that hasn't been simulated or tested—it remains a suggestion from the equations that developed these weapons."

"Who has launch authority?"

"A two-thirds vote of this body, or with a three-quarters vote we may empower Fleet Admiral Nimitz to both possess the knowledge and trigger authority."

"Is the Home population aware of the Infection?"

"No!" insisted another woman emphatically (thus far, four men and two woman had spoken). "And we aim to keep it that way."

"If we have to issue a destroy order from here, the target will have at most two hours before the missile arrives" said the first man. "Unless there are any objections, I move to place the warheads on standby."

This motion passed unanimously.

On the bridge of _Ultimatum_, Operations noticed an apparent diversion of energy from the general pool into "charge-maintaining" mode for the _Shiva_ missiles stored in forward batteries. Normally, such changes came about with authenticated orders from the ship's Admiral. The codes this time were genuine, but not Admiral Nimitz's, so he sent a quick message to his commanding officer to inquire. Once the question reached Nimitz, she found herself in a quandary: no RISE agents stormed up to her quarters to demand she conceal this development, but at the same time she figured if it was RISE-related, she'd best keep the whole thing quiet.

"We've been placed at an operational ready state" she wrote into a response. "It is sometimes possible that orders handed down from higher echelons will be put into place without using my personal verification keys—that is what happened here. I approved of the change and there is no reason for alarm."

It wasn't technically true. She hadn't, strictly speaking, signed off on whatever RISE had done, only authorized bringing it aboard. Since it wasn't in her control anymore, whether Allison Nimitz approved became irrelevant. Thankfully for her, the only concern RISE agents had at the moment was to keep the disguised _Soul Reapers_ ready for immediate launch, nothing more. In theory, under "extraordinary" circumstances, the Republic Intelligence Service could take command of a ship, in a similar fashion to InterSpec agents. However, the RISE Council did not consider such a drastic action necessary. In fact, they viewed it as needlessly provocative of people who were supposed to be on the same side and thus refrained. Missiles could be fired without asserting complete authority over the platform that carried them.

[…]

Unlike the Trans-Galactic Republic and its representative democracy, the newly-minted Omega Defense Force answered to one person: Aria T'Loak. Deciding to dispense with subtlety, she armed her irregular fleet with every piece of captured technology she could find. Turbolaser-armed cruisers, heavily shielded frigates, hyperdrive-equipped fighters—if it could fight the Infection, she had mechanics jury-rig it until it worked. Though the contagion existed in the Omega Cluster, it had not yet taken over, as this rag-tag group fought tooth and nail to burn it out of wherever it might be found.

Roughly 18% of Omega the station's remaining habitable areas were Infected beyond saving, so they were quarantined. The see-saw of combat saw it shrink to 15%, grow to 25%, and cycle back again. However, it did not escape Aria's notice that the average amount of station infected marched relentlessly upward over time regardless of any small victories her forces experienced. Omega would eventually have to be cleansed by fire.

"You realize one spore is enough to restart the entire infection" offered Daniel Abrams, acutely aware of what arguing with Aria might lead to but desperate to prevent more deaths. "If you burn the station and miss one, it will just regrow."

"I know that" snapped the asari. "If I burn my station, and believe me it's getting to the point where I think that will be necessary, I will let it smolder for years—not just light a little blaze with a match and declare it to be done."

"But what if you're wrong?"

"I won't be."

_She seems very confident for someone with minimal medical knowledge._

Aria's Omega Defense Force scoured the nebula in search of any signs of suspicious activity. With Trans-Galactic Republic sensing units, tracking down wayward vessels became trivially simple within their range. However, that became the key phrase—"within range." None of the sensors lifted from the Trans-Galactic Republic had an effective vision of more than a few dozen light years as they were fighter- or corvette-class at best. Her scavengers were unable to lift any suitably-powerful sensors from the destroyed _Revenant_, only guns.

Needle in a haystack didn't even begin to describe the task, especially considering the limited numbers of available hyperdrives which restricted search speed despite ignoring the Council's edict.

That some freelancers had similar ideas to Dr. Abrams of curing the Infection for less-than-noble purposes (money/power/influence over other pirates) did not help matters. Even worse, some sought to weaponize it, or at least attempt to "tame" the creatures. All ended up dead, and a source of more Infection.

Some members of the Defense Force still had a hard time believing everyone was working together. A Blue Suns cruiser and Blood Pack frigate got into a relatively friendly shooting contest which involved smashing nearby asteroids. Like many supposed "blood enemies," it turned out many only followed orders out of fear and desire to earn credits. A good dose of scary, disgusting biological death on the horizon helped break down tensions too. Commanders on both sides immediately put a stop to the fun, though, forcing both ships to return to their regularly scheduled anti-Infection patrols.

For all the effort going into these attempts to contain the problem, it felt as if it were a sieve trying to contain liquid. The Infection advanced—slow-moving but unstoppable, through colony after colony, system after system. On Aria's instructions, any area lost was to be bombarded from orbit. She gave permission to use thermonuclear weapons "if that's what you've got" since denying the Infection further hosts and bases was deemed more important than ecological damage or violations of treaties no one cared about.

Large energy emissions from a mostly-dead planet in the Titan Nebula attracted the attention of a random sweep by the Defense Force. Heat radiation was off the scale, as was the amount of power being generated by whatever the initial pass found. Follow-up checks by ships using Trans-Galactic Republic sensor technology confirmed something amiss. Whatever it was created unimaginable amounts of energy—somewhere on the order of 8 x 10^24 watts per second. Most of this energy dissipated into a blue-purple shield dome constantly reflecting/pushing aside immense thermal stresses and covering several square kilometers, though sensors showed many turbolaser turrets as well.

_Normandy SR-2_ had proceeded to Capek undetected thanks to the super-stealth device procured from the Trans-Galactic Republic. Crystals inside this cloaking device were estimated to have a lifespan of ten or more years…in use aboard a Star-Dreadnaught size vessel. It was to be one of a network installed before its re-appropriation—consequently, its operational lifespan aboard a tiny frigate would be consummately longer. So long that the ship would likely be scrapped many years before the crystal showed any signs of wear whatsoever.

"STG studying Infection" Mordin had said. "Attempting to decode genes, determine possible defenses."

"Ugh" sighed Cortana. "_How many times_ do I have to tell you trying to fight the Flood in any way other than completely killing it off is pointless? Even the Forerunners made that mistake—not so much that they couldn't study the Flood safely, but that the samples they left got loose when…other species…decided to poke around!"

"Insistent on this point of view." (inhale) "Wonder if Cortana has considered other variables. Many species in this galaxy not found in her own. Infection may behave differently here."

For once, Cortana was silent.

Shepard took Mordin and the projected-human-size Cortana with her into a foreboding-looking set of buildings. It bore superficial similarities to the great pyramidal fortress being constructed on Tuchanka, which quietly amused the Commander given the history between the two races. Each building resembled a pyramid or trapezoidal solid with discrete floors at regular intervals. In some places, cutouts existed to permit the installation of Trans-Galactic Republic turbolasers. Other places, outdoor walkways were visible. When asked about the turbolasers, the base commander Padock Wiks refused to comment on how such devices were obtained.

"Heh. Looks like that stuff leaks absolutely everywhere" she'd said to Mordin later.

"Likely" (inhale) "obtained from Aria T'Loak of Omega. Special Tasks Group not above using smugglers for own ends."

Sam shook her head in amazement. If it helped contain this Infection (or Flood, as Cortana insisted on calling it), she wouldn't argue. She also wouldn't contest the salarian STG being the ones to study the Infection—if anyone had the expertise to at least not cause a breakout trying to poke and prod at it, it would be the salarians with their incredible knowledge of genetics and aptitude for xeno-biology.

"You're aware there is a huge bomb underneath this facility?" demanded Cortana. "If the Flood gets loose, it goes off and vaporizes everything within a fifty-kilometer radius!"

"Not precisely a bomb" countered Wiks, who accompanied the guests as they moved through layer after layer of security. "The reactor would overload, generating the necessary explosion."

"I assume it's _also_ Trans-Galactic Republic hardware" sniffed Shepard. "Once you guys get your hands on the best toys, you can't put them down!"

"Though we salarians pride ourselves in developing the most sophisticated warfighting means available, for example, ultraviolet lasers for GARDIAN systems rivaled only by the geth, we are more than happy to borrow from others when their offerings are clearly superior. Especially if it aids us in our mission." Wiks motioned for the group to follow him through one last blast door, which appeared to be almost a meter thick. Within this vault, salarian scientists could be seen operating some kind of interface. What exactly became apparent upon viewing the center of the room—all science currently being done got carried out by mechs, not scientists. Even dead Infection samples were only worked on by mechs.

"Infection requires certain amount of calcium in host to catalyze reaction, available neurological interface. Mechs offer neither."

"Smart." Shepard admired the salarians and their methodical approach to even the most difficult problems. It wasn't the only way—she'd seen, for example, Tali and Gaige use brute-force methods before, but it was certainly an elegant path between question and answer.

"What about the geth?" asked Cortana. "They should be able to work on or fight the Flood with little danger."

"Likely sought to prevent dissemination of information regarding Infection work throughout galaxy" (inhale) "a position not shared by Consensus."

Wiks nodded, before picking up where Mordin had left off.

"We've discerned the basic infection mechanism—it would be fascinating if this wasn't an existential threat. The Infection Form attaches to a host's nervous system, taps into it, and takes control. The host always dies during this process in our observation."

Shepard unexpectedly grabbed Wiks.

"Just to be clear, you're not actually infecting live sapient hosts, are you?" Her look suggested an affirmative answer would draw a death sentence, not just for Wiks, but for the entire facility.

"Only animals" replied Wiks, completely unfazed. "We have had some volunteers who hope for a cure after losing relatives or friends, but we have turned them down."

"Good." The Spectre visibly relaxed, until another question crossed her mind. "Where you getting Infection agents?"

"From the source" replied Wiks cryptically.

The trio plus Cortana moved deeper into the facility, past what Wiks termed "basic research tanks" in which Infection Form reaction to various stimuli were under study. "We hope we might be able to replicate what Dr. Solis accomplished with the Collector Seeker Swarms" said Wiks. "Make life-forms invisible to the Infection."

Cortana successfully resisted the urge to display disdain at work she considered pointless. Being a Smart AI, she did wish to see what these "salarians" were up to—if new data presented itself suggesting an alternative means to fight the Flood that proved less destructive, she wanted to hear about it. She just didn't think such an outcome was very likely.

"This AI, where is it from?" asked Wiks to Shepard, ignoring the blue-purple woman projected from Sam's visor.

"I'm standing right here" huffed Cortana. "My name is Cortana, UNSC Artificial Intelligence CTN 0452-9."

"UNSC" (inhale) "Classified Systems Alliance program? Secret department within Citadel Council unknown to STG?"

"Unlikely" replied Wiks. "Nothing is unknown to the STG."

Cortana interrupted their theorizing. "I was brought here through what I believe to be some kind of interspatial rift or slipspace anomaly. I'm not from these parts."

"The Systems Alliance isn't developing illegal AIs, Mordin" assured Shepard. "Well, other than EDI, but that was Cerberus."

"Kerberos still active" parried the salarian. "Name synonymous with Cerberus. Stated goal to utilize unconventional methods. No terrorism."

Sam had to resist the urge to facepalm. Hadn't the Systems Alliance learned its lesson with black-ops groups? Hadn't anyone? The Republic Intelligence Service looked to have just as much potential for going off the rails as Cerberus, except on a vastly larger scale with far more advanced technology.

The quartet arrived at another door. A readout showed "Temperature: -70C" with a sign underneath indicating a Level I environmental hazard as a result of the temperature.

"The Infection becomes extremely lethargic at low temperatures" explained Padok Wiks. "In fact, five degrees lower and all these specimens would be dead! The cold allows operation on more dangerous live samples while minimizing the danger. The basic Infection Form dies from a pistol shot—but the Combat Forms, those are an entirely different story."

"Since you're very visibly playing with fire, what have you learned?" Cortana wanted to know what the Flood did to the species of this new, different galaxy.

Wiks brought the group over to a set of environmental suits and indicated that each should don one. An aged but functioning human-compatible suit had been found for Sam, as well ("Called ahead" said Mordin).

"I guess I don't need one" remarked Cortana.

"This suit doesn't have a holo-projection system, so you're going to have to take a nap" replied Sam. Cortana gave her a withering look before disappearing. Technically, she remained active and the "nap" was a misnomer, but she kept this commentary to herself.

The intrepid scientists and Spectre stepped through the heavy door. To the surprise of the last, no blast of frigid air greeted them—the suits were merely a precaution as the actual specimens were inside _yet another_ layer. Should they become problematic, personnel in suits would then be able to enter the tanks and put them down. Should the personnel become compromised, the entire area inside the initial door would then be flash-frozen to -150C in less than a second.

Over comm-links, Wiks described the first tank: a very sluggish "Boomer" form—a former krogan. Video taken by a staff sergeant named Wiley before he vaporized himself showed the Special Tasks Group exactly what this monstrosity could do if released and played back, somewhat unhelpfully for nerves, on nearby vidscreens. At present, the specimen showed no sign of exploding or hurling its dangerous darts at anyone.

"This form is very dangerous, just like its original host" he lectured as the Infected krogan's body bumped repeatedly into the excruciatingly expensive molecularly-bonded transparisteel. "When aggravated, it explodes violently, releasing several Infection Forms."

Said self-destruction also hurled crude bone-spikes outward like biological shrapnel. What made these spikes especially vicious was that they contained a small reservoir of cells dubbed "Highly Active Infection Agents" that seemed to be necessary for a host to be transformed fully into an Infected version of itself. Generally, the Infection Form would inject them after killing a new host, but when "pre-injected" by bio-ballistics, it would cause anyone hit to begin to transform into an Infection-compatible body within seconds. All that remained was for the Infection Form to take over.

"Spikes nonlethal as noted in report" commented Mordin. "Precise purpose served unclear, video offers suggestion, not clarity."

Wiks proceeded to explain the rationale behind a Boomer's pointy parts, something that wasn't communicated openly even via supposedly-encrypted STG channels.

"Flood Super Cells" gasped Cortana, her voice tinny and small within Shepard's helmet. "The Flood has evolved to prep future hosts without the Infection Form having to do all the work!"

If anyone could have seen Sam's face, they would have been treated to a new level of "disgusted." She spoke to Cortana, though her words also amplified out of her helmet. "So that's worse than your universe?"

"Much worse!" responded the invisible intelligence. "It was bad enough to get stuck by an Infection Form, but now you can be attacked by a handful of cells! Talk about need for wound care…"

"…not difficult enough, most examples of Boomers we have seen retain their krogan toughness—and may even be harder to kill than their original host" Wiks was saying.

"Death does not stop Boomer" added Mordin. "Critical damage to body triggers" (inhale) "surge of adrenaline and biological catalyst for detonation. Kill takes down Boomer, but also causes explosion."

"Great" huffed the Commander. "Another reason to carry as much heavy weapon ammo as possible."

She looked forward, only now realizing the chamber extended back quite some distance. As a safety precaution, only a maximum of three specimens existed within a given chamber before another reinforced wall and door sealed off access to the next section. Kind of like how airtight subdividing helped make ships harder to damage in battle.

"You guys may be playing with fire, but damn if you don't have enough extinguishers for a seven-alarm blaze" breathed Shepard.

"Infection dangerous. Extreme caution warranted" (inhale) "to prevent outbreak."

The other two tanks contained completely frozen Boomers, both being scanned incessantly by some kind of machine. Beyond that, another door.

"The side walls of this enclosure are triple-armored and total over five meters of protection" commented the base commander. "The only method of breaching them from within is detonation of the primary reactor, which would destroy not just this facility but everything within a fifty kilometer radius."

"Hm" chirped Cortana, interrupting Shepard's thoughts. "Maybe these salarians aren't so foolish after all. I've seen Forerunner installations with less security than this."

"The samples we've taken are arranged in order from the least difficult to contain to most" continued Wiks. "While it seems odd to designate the Boomers as being easy to contain, if they are let loose they will detonate and the fragile Infection Forms will die very quickly."

Through another door.

"Keprel's Syndrome makes drell poor hosts" said Wiks, gesturing to a dead, half-Infected male. "They are used for something, but we're not quite sure what yet. If a lifeform isn't turned into a Combat Form, its biomass is still utilized. How is a subject of this facility's research."

"Duh" hissed Cortana as if this were all obvious to her (because it was). "Get enough biomass together and you get a Gravemind. Bad news—I really, _really_ hope they're not trying to study it by letting them grow…"

"Strangely, asari also don't seem to be priority targets" continued Wiks. "It seems something with naturally-occurring biotic talent and the required internal Element Zero interferes with the Infection process somehow. The ones we did find, like that one over there, are almost harmless, really. On rare occasions a biotic episode of significant strength occurs, but otherwise Infected asari stumble around bumping into things and basically harming no one."

Turning to the last tank, Shepard noticed it seemed to be partially filled with Infected glop—but what it used to be she couldn't tell.

"Hanar. Insufficient calcium to catalyze Infection" noted Mordin upon seeing Shepard's gaze. "Reduced to basic biomass."

"Gross" muttered Shepard.

Moving to the next chamber, Shepard and the two salarians viewed the remains of a quarian suit covered in biomass, a detonated volus, and a batarian.

"Infected quarian tissue decays rapidly outside suit" said Mordin. "Unsure why. Not related to dextro-amino status as turians used often by Infection."

"So what makes them more useful than hanar or drell?" wondered the Spectre aloud.

"Their knowledge" replied Wiks. "Though they make poor hosts, the Infection does retain the know-how of any quarian it takes, which means the Infection has some intelligence regarding our ships…"

"From the best engineers in the galaxy" hissed Shepard. "Figures."

"Volus form difficult. Most Infected die quickly from suit rupture. Body requires high pressure to maintain integrity. Few that survive become carriers. This one" (inhale) "unsuccessful."

"That's putting it mildly."

Readouts showed a gaseous mix consummate with the decay of a volus body—release of ammonia toxic to other species, mainly, though other trace elements also made themselves known. In the last tank, an Infected batarian's bloody eye sockets were visible, along with a clawed hand (left) and set of whips (right).

"In a particularly fascinating process, the batarian becomes a biological projectile launcher" lectured Wiks. "The bone fragments regenerate, and some have been observed to contain the Highly Active Infection Agent. Of note, the Batarian Form noticeably slows when it has depleted its munitions, becoming less coordinated. We aim to keep it that way."

Said "munitions" could be seen in nearby tanks, some submerged in liquid while others underwent scans.

"This just keeps getting better and better. Kill it all with fire!" replied Sam.

_Only salarian scientists could find bone-shooting monstrosities "fascinating."_

The next section contained two Infected salarians and one Infected human. All had arms replaced by long whip-like appendages.

"I've seen those before, in the videos James sent" commented Sam regarding the former salarians. "They're nasty, but not all that difficult to put down."

"Interest here stems from explosive growth" replied Mordin. "Cellular division rapid, more so than any other lifeform observed. Mutation speed opens possibility of introducing errors into process, or using as baseline for rapid regeneration of damaged tissue."

One salarian did not move, the other two samples shuffled in their small chambers.

"Do I even want to know what comes next?"

"Given responses, no. Will show you anyway" replied Mordin.

Three of the same species, turians, adorned the subsequent chamber. Their metallic skin only had patches of Infection biomass. The rest either retained its color or was covered in what Padok Wiks described as "the most formidable biological armor I've seen aside from the Boomer/krogan."

"They have arms!" noted Shepard.

"Indeed. Turian form most advanced. Operates vehicles, machinery, weapons" said Mordin. "Never has whips."

"Well, I guess someone finally found a way to make turians uglier!"

"Aware of joke regarding turians and rockets, Shepard?"

"Yes, Mordin… Garrus told me. What about vorcha? I haven't seen any of those."

"Have not managed to capture" replied Mordin. "Dangerous. Fast. Evolved to create more biomass for Infection. Studied only in field."

In front of the group, a door different than those seen in the past stretched twice as wide and half again as tall as previous entryways. It also had a sturdier look. Upon stepping through, it became immediately apparent why.

"Holy _shit!_"

An expansive oval enclosure sat in the middle of the room. Within, a single elcor, or, rather, what once was an elcor, loped around. Occasionally, it would ram what was left of its head into the transparent walls ("triple-layered molecularly bonded transparisteel" answered Wiks when asked what could possibly contain such a huge creature).

Due to elcor physiology, the Infection had done some interesting things to make them serviceable. The pink tendrils waved from the back, while a calcified, durable front proved impervious to all but heavy weapons, said Wiks. The former face became a battering ram, used to mash opponents into paste. This tended to work best on standing enemies, though the reinforced front limbs could also serve this purpose on a downed combatant.

"Slow. Virtually unstoppable" commented Mordin. "Not direct Infection agent—weakens targets to allow easier takeover by Infection Forms."

"Please, please tell me you haven't found any Infected yahg" pleaded Shepard. "Elcor are slow—yahg are elcor with attitude!"

"Location of yahg homeworld restricted" replied Mordin. "Unaware of any unauthorized access to that data."

"Unaware doesn't mean someone hasn't found it" said Cortana. Shepard repeated the AI's line out loud.

"Once the Council declared Parnack to be off-limits, the Special Tasks Group deliberately removed information from its own databanks regarding the location of the yahg homeworld. It would take an act at the Union-wide level to resume operations there" retorted Wiks. "Though the STG has considered…various tactical situations…involving yahg, such research ended with the Reaper War."

He didn't mention that some within STG considered the yahg for uplift as anti-Reaper shock troops, and that it would have been more accurate to describe the simulations as "strategic" in scope, covering what might happen if the uplifted yahg had to be put down afterward. It would destroy a good chunk of the galaxy, they'd concluded, but versus sure destruction by Reaper, such an outcome would have been begrudgingly preferable.

"So, has all this research produced any better methods for fighting the Infection yet?" asked Shepard.

Any answer got cut off by alarms.

"Here we go again…"

Orange swiveling lights cast everything in an eerie hue.

"Good news: specimens not loose!" cried Mordin. "In such case, lights red."

"Oh, that's so reassuring" snapped Shepard. "Why is it every time I go somewhere, something happens?"

"The facility has been discovered and is under attack" intoned Wiks. "Quickly, to the command center!"

The trio raced back through many reinforced doors, away from the specimen containment. There was such hurry that removal of environmental suits took a backseat and was forgotten, leading to cold-equipped personnel barreling into the nerve center.

"We count thirty pirate ships, Commander Wiks! They came from the direction of Omega using hyperdrives!"

"Pirates…"

_Damn it._

"Looks like you didn't do as good of a job hiding as you thought" shouted Shepard to be heard over the din of a noisy operations room. "I bet money that fleet has Aria T'Loak behind it!"


	35. Together We Bicker

**Chapter 34 – Together We Bicker…**

The Trans-Galactic Republic once again found itself in the possible position of judge, jury, and jailer over those who committed acts it found unacceptable, namely bombing a mostly-civilian planet. As more information came out from the various corporate raiders who'd both fired from orbit and landed soldiers on the planet, it became more apparent (though not less abhorrent) why everyone had teamed up on Jakobs.

At an in-person conference, Benjamin Reid spoke to all the corporate malcontents together minus Vladof who fled rather than face the "oppressors." Jakobs' only ship had been destroyed, Nigel Harris barely surviving in an escape pod. The Maliwans had been captured and dragged up from Plutus along with Torgue. Dahl's representative, a man named Christopher Crayol, arrived on his own volition. Hyperion's soldier's-soldier, Kent Clarkson, came under duress. Nonetheless, as a military man, he knew when to follow orders—specifically when _not_ following them might land him in a foreign military's brig for who-knows-how-long.

Daro'Xen vas Moreh went the opposite direction. Freed from her sentence a half-year early for assisting Sam Shepard in her quest to repair the artificial intelligence Cortana, she surprisingly chose to resume her life in the mixed geth/quarian settlements on Rannoch rather than the isolated quarian-only enclaves many others opted for. She offered no explanation for her decision when pressed on why a quarian of her stature would willingly opt to live amongst geth.

"Your actions today violate virtually every set of common law we have encountered" began Reid. "That being said, it has become apparent to us that the culture of this galaxy is very different than those we have previously visited. You have developed along entirely divergent paths from us. You have not sworn to make our laws and customs your own under a unified military command, as some from other galaxies have. Thus, if we wished to punish you for failing to live our own standard of what is right and wrong, we would need to garrison every star, place bases on every planet, and build prison ships the size of small moons."

"So are you going to let us go?" demanded Clarkson.

"What I am going to do is ask you how your own laws say this should be solved. Bombarding civilian centers from orbit is a war crime in our jurisprudence, but trying to compare our values to whatever is held here seems like mixing blue and orange paint. It's not going to work. Again, we could try to _force_ the issue, but to what end?"

_If I had my way, we wouldn't have worked with Xytler. We wouldn't be giving these barbarians a free pass, either, but reality and accomplishing the greatest good for the greatest number demand taking actions I don't like… Plus, I'm not a policymaker._

Christopher Crayol spoke up. "We would all go to war with the Jakobs family, not just the company, assuming the data you have obtained today is correct. Their actions endanger the well-being of all of our companies, and possibly the entire galaxy."

"With the goal being?"

"With the goal _being_" replied Clarkson in a very dangerous tone, "making sure they never pull a stunt like this again. Eridian tech, hidden away for centuries that not only gave them a competitive edge, but also seems to have been causing problems on a wider scale."

"Our research on this phenomenon suggests this 'wider scale' you speak of is an understatement" began Reid. "Gamma-Six is under attack, again, except it's not Harvesters. Or, in fact, any lifeform we've ever seen before."

"Is this the part where we all hold hands in a circle and sing a song?" questioned Kent Clarkson.

"Quite the contrary, if this follows anything like your last pattern, you'll create a short-lived alliance, then turn on each other as soon as the threat ends" shot back Reid. "Or, maybe you'll be scared shitless and let us do the work. Again."

Before anyone could argue, lights dimmed in _Sacrifice of Angels'_ briefing room. A video began playing detailing what, exactly, this "Infection" entailed that had appeared out of nowhere in Gamma-Six, attacking everything in sight to create more of itself. By the end of the presentation, several executives were visibly disturbed.

THAT IS NOT COOL.

"What the FUCK?" demanded Mallory.

"That is messed up!" Kent's disgust showed.

"So if you want to focus all your efforts on destroying Jakobs, feel free to do so!" concluded Benjamin Reid. "Be aware, however, that another threat lurks and you may well find yourselves jumped while beating up someone else."

"What do you want us to do?" asked Christopher Crayol. "As you are well aware having caused the result in the first place, most of us have little left in the way of functioning military hardware. What remained after the war went to the scrapyards at pennies on the dollar to pay down debts!"

"Be ready to accept the consequences of your choices."

"You're still judging us" insisted Malcolm. "You may say that you're not going to hold us to your own standard, but you definitely are."

"Our actions have consequences too" countered Reid. "It is not as if only things the Trans-Galactic Republic disapproves of create a reaction."

"Is this one of those 'We're not threatening you, but actually, we are?' deals?" Mallory cocked her head.

"No" replied Reid. "But it is a strong suggestion that you prepare yourselves in case this Infection spreads. Particularly you three—the MALITOR Alliance might have some new customers if you play your cards right, as specialized ammunition seems to work very well on Infected."

"What about the Jakobs vaults that supposedly exist on this planet?"

"Christopher, we have no evidence that these alleged vaults exist. Of course, the mark of a good hidden vault is that you can't find it, so our sensors not locating anything from passive orbital scans hardly means they can't be real."

Reid received a message through his personal communicator.

"Well, that's that, then" he announced. Putting himself on the ship's addressing system, he continued "I was never sure why we hung around here either after the Harvesters were destroyed—we've been ordered to return to Gamma-Six at maximum speed. Our guests will be returned to their ships. Our surface crews will be pulled up as quickly as possible. Departure in one hour."

[…]

Another meeting of the Citadel Council. Another discussion of what to do about the Infection.

"Sigurd's Cradle is reporting signs of the Infection. Distress calls from Watson, Sanctum, and Chalkhos all indicate an unknown biological presence has made landfall. So far, Shepard's faith in Aria T'Loak as the savior of the Terminus seems ill-placed." Clethon took no joy in his apparent correctness, though he did note that it was strange for Shepard to have trusted and thus far, failed.

The plan seemed relatively simple. Should the Terminus fall, all inbound traffic from outside Inner Council Space would be turned away, by force if necessary, to create a buffer zone between the Citadel and everything else. With only five relays to protect (the Sol relay was included by the demand of Grayson), it would be easy for a Trans-Galactic Republic fleet to shield the station and the seat of government. The economic and personal consequences of such a hypothetical situation were too ghastly to contemplate, so no one considered them as the policy had yet to be implemented.

"Admiral Nimitz has recalled all forces from Gamma-Three" offered Grayson, hoping his Council allies would see this as the gesture of goodwill it was meant to be.

"How soon will they arrive?" asked Tevos.

"At maximum hyper-zero, it will take about four-and-a-half to five months. Hyper-zero over long distances doesn't exactly follow precise velocities. Speed fluctuations become more apparent the greater the distance traveled" replied Grayson.

"At the rate the Infection is spreading, that isn't fast enough" intoned Clethon. "In the past few months, we've seen it spread from the Nemean Abyss to five clusters. We are not sure of the depth of the penetration, however—as one world within a cluster having it marks the whole area as contaminated."

"You might want to, um, check" laughed Grayson. "You can't operate a containment policy with your eyes closed."

"How do you propose we answer this question?" asked Victus. "You've seen what a single spore of that Infection can do—and we've already lost several teams sent in to study the situation! We even lost CCS _Maxthon_!"

"I have been receiving some reports that the Home Galaxy has at long last become aware of the situation" said Grayson, more somber now. "I would suspect that either the Republic Intelligence Service or Spacelane Protection has probably sent in covert intelligence ships to gather information about the status of those systems. Should I receive any information which I am cleared to share, I will present it to this body."

"Reports have also come in that Styx Theta and the Kepler Verge have been utterly destroyed" added Tevos.

"I have been briefed" replied Grayson. "When a significant portion of the Systems Alliance goes dark due to the loss of the quantum communicators on a world, you can bet I hear about it. I'm guessing our dear friend Sarah is probably responsible."

"That is correct."

"Then the picket fleet at Ontarom never stood a chance—that would explain why they never sent a distress call." Grayson's head drooped. More dead soldiers. More destruction to prevent even larger destruction (if Sarah's theory was correct—which scientists tended to believe it was based on available evidence).

A chime alerted the Council to the presence of Urdnot Wrex. He'd been invited after insisting on making a report in person regarding an issue so sensitive he wanted to convey it to the Council directly.

"You." He pointed at Grayson.

"I didn't do it, I swear!"

"Maybe not" growled the krogan. "But your Republic Intelligence Service definitely did something."

In his other stubby hand, Wrex held up a palm-sized device. "Personal kinetic barrier generator—but not Citadel, not Alliance, not Union, not Hierarchy. Why? Because our logos aren't ten-pointed stars!"

The Trans-Galactic Republic sigil could clearly be seen on the front of the unit, colored in navy blue. It wasn't just painted on either, it was actually molded into the metal of the casing as the star's "points" helped disperse shield energy more efficiently.

"Wrex, if you could tell us exactly how you came to find the device, it might be helpful."

[…]

The Korbal pyramid, hundreds of meters high, served as a monument to the great krogan of the past, and an inspiration to the krogan of the future. Thus, it carried great symbolic value along with the practical purpose of hiding a certain object. After the subterranean sneak-attack, Wrex ordered a network of sensors installed around the base of the structure, and a second layer closer to the Turian Hierarchy's devious bomb. That way, no malcontents could tunnel in and wipe out a budding krogan society's new capital.

The pyramid sprawled as a massive symmetrical structure with four sides. At the top, a square opening let natural light flood into an atrium where Clan Councils were held. Wrex refused to surround this lip with turbolasers or cover it against the elements, deeming the former a desecration and the latter an offense to "true krogan." It was into this opening that a _Vorknkx_ slipped—dropping a team of Republic Commandos with the mission of setting up the bomb to blow on a Trans-Galactic Republic command.

"Mission's simple! Go in, install our own little detonator, get out without being seen. If the krogan fall to the Infection, we don't want them becoming numerous. So we blow them away!"

Taking advantage of the fact that any "tampering" with the detonator would cause the bomb to go off automatically, the Trans-Galactic Republic's intelligence arm decided to ensure that they, too, could set off the explosive. Attaching their own device to the detonator would, on remote command, let loose an ionic charge. The bomb would then blow.

What Urdnot Wrex didn't know, but that the Republic Intelligence Service recognized, was that the Hierarchy wasn't just planning to blow up a valley. The shaped charge would set off seismic disturbances within Tuchanka, causing earthquakes and leaving a large chance the planet would be uninhabitable due to massive amounts of magma erupting onto the surface. It was like shooting the yolk of an egg—the shell would crack and the innards would spill out. One very powerful bomb could do the work of a low-grade superlaser.

The plan went off without a hitch until the trio reached the inner ring of sensors surrounding the munition. These sensors were Trans-Galactic Republic and as such could detect the effect of a cloaked presence if not the presence itself (changes in air currents, for instance). Hibridium cloaks also failed to repel magnets, as RNS _Sledge_ found out, and it just so happened Wrex's crews rigged up both magnetic mines and magnetically-triggered Graal Spike Throwers. A loud bang, and one operative lay bleeding on the ground, his suit and gut punctured by a flechette bigger than his hand. It also sliced into his utility belt.

"What the hell?"

"Something can see through our cloaks! We gotta move! Abort mission!"

Dragging the wounded operative whose cloak thankfully concealed him once re-activated, the two remaining healthy men beat a hasty retreat back through the structure. Their hovering _Vorknkx_ had not been noticed, but as they climbed aboard the wounded operative's combination shield-cloak pack detached from his belt, clattering down onto the stone floor of the Clan Council Chamber. Not seeing this due to the double-blind nature of a hibridium cloak, the operatives fled Tuchanka.

"I smell blood!" roared a krogan patrol leader.

[…]

"You humans sure do bleed a lot" laughed Wrex. "One little cut and your innards are outards!"

Ignoring the expressions of distaste on the Councilor's faces, Wrex continued "You just try to deny it. Some krogan may be dumb, but not all of us are content to be thrown into history's dustbin as mercenaries, warlords and battle junkies! I'm trying to build something better—and someone stabs me in the back!"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about" protested Grayson.

To the surprise of everyone, Wrex chortled. "Your RISE is worse than the Council's Spectres. At least they can get hauled in here and yelled at! If you don't even know what they're doing, how are you supposed to keep them in line?"

"Wrex…if you could excuse us please…" Clethon didn't want to be the one to say it, but said it anyway.

"Oh all right. Plot the doom of the krogan, again…" His receding footsteps echoed through the Council Chambers.

"What are you doing?" demanded Clethon as soon as Wrex was out of earshot. "What is the Trans-Galactic Republic doing?"

"I'm telling you, _I don't know!_ That's part of RISE's act—they take a broad goal assigned to them and don't tell anyone how they accomplish it."

"Hmm. The Republic Intelligence Service seems similar to the Special Tasks Group. They operate unhindered under a cloak of secrecy so thick that even top political leaders are unaware of their activities." On one hand, Clethon both recognized and respected organizations operating similarly to the STG, having once been an operative himself. On the other hand, when it was _someone else's_ completely unfettered do-anything-necessary intelligence unit, it rubbed him the wrong way. Well aware of the hypocrisy, he nonetheless thought the point worth making.

"If the Trans-Galactic Republic upsets the fragile balance this Council" (Wrex would have thought this assertion hilarious since the Council did nothing but take credit for something the Trans-Galactic Republic and his own negotiations accomplished with some help from a certain salarian) "has achieved on Tuchanka, then we may have to re-evaluate the parameters of our alliance." Coming from Tevos, it caught Grayson by surprise at first, but he immediately created a follow-up.

"The Trans-Galactic Republic has always maintained that we only work with those who want our help" replied Grayson. "If the Citadel Council would prefer to pursue its own course, we will gladly withdraw." He knew it was a bit of a goading tactic but did it anyway—the Council couldn't handle the Reapers due to technological inferiority and it looked as though the Council wasn't going to handle the Infection very well either, seeing as it had advanced across many clusters in a short span of time since its emergence from the Nemean Abyss.

"What Councilor Grayson might have lacked in tactfulness he makes up for in correctness" added Victus with some hint of frustration. "This is exactly what we anticipated would happen—everyone agrees to share information in theory. In practice, intelligence remains as siloed as ever."

Knowing this wasn't actually directed at him as much as RISE, Grayson responded anyway. "I wish I could tell you, I really do. Maybe that's why the Republic Intelligence Service doesn't tell me these things—because they know I could turn around and let the entire galaxy in on whatever they're doing."

"Shepard's onboard auditor has not reported in at least one week" mused Tevos. "We should inquire as to why."

[…]

"Defensive systems are holding" reported an operations console operator as Padok Wiks passed by. "The Trans-Galactic Republic did not oversell the capabilities of this shield."

"Have we identified the attackers?"

"Yes, Commander Wiks" reported another salarian. "They call themselves the Omega Defense Force under the authority of Aria T'Loak."

"Why the hell are they shooting?" demanded Shepard. "We're not Infected here!"

"STG unwilling to disclose purpose of base" replied Mordin to Shepard's line of questioning. "Aria likely demanded information. STG uncooperative, leading to application of force."

Recordings of the opening conversations between the pirate fleet and the base bore this out.

"What are you doing in the Terminus Systems?" demanded an unpleasant-looking batarian. "On the authority of Aria T'Loak, answer or be fired upon!"

"This base's operations are classified" came the clipped tones of a salarian response. "We cannot discuss activities here, ongoing or otherwise."

"You will permit us to verify no Infection agents are present" retorted the unnamed batarian. "Or we will ensure any Infection burns!"

"We cannot do that" shot back the base comm officer.

The channel closed and bombardment began.

"Can attack. Won't succeed" noted Mordin. "Shield rated against Trans-Galactic Republic weapons in significant quantities. Existing fleet a fraction at best."

"Can we at least turn the alarms off, then?" shouted Sam. "They're irritating, especially if nothing bad will actually happen!"

Noise from combat alerts ceased, though the impact of kinetic weaponry against the shield continued to create vibrations through the base. The occasional turbolaser strike added some color to an apparently-futile attack.

Shepard turned Cortana's image projection back on.

"Have you tried talking to them?" she asked.

"You heard the video" retorted Sam. "They won't take no for an answer!"

"Not from the base operators, but you weren't there. Your service history suggests you have a way of persuading the unpersuadable."

"The bombardment is disrupting most communications. The planet's atmosphere doesn't help, and with the shield taking constant hits, it will be difficult to create an uplink to the comm buoy network."

Sam shoved the protesting comm officer aside. "Cortana, do something about all those things."

"I thought you'd never ask!"

The AI jumped from Shepard's visor into the Special Tasks Group system. The nearest holoprojector ended up being the tactical unit in the room's center, so she took that over, causing some dismay among salarians observing the pirate fleet's maneuvers through the now-re-appropriated display. Instead, a large purple head appeared.

"Hmm. These systems aren't too different from the Covenant. If I adjust…"

She muttered about things that made no sense to Sam. Perhaps the Master Chief might have understood it, but he wasn't here. Two minutes later, Cortana spoke again. "I've recalibrated the base systems to cut through interference caused by the atmosphere, the shield, and the bombardment. You should be able to hail the fleet, but be warned, it takes a significant amount of the base's processing power away from other tasks."

"Find the command ship, and aim our communicator at them!"

All visual feeds of activity outside the base became very bright, before fading.

"Shield down to six percent! Commander, they just pulled out some kind of really big gun!"

Previously, the concentrated bombardment had not actually reduced shield strength by enough that the computer would display a change from full shield strength. And now the shield almost collapsed.

"Inbound communication!" Though Cortana's primary purpose was tactical infiltration, as a Smart AI she could do many other things. Such as take over base operations—causing flummoxed personnel to stare at their terminals as the base systems began optimizing themselves. By rebalancing power usage, Cortana restored the shield to 34%, but based on the last hit that wouldn't stop the fleet if it fired its unknown superweapon again.

"So. Ready to tell me what I want to know?"

Aria.

_Damn it all_. Shepard got ready to issue a verbal beat-down.

"This base's operations are classified" repeated the comm officer, shouting past Shepard. "The Special Tasks Group…"

"…is apparently hiding something. Or someone."

Sam forgot she was in full view of the communicator's visual scanner, as she'd been preparing to connect out before the shield near-failure.

"Aria! Stop this madness at once!" barked the Commander.

"I'm sorry" simpered the asari. "Did you just try to tell me what to do? Because that never goes over well."

"The Special Tasks Group is trying to help!" shot back Shepard.

"I told you" hissed Aria, "I will deal with the Infection using my own methods. That means no one harbors it, no one hides it, and _no one runs experiments on it_. Ask Dr. Abrams how that worked out for him."

"How did you know? Spies? Network taps?"

Behind them, Cortana looked offended at the suggestion of such intrusions. "I would have noticed!" she said, though no one paid her any heed.

"Lucky guess" smirked Aria. "What else would those salarian genetics geniuses be doing with it?"

"Well, based on the news reports, your own methods aren't working very well" taunted Shepard, well-aware that pissing off the crime boss was probably a bad idea. "Or has the Infection of Sigurd's Cradle passed beneath your notice?"

"That was going to be my next stop" replied Aria, eerily calm again. "I just have to finish cleaning up this little mess. Oh, and by the way? That shield of yours won't stand another superlaser hit."

_Where the hell did Aria get a superlaser?_

"The Trans-Galactic Republic thought they'd be able to sneak around Omega without me noticing. Unfortunately for them, their stealth devices aren't as good as they think—and I caught yet another one with relatively simple methods. I call it fishing. Isn't that right, Joan?"

The camera panned to show a trussed-up Trans-Galactic Republic captain held at gunpoint by three batarians and a vorcha. "They will hunt you down. You'll rot in a jail cell—maybe my grandkids will visit you" spat the woman called Joan.

Sensor operators turned to Padok Wiks. "Commander, a ship has joined the fleet. It did not show up on sensors before, but it now registers as RNS _Anvil_, _Hammer_-class. It's not in our database."

"Oh, of course it isn't" laughed Aria, overhearing the conversation. "Do you really think these do-gooders will tell you everything they're up to?"

"Now you're hijacking Trans-Galactic Republic ships? Is that 'your own method?' Because I'm pretty sure someone's going to have something to say about that."

"No one else is doing what is necessary" countered the asari. "I've sterilized three planets already after we found built-up quantities of the Infection on them. Lorek, Thunawanuro, and Vatar have all been rendered uninhabitable by orbital strikes." Aria looked smug.

"You realize, especially in the case of Vatar, that if you don't go down there and verify the non-existence of survivors, chances are someone might have lived?"

Aria's expression remained unchanged. "You don't know how this thing works, do you?"

"I doubt you do either" argued Sam. "You aren't the type to read manuals!"

"No, but I know pushing this button bores a laser into a planet and vaporizes its core. Makes living there a wee bit more difficult" replied Aria triumphantly. "It was intended to cut through the planet-scale shielding these outsiders have. The job is far easier here!"

Shepard nodded to Cortana, who cut off the video feed.

"Can you break into that ship? Disable their weapons or something?"

Cortana yawned as if bored by such a simple suggestion. "I could, but I won't bother."

"Why not?" exploded the Spectre. "You heard what Aria's done and plans to do!"

"Someone's already done just that. Look!"

Cortana's head vanished and was replaced with a grainy sensor-view of _Anvil_. As if on cue, all the ship's lights flickered, went out, then came back on again.

On the bridge, Aria T'Loak suddenly found herself not in control anymore. On the floor, Joan Hinchey spoke up again.

"You may have blackmailed me into surrendering my ship by threatening us with Infected magnets, but RISE will tan your sorry hide for this!"

An overly-cheery sounding voice emanated from every audio-out on the ship.

"Attention hijackers: We here at the Republic Intelligence Service have taken notice of your little hijinks. You've been wonderful partners in achieving our goals of destroying Infected worlds, but now our work together must end. Surrender, or we will begin shutting down ship systems until you're all dead!"

"You'll kill your crew?" sneered Aria. "The high-and-mighty Trans-Galactic Republic would write off the thousands of souls aboard this vessel?" She put as much derision into her voice as possible.

"Absolutely!" replied the overly-chipper male voice. "Every person on that ship signed up knowing they could be asked to die, sent on a one-way trip, sacrificed in an instant!"

"He's right." Hinchey managed to stand. "We'll gladly lay down our lives to return this ship to Trans-Galactic Republic hands!"

"Oh, if you think you're getting this ship back, you have another thing coming."

SMACK.

Hinchey's palm struck Aria across her shocked face before rifle butts returned the Captain to the deck.

"Aria!" yelled a human systems operator. "They've rebooted all the ship's systems and locked us out!"

"They either unlock weapons, or we start killing crew" replied the pirate queen, a deadly intensity underpinning her tone. "One at a time. And we won't make it quick, or quiet." She knelt next to Hinchey. "You're going to watch every single one."

Standing again, Aria shouted to whomever had taken control of _Anvil_ from her. "Unlock this ship, or we'll kill your crew one at a time! You wanted the Infection contained, we're doing exactly that. You knew who you were working with—you knew our methods! Why the sudden growing of consciences?"

No response.

She kicked her pathetic prisoner who'd begun shivering. Instead of cowering, however, Hinchey smiled.

"Can you feel it? They've shut off the heat!" Despite her position, her face showed triumph. "This entire ship can be remote-controlled. You're on a one-way trip to a brig!"

Aria grabbed the superlaser operator who'd been forced into her service (as neither her own DNA nor fingerprints or irises passed the scans required to activate the weapon) and shot him once in the stomach.

"You're dead. It'll take a while, but hopefully your colleagues will catch on."

He, too, laughed in her face. Struggling to speak, he nonetheless taunted the crime lord. "Even if you kill us all, you can't unlock this ship. We don't even have the codes! It can be run by one person in a chair back at RISE headquarters of necessary."

Computer screens had taken on a new symbol. Instead of the idle spinning Trans-Galactic Republic star should a terminal go unused, instead a crossed pair of swords beneath an old-fashioned spyglass took over. As if to emphasize the point, the ship began to turn, firing short pulses from its main weapon. Even Captain Hinchey had been unaware her ship was capable of such things. She would later learn superlaser-pulsing came at the cost of routing virtually all power to cooling systems, so technically the lack of heat and poor life-support weren't an attempt to push her captor into surrender. It just happened to be a beneficial byproduct of the pulse-mode.

Within sixty seconds, the entire pirate fleet was either destroyed or fleeing.

"Why are you protecting people who play with dangerous things?" bellowed Aria.

"The STG's operations are of no concern to us" came a reply she wasn't expecting. "They aren't in our way because they haven't stolen one of our ships."

"You'll let them experiment and have the Infection loose, but my trying to destroy it is a problem?" she shouted.

"When your appetite for destruction involves blackmailing a RISE operative, yes. We know you're used to one rule. Except, right now, you're not on Omega anymore. You're in a far larger pond, if you will—and the bigger fish has its own version of that rule."

"Fuck you!" She tried to comm the base she'd just bombed. Upon getting through, though, she didn't get Commander Shepard. Instead, a bluish-purple projection of a woman greeted the boss of Omega.

"What do you want?" demanded this new woman.

"Shepard" snapped Aria. "Get me Shepard."

"And why should I do that?" This hologram had attitude.

"You stupid VI, _get me Shepard_ before I turn your virtual ass into actual dust!"

"I don't think so. See, Samantha Shepard's kind of busy at the moment. And at the rate RISE is taking their ship out of range, you have about ten minutes to convince me to interrupt her, or else you're looking at a long prison stint." Cortana grinned nastily.

Humility did not come naturally to Aria T'Loak. She was used to being in charge, having her orders followed, and not being questioned. She'd been warned once that pride represented her greatest weakness—and here she was proving that bastard Petrovsky right. He'd taunted her during the battle in which her improvised mercenary alliance eventually forced Sapiens' Shield to pull back, saying that she'd let anger take over from strategy. It was only the preponderance of big guns and a few disobedient soldiers that drove away the would-be invaders, not ingenious tactical decisions.

"I don't care!" she'd roared. "I want that fucker dead, NOW!" His super-ship had torn through Blue Suns, Blood Pack, and Eclipse vessels like a flame through so much paper, which was fine (they were, after all, paid to die if necessary). However, he'd also heavily damaged the vessel of her on-again-off-again lover, Nyreen Kandros. Unsure if she still lived, Aria flew into a rage. She was not going to let him get away with a personal strike against her.

Petrovsky's Silaris-armored and Hyperion-shielded heavy cruiser hung tantalizingly close to the theoretical maximum range of her newly-acquired turbolasers, so she ordered every battery to target it. Operative words: _theoretical maximum range_. Even the Trans-Galactic Republic's weapons had limits—in this case, the energy-based munition dissipated over such great swaths of space, doing little harm to the Sapiens' Shield command ship.

As smaller vessels flew in close to bombard Omega's mostly-unarmored exterior, destroying gun after gun, she'd insisted on continuing to target Petrovsky, not his underlings who were tearing her station apart. After losing twelve of forty-eight turbolasers, her gunners began to target the frigates and corvettes strafing the station in direct defiance of Aria's orders. This ultimately saved the station—Petrovsky knew his cruiser wouldn't hold up to every turbolaser battery on Omega firing in his direction without significant distraction, even in their reduced numbers, so he fled.

"Shepard?" she said softly, almost begging. "A little help here?" Though Sam could not see it, Aria now floated as RISE not only disabled the climate controls, but also the artificial gravity.

"Ask, and ye shall receive!" replied Cortana with more than a hint of flair.

The purple VI, or perhaps AI, disappeared, replaced by Samantha Shepard. Who had to exert a mighty effort not to look superior or give off the impression she had been right all along.

"I think we can agree on one rule" started the Commander with a smile.

"What's that?" Almost _timid_. Shepard was grateful this conversation went straight into Special Tasks Group archives in case she ever needed to prove (perhaps to settle a bet?) that Aria T'Loak wasn't always blustery.

Grinning like a poker player with royal flush whose opponent just called while holding two pairs, she replied: "_Don't fuck with RISE."_

For the second time, Sam found herself on the receiving end of "From you, that's actually pretty funny."

"If anyone else told a joke like that to me, I'd crush their throats right now. So, how…"

Aria's image shook and distorted. She cried out—the ship jolted and shuddered. "What in the…"

Cortana's hologram flashed in the corner of the transmission to get Sam's attention. "I think I just broke your rule" she said slyly.

Resigned to likely having to clean up yet another mess, she asked "What did you do?"

"Little engine trouble. Can't run up to lightspeed when you're turning—and the starboard engine mysteriously overfired. Because of this change of which I have absolutely no knowledge, _Anvil_ is looping back toward Capek. At a rather high speed, I might add!"

"Oh, for the love of… Cortana! You realize we're all in deep shit now, right?"

"You assume they can track me" replied the AI with singular confidence. "No one tracks me."

Taking over the holofeed, Cortana relayed some instructions to the stricken asari through a terminal so nearby RISE personnel wouldn't hear. Sure, RISE might find that if they swept enough, but on its own, it wasn't going to give them enough information to figure out what happened.

Aria pushed off the console she'd been clinging to. Thankfully, all Republic Intelligence Services personnel had floated away from her, so she didn't run into any resistance. She waited the requested five seconds, after which radiological alarms sounded and the crossed-swords-under-spyglass disappeared in favor of a radioactive symbol. A creepily monotone female voice emanated from the ship's audio system.

"Reactor containment failure. All personnel, evacuate the ship immediately."

Opening an escape pod without an "abandon ship condition" in place triggered alarms—but with the reactor apparently ready to pop like an overfed gundark, that wouldn't happen. Aria slipped into the pod and hit the release. Cortana would maintain the illusion until Aria's pod was recovered or until Engineering figured out there wasn't actually a problem with the hyperdrive core, after which she would release control of _Anvil_.

The pod entered Capek's thick atmosphere, its energy shield flaring. Though the Republic Intelligence Service readily wrote off operatives under many circumstances, under other conditions where death was not required, escape remained preferable to destruction as trained operatives took years to build even from the most experienced military officers. It would take an hour or so for salarian vehicles to reach the pod, but Aria's life was in no danger. Other pods streamed away from _Anvil_ as more crew evacuated what appeared to be a doomed ship. Only after over half of her personnel departed did Engineering become aware of the clever deception and shut down the radiological warnings adorning every viewscreen.

Later analysis would blame an overzealous operator for pushing too hard on the superlaser and thus triggering a potential meltdown. Superlaser use would be restricted to "engines-idle" or "low-speed" state to avoid what appeared to be some kind of feedback from the pulsing weapon through the propulsion system. Cortana's belief in her own abilities would be vindicated as the Republic Intelligence Service entirely chalked up the incident to failures by its own personnel.

Brought to the command deck, a slightly chastened Aria approached Shepard with trepidation. Without warning, she grabbed the Commander for a full-on kiss on the lips. Followed by a winding slap that left both a red mark and Sam's eyes watering.

"Don't you ever do that again" breathed the asari.

"Do what? Save your life?"

"You…you… You know what you did!"

Cortana later suggested it was the fact that Aria T'Loak, queen of Omega, was forced to beg Shepard for help that set her off. At the moment, what exactly the angry kingpin referred to eluded Sam.

"I suppose I'll leave this place alone" she continued with more than a hint of resentment. "But I'm still fighting this war my way." Confidence returned as Aria's voice grew harder. "I will hunt down any person, place, or thing harboring this Infection and incinerate it."

Turning to Mordin, Sam demanded to know if any progress had been made against the Infection.

"Possible to apply pheromone designating wearer part of Infection. Causes most Infection lifeforms to ignore. Will not work on large gatherings. Limited duration. Side effect of unpleasant odor."

Back aboard _Normandy_, Mordin explained the process again.

"Alright everyone!" shouted Shepard. "You heard Mordin! We all wear 'Ode de Stinkbomb' from now on!"

No one found this funny.

_Tough crowd!_

Several crates of "Ode de Stinkbomb" now took up space near the Master Chief's area. If this bothered him, he showed no sign. A breath mask might have helped, though, technically, it only stank of the crate's contents were unsealed. At present, they weren't. In the space where she used to report to the Illusive Man, Sam held a conference as _Normandy_ departed under cloak.

"First order of business: Is it just me, or is this ship getting a tad crowded?"

Heads nodded.

"We were spoiled with those spacious Trans-Galactic Republic quarters. So much room for activities!" Shepard spread her arms apart.

Moxxi almost made a joke about certain types of activities, but refrained.

The troublesome Aria lounged against a wall. She'd not been formally invited to the war conference, but came anyway. She'd be dropped back on Omega before the ship moved on to other places.

"Second, more importantly: We have an Infection on a rampage. Our progress against it is throwing out one pyjack from the food stores only to find ten more have moved in. And we might as well be pyjacks ourselves against the raging krogan that is Sarah."

"Never mind the fact that we don't even know what else we might let in with interspatial tears" added Jackie.

"If this was a barn door analogy, it would be closing the door after the horses escaped because the whole barn was on fire and now all that's left is a door in a frame" replied the Commander.

"Burn the Infection. That is all." Aria did not move but instead elected to shout to be heard through the thicket of people (and aliens) standing around the table.

"Whatever it is, we need to put a stop to it" emphasized James, pounding a fist into a hand. "Now."

"Shiala sent a message a couple weeks back—just realized it's relevant" commented Jack. "Said something about fewer rifts around biotics, and the more biotics there are, the stronger the effect. No rifts at all inside the KOMBT School, and way fewer for kilometers around it!"

Jack hid a sadistic smile as she remembered how many times she'd tricked students by stealing small items such as pens or styluses while blaming "rifts." They'd all fallen for it.

"I thought the problem was Element Zero drives, though" objected Gaige. "The crazy Siren said we were destroying the universe with them!"

"Apparently, not all uses of Element Zero are the same" replied Tali. "At least if this isn't a coincidence of some kind."

"The big question is, what should we do first?" Shepard looked around the room, silently asking for answers.

"Kill that bitch" said Jack as if commenting on the weather.

"Halt the formation of interspatial rifts" suggested Kevin Filner.

"Stop the Flood." Heads turned. The Master Chief spoke rarely.

Sam's face twisted into exasperation. "Those are the three things we have to do, yes. Which one's the _most urgent, and more importantly, why_?"

"It is difficult to assess the situation when all three imply the same consequence. Each will result in the destruction of our civilization if left unchecked." Leave it to Thane to suggest the end of the world as known in such a manner.

"We predict an 89.753% chance that a large verbal conflict will occur within the next five minutes." Legion's interruption caused Sam to brace for the worst. Deciding to head it off before it started, she shouted to be heard above the rising discussion.

"Alright! Listen to me! We've been down this road once, and I'm not letting it happen again. I hate to do this, but I'm pulling rank. From now on, my opinion is the one that matters with regard to task priority. Everyone else, do your jobs and keep your thoughts on the Infection, Sarah, and interspatial rifts to yourselves unless it directly relates to the task at hand."

She got a lot of irritated glares for this, especially since she'd just asked for opinions, but didn't back down.

"You're looking at me like I'm the bad guy here. Guess what? Every time these topics come up, you all start tearing into each other, making ridiculous accusations, insinuating personal flaws that would make al-Jalani proud! Since you all can't stay professional talking about these things, I'm laying down the law."

Legion spoke up again.

"If we might make a suggestion: our observation of behavior within this group of organics brings us to the conclusion that additional physical space may aid in reducing the incidence of these conflicts. Were the ship to be enlarged, the crew would not be required to maintain such close physical proximity, which we believe contributes to the overall level of disagreement."

"So while the galaxy burns, my ship has to go to the shop. _Great_."

_Normandy_ whizzed back to the SETTLE Center for further work, stopping at Omega to drop off Aria on the way.

"Let me do things my way, and you yours" said the asari as she stepped off the ship.


	36. Under Construction

A/N: Hey, kiddos! Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel has landed. But because I kind of started writing this before any of it existed, even though it does fit "between" the Borderlands games I'm not going to incorporate its plot. Characters, maybe (as I play through, if they make sense to the story). Stay tuned...

**Chapter 35 – Under Construction**

It would likely take longer to design an extension for _Normandy SR-2_ than actually do the work given the speed of digistruction even at this larger scale. The whole thing would look like a chop job despite the precision of Pandoran additions—the ship already rated as rather big for a frigate, and now efforts were being made that would turn her into a pocket cruiser, at least in terms of mass. Seeing blueprints iterate through on the projection area in front of the galaxy map, Garrus lamented the "hump back" that would take shape on the ship to accommodate the newly-lengthened vessel's second operations center. Having the only battle coordination area at the very back of a rather long ship seemed impractical to the Trans-Galactic Republic when the vessel remained eminently walkable (compared to, say a Star Dreadnaught with its operations very definitely centered at the back).

"So inelegant" he complained. "This design looked almost turian—not as angular, but certainly much sleeker than it will be when we're done."

Of course, that turians had originally helped to design _Normandy SR-1_ might have had something to do with this resemblance. Still, such mimicry would be lost upon the installation of new living spaces. To top it off, all this extra mass had to be pushed by something. Though the integrated Trans-Galactic Republic reactor which replaced the Tantalus system could generate more than enough energy to handle quadrupling the ship's mass, the existing engine array lacked the capability to channel it into thrust without melting from the sheet surge of power. Distributing motive force over more engines solved the problem. By removing the two smaller outside drive units and adding three more the size of the larger inside engine for a total of eight, _Normandy_ added significantly to her acceleration and top speed.

"Good thing we have this cloaking device" commented the younger Maya. "This ship looks like it'll handle like a dead rakk hive."

"Well, you extend a ship sixty meters—what do you think would happen?" asked Tali plainly. "Maneuvering thrusters will help, but they can only do so much."

"Geez" harped Joker. "Making my baby all fat, what the hell, Commander?"

"Hey now" replied Sam in an amused tone, "you're not the one having to deal with the circus that's always going on _almost a hundred meters behind where you sit all day._"

"Well, if this upgrade goes as planned, I'll have even more buffer space between the peanut gallery and my pilot station!"

"Watch it, smart mouth" admonished Shepard. "I might just decide to move the whole bridge up to right behind where you sit."

"Yeah, the CIC was kind of far—and now it's even further back. Guess the turian design and Trans-Galactic Republic upgrade don't get along very well."

"Keeps me from getting fat when I have to run to the cockpit to yell at you!" laughed the Commander.

Despite saying that playing musical chairs added to tension, Shepard found herself overseeing everyone unloading from the _Normandy_ so the SETTLE techs could do their work. Still, Storage Deck Units and digistruction again made life simpler—digitize, place SDU on belt, walk off ship. Instead of round up strongest crew members, fight with couch, crush finger, drop couch, go to med bay, rinse, repeat. And clean blood from places of finger-crushing. At least the bacta fixed it in an hour.

"Well, get used to floating palace deluxe!" announced Sam when her crew finally finished debarking. "It looks like the extension we're going to get is also going to totally overdo what we need space-wise. I pointed this out to the construction crews—they just said not to complain. _Normandy_ is being refit to handle much longer missions, carry far more supplies, offer greater scientific flexibility…"

Athena slipped away.

"Uhh, has everyone forgotten there's a war going on? Like, galactic-level extinction?" Ashley couldn't hide her peevishness. Sometimes, even her Commander, who she respected greatly, acted more like a civilian on a pleasure cruise than a military officer.

"We know" replied Shepard in mock annoyance.

"Speaking of ignoring the end times, why are the construction bays empty?" wondered Tali. "This station was meant to build three _Maxthon_ cruisers at a time—it's currently building zero!"

"Seeing their new toy blown up that fast might've discouraged them from building more" suggested James. "I mean, we gave them hell, but you can only do so much against _endless waves of enemies!"_

"Back when I did integration for the _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ ships, we had a heck of a time getting enough Element Zero" offered Miranda. "The quad-core hyper-zero reactors needed several orders of magnitude more than even the _Normandy SR-2_, which was twice as much as _Normandy SR-1_, itself a huge eezo sink from the Tantalus drive. I haven't been able to get a firm fix, but I think these _Maxthons_ are at least as demanding as a single _Infinity_ core module—so with current economic havoc there's no way to get enough for additional vessels."

"It's so strange" commented Kaidan. "We're so used to eezo being an everyday thing. Not having it is like waking up to find out that the sun is missing."

"It is difficult to mine" replied Tali, "but there's never been a _shortage_ like this before."

"There also haven't been ships that use it by the ton" added Ashley. "Even the largest ships in the Systems Alliance only use half a ton at most—and now we have big cruisers using more than ten dreadnaughts!"

"The more of it there is, the more the system has to be calibrated." Garrus elicited some eyerolls with this comment, but his reputation as calibrator extraordinaire kept everyone else quiet. "Have you see what can go wrong on a _Curator_ if the zero part of the hyper-zero core comes out of alignment?"

"Makes it hard to fly, that's for sure!" Joker's love of starships meant that even though he preferred _Normandy_, he still kept up-to-date on other designs, especially the massive Trans-Galactic Republic heavy cruisers. He'd even gotten to pilot one once!

"Yeah" sassed Ashley. "If by fly, you mean riding the shockwave as the whole damn ship explodes!"

"Exactly" flanged Garrus. "You do _not_ want to mess with hyper-zero cores!"

"As long as I have a place to put my rifle and armor, we'll be fine" growled Zaeed. "Don't care how big the ship is, what kind of fancy tech keeps it flying, whatever. Just gimme a place to get some shut-eye between missions!"

The group had unloaded into the engineering deck aboard the SETTLE station. A slowly-revolving hologram of the to-be-built _Normandy SR-2.5_ revolved over a projector. The long, thin body stretched an extra sixty meters with a bump halfway along this extension. Thicker, larger wings supported a quartet of engines per side. The wings themselves joined into the body at a shallower angle than the original design. The joints between these new wings and the fuselage were heavily reinforced, and rumor had it that additional weapons would be incorporated into the blocky structures.

The extension's bottom-side contained a more substantial hanger area extending forward from the original—conservative estimates had a quadrupling of usable docking space. Instead of one _Fireant_, _Normandy_ would carry six. She'd thus be able to drop a small support fleet to offset her clumsier, more capital-ship like handling. This hanger would no longer double as sleeping quarters, storage, or an improvised cloaking device bay. It was purely for embarked craft.

Some of the ship's extra bulk came from defenses inspired by Cortana's knowledge of the Infection, or Flood as she called it. After seeing her reports of what it had done in her universe, the "Flood" moniker seemed oddly appropriate—and thus reinforced the notion that a ship built to fight it would have to be different than a run-of-the-mill warship. Where possible, the ship's interior became subdivided by meter-thick bulkheads running the entire width and height of deck areas that could be sealed in the event of an Infection or exposure to vacuum. Specialized combination mass effect and shield generators reinforced the walls between compartments against conventional munitions (Javelin torpedoes, shaped charges, blasters, etc.) while also lending them additional strength against the claws and teeth of the Infection. Such bulkheads occurred roughly once every twenty meters or so. In order to fight the Infection, more had to be known about it (Aria's opinion be damned). All research areas were mag-locked into place but could be released and pushed outside the hull in five seconds by thrusters. The use of explosive decouplers was considered, but given the tendency of even appropriately-placed explosives to be misused or sabotaged, engineering teams decided to leave such elements out. This rapid-release also applied to six of eight cargo bays.

On the personnel side, extra provisions were on hand giving _Normandy_ the ability to operate for three years without resupply, even assuming some amount of combat (and thus expenditures of limited munitions). Though mocked as being overly-accommodating or even "civilian soft," expanded living spaces enabled most crew to have their own (shared) sleeping quarters rather than hot-bunking. The Trans-Galactic Republic's willingness to tolerate larger ships with more "wasted" space reflected its more advanced technology—neither power generation nor heat emissions were problems as they were for the Citadel's militaries. That said, no longer were any of Shepard's squad required to share space either. Each chose space indicated on the floating design to suite their own wants.

Moxxi asked for and got her own bar area complete with sleeping quarters. Mordin's lab-space was set to double and each weapon enthusiast requested and received his or her own armory (fear of the Infection drove a one-armory-per-major-deck policy, excluding hangers and command decks).

Lab space for Dr. Kevin Filner and Jackie Jakobs would occupy a good portion of the extension on Deck Three—almost half of it. Their goal: determine how to break into this "slipspace" shown on both black hole threshers and in Cortana's memories. Such research space remained re-configurable, though, so if something else needed be worked on it was trivial to stop in at a drydock and load new lab equipment. Much to Gaige's delight, her favorite engineering puzzle would find a new home at the back of Deck Four instead of the hanger bay. She didn't understand how stygium cloaking worked, but she definitely wanted to and planned to spend more time poking and prodding at the mysterious device.

The reclusive Master Chief and slightly anti-social Jack found homes in two of the eight cargo bays to be installed on Deck Four. Though this was not necessary due to expanded quarters, they elected to stay in areas that felt like home. Grunt preferred a larger space in which to pace, charge, and exercise so he received the bay across from the Master Chief. Brick's heavy weapons were stored in the bay aft of the Master Chief, and as one of three armory officers aboard he felt it his duty to remain as close to his charges as possible. He thus sought to shack up near his "babies."

Miranda and Athena tended to get along well, but said fond goodbyes to their shared arrangement as each would have her own private office and quarters (whatever Athena had been doing had ended with her return). Since their duties sometimes overlapped, they would be across from each other on Deck Two, down the hall from the Mayas squared and Ashley's armory. Shepard wouldn't admit it, but she put Kasumi Goto close to Athena and Miranda, who she thought would have the least tolerance for any shenanigans.

A very long corridor ran through _Normandy_'s neck to the pilot station. Along the way, escape pod hatches adorned the walls. Enough pods existed for 200% of rated crew to facilitate non-crew passenger evacuation capacity if necessary. The pod-launchers were modular, so in cases where fewer lifeboats were required, they could be removed and replaced with anything from a sensor suite to missile launchers or power generators.

Below this walkway, Garrus Vakarian's duty station (but not sleeping quarters) could be found: the bay housing soon-to-be-installed twin novalasers mounted on a turret to facilitate easier targeting rather than the fixed forward-facing turbolasers _Normandy_ carried previously. These weapons packed ten times the punch of a standard light turbolaser at the price of significantly higher power draw. To compensate and avoid uneven energy distribution during battle, each barrel was equipped with its own generator. The guns could fire on their own power for significantly reduced damage, or combine their built-in capacity with a main reactor for full output.

While construction work continued, the crew basically got shore leave—which aboard a Trans-Galactic Republic installation meant leisures not generally available aboard Citadel military space stations such as full-sized swimming pools, fine dining, and cinema. Most quarters had more in common with high-end hotels mentioned in travel guides rather than the Spartan appointments the crew of the _Normandy_ had been used to prior to the arrival of the apparently-lavish-spending outsiders.

[…]

"InterSpec Internal Auditor Athena reporting in."

Athena's departure from the group during the heyday over _Normandy SR-2.5_'s upgrades went unnoticed.

"Athena, you are aware of the Infection's effect on the krogan race" replied a voice-disguised, physically-anonymized male-sounding person.

"Yes, sir."

She was only now realizing that being a supposed paperwork-pusher would not shield you from conflicts of interest between those she served next to and those she reported to. Especially since InterSpec apparently became more and more part of the Republic Intelligence Service. In theory, it was a joint venture, but nothing with RISE ever happened on equal footing. She'd heard what happened to Aria T'Loak's ill-fated attempt to hijack a ship undercover with RISE—it hadn't been pleasant and thoroughly demonstrated how much RISE infiltrated virtually everything.

"You are also aware that _Normandy_ is now and will be in the future equipped with a high-bitrate S-thread communicator capable of receiving HoloNet commands even across the distances between galaxies."

"What of it?"

"Athena, you will transmit the packet we have sent you if given instructions to do so. You will not permit anyone to know this packet is in your possession, nor will you permit anyone to stop you from sending it if you are ordered to do so."

She wasn't aware of the attempt by the Republic Intelligence Service to add itself to the list of people who could destroy Tuchanka, nor was she aware the venture failed. In conclusion, she had no reason to suspect she'd been handed a non-working bomb trigger. She was aware, though, that whatever she'd been told sounded highly suspicious. When your superiors wouldn't tell you exactly what you'd been tasked, it tended to be that the assignment carried questionable ethical implications.

"Yes, sir."

She signed off, closed the specialized program on her ECHONet device, and returned to the gathering.

Other than this, her interactions with the Republic Intelligence Service had been cordial, if a bit distant. Their primary concern was ensuring that the cloaking device loaned to Samantha Shepard remained under allied control at all times. They also had a minor interest in Shepard's activities. Though she technically fell under RISE's jurisdiction as part of the Intergalactic Special Forces, her handlers knew not to break something that was working. After she was read in, she'd not heard directly from the Republic Intelligence Service again minus the cloaking device now installed in _Normandy SR-2.5_.

Cortana moved from the _Normandy_ to a computer core on the SETTLE station, just like the rest of the crew. Due to the nature of her design, RISE didn't recognize her as an artificial intelligence, a threat, or indeed anything worth watching, and wouldn't unless she did something. Even then, Cortana represented an order of magnitude in generational advancement in AI technology, so RISE would have a difficult time containing her (see: hijacked _Hammer_ cruiser blamed entirely on its own personnel).

With the forced downtime resulting from _Normandy'_s upgrades, Cortana made it a point to get to know the crew better. She also held a series of talks alongside the Master Chief on combatting the Infection/Flood. Cortana started by describing how incredibly dangerous the Flood was before delving into the mysteriousness of its origins.

"The Flood originated outside even our own galaxy" she said, spreading her arms wide. For an artificial intelligence, her mannerisms were remarkably human. It may have had something to do with being derived from a copy of her creator's brain. At any rate, she seemed more like an incredibly intelligent organic than an AI to those who met her after being used to constructs such as EDI.

She'd sufficiently grossed out the group with graphic details of the many Flood the Chief had killed over the years, so much that she figured it would be a good idea to get a move on the story. Especially since Gaige and Zaeed seemed entirely _too_ interested in the battle parts…

"At the time we discovered the first Halo installation, we were actually in a war with the Covenant, a multi-species group of aliens organized under a religious banner who believed humanity must be destroyed. Our concern was dealing with them, until they accidentally released the Flood held in storage on the Halo for study."

"Question" interjected Ashley, always one for practicality. "You started telling us how dangerous this Flood was. So why would anyone want to keep it around?"

"Don't ask me to divine the intentions of the Forerunners, or as you call them, the Eridians. If there's anything we've learned over the past year, it's that as advanced as these Forerunners were, they were just as prone to make mistakes as the species we know today."

"Only human" laughed Ashley in response.

"We suspect these decisions were driven by beliefs unique to organics" added Legion. "Based on available data, the Consensus would have elected overwhelmingly to destroy all remaining stockpiles of this Infection if the decision were placed before us presently."

"You're also immune" shot back Jack. "So why the hell would you care about the Infection, or anyone else?"

"We… We lack sufficient data to formulate a precise rationale for this action."

"Anyway" said Cortana, making a noise suspiciously like a throat-clearing, "we were losing the fight against the Covenant. We'd win battles, but not the war. Then the Flood got involved."

"A strategic split in the opposing force?" questioned Thane.

"Exactly. Some within the Covenant had openly been questioning why humanity, with its incredible reliance and refusal to surrender, had not been invited to join the Covenant. The emergence of the Flood caused this group to ally itself with humanity, an act declared heresy by the Prophets."

"Let me guess, heresy was followed by a religious revival" remarked Ashley.

"Of sorts" replied Cortana. "But it didn't bring back nearly as many to the fold as the Prophets hoped. A good number of the Sangheili joined the alliance." She changed herself into the namesake alien for effect, causing more than a few gasps, before continuing. "The Prophets then turned to the Jiralhanae instead to maintain their grip on the Covenant. It didn't work—the Sangheili were intelligent and knew better than to simply rule by fear over those the Prophets charged them with leading. The Jiralhanae knew nothing but and their hatred of the Sangheili urged the schism along." Cortana's Sangheili form shifted to a Jiralhanae. "As the Flood spread, more Covenant species fired their weapons alongside humanity instead of at us and fought for the freedom of what was left of our galaxy, but it wasn't enough."

"If you were all going out in a blaze of glory, why are you here?" demanded Zaeed in his usual gravely, rough voice.

"We did." The Master Chief took the unusual step of joining this gathering, and spoke up for the first time.

"What he means is, we did go out in a 'blaze of glory,' or so we thought. The Chief detonated _Infinity_'s drive when it became apparent the ship was lost—and we ended up tumbling through a portal to this universe." Her form reverted to its usual human self.

Cortana showed as much confusion as an AI could.

"Patricia Tannis mentioned something about parallels" piped up Jackie. "Different permutations of universes in which one or more key events turned out differently, but overall follow similar rules of physics. So the universe you came from—either Element Zero doesn't exist, you never found it, or you never came into contact with anyone who used it. In our universe, there wasn't any Infection or Flood until the phenomenon that brought you here also brought them."

"Don't forget the alternate universe I visited" added the aged Maya quietly. "Jackie Jakobs there mentioned sending the Harvesters into…"

The realization hit Shepard at the same time.

"FUCK."

The Commander, armor and all, started pacing back and forth.

"They sent the Reapers into slipspace! Which means…"

"Wow, this really sucks" observed Ashley, once again on the nose with a succinct observation.

"Before you all panic, remember slipspace can be pretty random" replied Cortana, rather calm considering the implications of Infected Reapers. "Also, these Harvesters, or Reapers, they're machines, right? They can't be taken!"

Seeing Shepard's disbelieving stare, she said "Right?"

"Uhh, yeah. Hate to be the bearer of terrible news, but there is now a fourth possible way for our galaxy to be completely destroyed." Shepard's smirk seemed inappropriate. "Infected Reapers! That's really gonna be a problem…"

Tali slowly raised her omnitool, and "Reaper Problem" began playing.

[…]

Deep within the Perseus Veil, a massive Dyson Sphere took shape under the watchful eye of thousands of geth ships filled with tens of millions of mobile platforms. Geth, being what they were, did not strictly require bodies, and as more of the sphere finished, programs moved in as capacity permitted. Empty platforms were placed in storage.

Samantha Shepard and her crew had not seen the Sphere of Consensus. They'd parked outside the nebula, which shielded the construction (as large as it was) from their view. Only Cortana experienced it. As a similar form of created life, only she could even enter the Sphere and gain any meaning from it. To organics, it would just look like a vast array of computer hardware contained within a colossal structure.

The geth had been working on the sphere for 264 years when Sam first encountered the non-heretic geth later dubbed Legion. Six years later, the Sphere of Consensus was still not complete, but had reached 87% functionality at the time Cortana dropped in seeking assistance with, as the geth kept putting it, her "inevitable future decline." At present, all non-heretic geth received a recall message from the Consensus save those aboard specialized mobile platforms. Known as "Legion-class" to CRITICAL and "Specialized Organic Interaction Units" to the geth, these highly-sophisticated, independent constructs continued to gather intelligence regarding the activity of other races beyond the Perseus Veil. What was returned concerned the Consensus—a rampant organic race appeared from nowhere and had caused significant turmoil in a large section of the Terminus Systems. For the geth, it wasn't an immediate concern since the Perseus Veil, being toward the galactic edge, had significant distance between itself and the invaders.

Growing concentrations of geth runtimes within the Sphere increased overall intelligence exponentially. As Legion pointed out to a curious Shepard, while the geth's overall goal at the moment was to contain all runtimes within a single network, what to do after that remained an open question. The Consensus still could not reach agreement on whether to end the isolation of the geth or to continue operating in secret. There existed no debate on the need to defend the Sphere and the Consensus against the new biological threat manifesting itself across the Terminus, though.

Unbound by the Treaty of Farixen, geth construction of dreadnaught-class vessels culminated in over thirty vessels of this type alone. Thousands of other combat-capable starships of varying sizes also existed, though no organic survived long enough to get an accurate count as all incursions into geth space occurred prior to the uneasy peace created by Shepard and Legion's détente. Construction of geth naval units had only limits of raw inputs—geth needed no paychecks, rest, vacation, or healing. Damaged platforms were simply swapped out for equivalents with runtimes moving as necessary to continue their work. The massive resource consumption required by the Sphere of Consensus acted as the only competing material draw.

Though the geth no longer saw organic life as a threat, the Consensus decision remained that the geth would not intervene to protect organic life, only to defend itself should the so-called Infection cross its borders. A minority of geth including the original Legion-class unit thought otherwise, but being unable to articulate logical reasons for risking geth platforms for the sake of organics, were unable to muster any forces for this purpose.

Having observed the best methods to deal with the Infection, all new geth ships carried more heat-based weapons than anything else. All kinetic rounds installed on recently-constructed vessels were either modified to carry incendiary properties, loaded with incendiary ammunition, or replaced with something capable of causing massive temperature increases upon impact. The few combined geth-quarian vessels built during the Reaper War were repossessed by the geth (after an oddly-polite dropping of quarian crew members on Rannoch) or remained in Gamma-Three, too far away to be of any help. Unlike Cerberus/Sapiens' Shield, the geth had an easier time adapting Trans-Galactic Republic turbolaser technology to their vessels, though this may have had as much to do with geth vessels not needing things like life support and more advanced reactors as geth understanding of turbolasers remained limited.

With only one inbound relay, the geth already did more than the Consensus thought necessary in protecting non-synthetic life, as Rannoch (with its many new quarian inhabitants) remained under geth protection. The Consensus did not see this as a contradiction, rather saw shielding Rannoch as part of its duty as servants of the Creators. Thus far, no geth weapons were fired in this effort, but geth dreadnaughts guarded the relay with unceasing vigilance, threatening to fire on any that did not immediately broadcast an acceptable IFF. Limited numbers of quarians were brought in as an experiment aboard a few geth vessels as the Consensus did remember the value of cooperation forged during the Reaper War (or as the Consensus knew it, the Old Machine Conflict). However, the maintenance of organic life aboard geth ships on a permanent basis would have degraded their efficiency, so quarian crew were brought on for shifts, then shuttled back to Rannoch.

Unlike the geth, CRITICAL had a significant resource bottleneck rather than having a debate over where to use their acquired mineral wealth. Another gross galactic product contraction due to prematurely-aging produce, disappearing shipments, and even missing/misplaced personnel caused a five percent drop in output on top of the economic damage already accounted for. Tax revenue decreased, spending decreased, and bankers actually worried about deflation.

People began to horde credits in search of ever-lower prices. Such activity received some measure of counter-balance from spending boosted by the notion of "the end times are here, stockpile," but lack of spending outpaced spending for the third quarter straight. Economic turmoil and uncertainty clouded virtually everything. The largest volus banks reported that loan applications all but dried up—even with nearly-zero interest rates. CRITICAL engaged in some hefty borrowing to fund a fleet of twelve _Maxthons_, but given that no known Element Zero concentrations could meet the needs of these ships, the loans sat without being disbursed as no one was willing to start constructing a ship without assurances its primary power source could be fueled.

SETTLE began working on uprating _Maxthon_ hyperdrives as hyper-zero left the ships reliant on a weaker hyperdrive which combined with eezo ended up more than the sum of its parts. This re-engineering would take time and still leave the ships far slower than they'd been in their original iteration. The functioning mass relay within the Trans-Galactic Republic's Home Galaxy meant inbound supplies were easy to obtain, but that rested on the assumption the Trans-Galactic Republic would in fact continue sending more materiel. Even if it did, distributing the bounty still remained problematic due to anti-Infection inspections adding travel time and the destruction of mass relays in several clusters.

[…]

Urdnot Wrex suppressed laughter upon viewing yet more downcast news from the galactic community. "We rebuild just in time for everything else to fall apart." He'd taken a longer-than-usual journey back to Tuchanka after speaking his mind to the Council regarding Trans-Galactic Republic maleficence on his world.

There was nothing the krogan could really do to boost galactic consumption—most current ventures involved reconstruction on Tuchanka using natively-available resources which would not stimulate demand in other locales. Existing equipment stockpiles combined with the natural strength of the krogan permitted Korbal to continue to rise from the Kelphic Valley. Thax's business graduates were unable to apply their knowledge in a dysfunctional galactic economy—it didn't matter if you were almost giving away bacta (krogan could not use it). No one was buying in near the quantities that existed prior to disruption-via-rift. As a result, Wrex's fear of over-enthusiastic krogan businessmen began to play out in the last place he wanted it to—Tuchanka. Unrestrained capitalism caused all manner of underhanded tactics to bloom, from simple spying to industrial-scale sabotage. The latter resulted in the destruction of many tomkahs meant to haul stone for the project, slowing it down. Knowing that unchecked price _growth_ via higher taxes intended to offset falling revenue for the project would ultimately doom Korbal, Wrex headbutted, shouted, and cajoled krogan into working longer hours for lower wages. As tax receipts dried up (even krogan were no strangers to sitting on credits), Wrex had less and less to pay his laborers. Any time extra money showed up in the coffers of what now passed for a semi-central government, he doled it out as bonuses.

The problem was that the decaying situation in the galaxy at large re-triggered a sense of krogan despair toward the inevitable destruction of their species. Tourism had brought in a steady income stream, but when Tuchanka became a week-long journey fewer opted to make the trip. It had also served to re-introduce everyone else to krogan not after their blood, and in turn the krogan met people who had other reasons for arriving besides kicking a species while it was down. Now, only small numbers visited, and most of those that did were collecting on debts from krogan whose business ventures went bad. After several debt collector corpses were put on prominent display in areas around the Korbal's base, Wrex laid down the law, or tried to.

"This is exactly the attitude that turned the galaxy against us in the first place!" he roared.

Unfortunately for him, he ran into the same problem virtually any other political leader did—in good times, citizens of highly-traditional societies begrudgingly followed along with unconventional leadership if it seemed to be making life better, but as soon as things turned sour they'd revert back to the old ways.

"Cast us out, then! We'd rather die fighting your blasphemies and disrespect to the elders than live in this putrid varren-nest!"

"So be it" he huffed, stomping off back to the fortress. Wrex hated spilling the blood of a species which had been running low on viable individuals anyway, but he much preferred survival to death at the hands of those who'd take the krogan back to the dark ages. Turbolaser towers thundered, mowing down row after row of attacking dissidents. The sad part was, for all the alleged anger against him, he had a suspicion that some of them simply wanted an easy exit rather than facing the mess the galaxy had become. Generally, most attackers would employ armored and armed tomkahs, heavy battle rifles, explosives… Some of the "squads" thrown against the walls of the Kelphic Valley stronghold didn't even have armor! He knew armor had been sold to them (having blessed the gray market in supplies personally), so it wasn't as though they lacked equipment. They seemed to lack spirit, though.

[…]

"Learn to love it" taunted Jack as Sam was yet again subjected to the remix of her statements to the Citadel Council during the Reaper War.

This time, the Commander attempted to dance along with predictably hilarious results.

"You can do a lot of things, Shepard" observed Garrus. "But dancing isn't one of them!"

She good-naturedly gave him a single-digit salute. Not knowing what it meant, he had to have Athena explain. His response remained a rather blank stare, however, despite this new knowledge.

In the drydock, it could be seen that the digistruction systems had actually sliced _Normandy_ across the beam, allowing the bow and stern portions to come apart. As the ship remained completely powered down, no fluids leaked, no electricity discharged, and nothing exploded. Sophisticated scanners took note of every open end between the outer armor and inner pressure hull so that they could be continued straight or rerouted, ultimately reconnecting with the other end of the ship after passing through the sixty-meter extension.

"That's not something you see every day" remarked Miranda. "Even when I did technical integration, we never just sliced ships in half!"

"Digistruction is so cooool!" yelped Gaige. Despite having entered her early twenties, she still had a bit of a childlike demeanor.

"I just hope it does the job correctly" said Tali nervously. "I've seen this tech build whole ships from scratch, but working on an existing ship is not anything that I'm aware they tested."

"I'm guessing this doesn't come with a warranty" replied Kaidan to the general conversation. "Or insurance."

"Dude, if there was any kind of insurance policy on this ship, the cost would probably go up by a factor of ten just because Shepard's here." This earned James a glare.

"Vega…"

"Yes?"

"I'm really considering putting you on cleaning duty for that…"

"Given that Shepard-Commander orders us to statistically probably death an average of 2.73 instances per day, rounding down, it is logical that any policy which would result in a payout as a consequence of Shepard-Commander's death would carry significant cost due to the extreme risk and likelihood of being required to disperse credits."

"Ah, I can't ever catch a break with you people!"

"Addendum: Since the termination of the Old Machine Conflict, this moving average has decreased."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better."

Many crew members wandered over to the wall of vending machines set up on the edge of the engineering workspace. It was a well-known fact that engineers worked best when subjected to long hours, infrequent breaks, and were solely sustained by junk food. Consequently, from Tupari to turian chocolate and dextro cheese, one could buy just about anything so long as balanced nutrition wasn't the most important consideration.

"Commander Shepard drinks Tupari!" blared the namesake machine. Apparently, that endorsement deal was still running. She hadn't actually bought a Tupari in years. Pulling a credit out of her SDU, she found the machine had already dispensed a product, and continued to do so every time she put her credit near the slot.

"Thanks for your endorsement!" it said. Repeatedly.

"Well then. At least I get free soda?"

Athena grabbed one without asking. "Sometimes I can't get over food that actually has _flavor_" she said excitedly. "On Pandora, it was always either boiled skag, roast skag, bladeflower salad, or some other repetitive tasteless glop scooped out of a ration can."

"Hey! Anyone else want one?" shouted Sam. "Apparently, I can have as much as I want!"

Athena tugged the Commander away from the increasingly-social gathering and rapidly-disappearing pile of Tupari.

"What can you tell me about Garrus?"

Shepard suddenly had flashbacks of school days—back when boys were actually a concern of hers. She and her friends would sometimes have conversations solely relating to who was crushing on who. It seemed a lifetime and a half away. Given that she'd died once and almost died twice, it actually was, in a way.

She laughed before answering.

"He's…a turian. He's really good at calibrating things. Tactical genius, knows pretty much any weapon you hand him within ten minutes. A bit less by-the-book than most of his species."

Athena leaned in conspiratorially. "How thick are you? I mean if I wanted to, say, see if he was open to dating!" A most un-Athena-like giggle escaped her.

Sam chortled again.

"All these people around, and you're asking _me_ about dating? You know, if there was an option on the extranet to list yourself as 'in a relationship with your job' I'd take it in a heartbeat."

She spun the auditor around, making sure she stopped with her eyes on Brick and Jack. The two of them seemed to be having some kind of eating contest, which judging by the emptiness of nearby vending machines, was well underway.

"You see them? I don't know much about Brick other than that he piledrove me once. I think I deserved it, but that's beside the point. Jack, on the other hand—I'm surprised she even made it as a teacher let alone found someone to go steady with."

"You sound like you're about sixty years old!" shot back Athena. "Who uses that phrase 'Go steady?' Sounds like something describing the _Normandy_'s engine output."

"I may sound old, but I definitely know I'm right about this. They were totally just banging originally—I think they fell in love with each other's tendency toward violence. Except they also got to show a different side with all the kids around the KOMBT School. And the whole friendly competition thing definitely didn't hurt."

"You mean the students?"

"Yeah. The Iron Ab Slabs and the Psychotic Biotics."

"Well, both of them rubbed off on their trainees big time. Remember the banquet?" Sam's eyes misted over at the thought of all the hilarity which had occurred. Thanks to some artful string-pulling, no one got in any trouble despite the whole rulebook essentially being thrown out the window and set on fire that night. Being Samantha Shepard helped too.

"Yeah, about that…" Athena's eyes fell.

_Shit_.

Sam realized why.

"I don't even know, okay?" replied Shepard. "I don't want to just say I was drunk…but right now, I feel like I shouldn't be focusing on me—the whole galaxy is at stake!"

She knew that wasn't going to go over well. But what could she actually say at this point? One, she hadn't been in any kind of serious relationship in over a decade, two, she didn't know if she wanted to explore being in a relationship with a woman, three, time for relationships of any sort was kind of thin, and four, there were rules about subordinates or other officers for a reason.

"Okay." Athena seemed artificially cheery. She decided to redouble her efforts regarding Garrus.

"Also, this is kinda awkward" continued Shepard. "But if you want to, ahem, date outside your species, you should seek qualified medical advice on various differences you'll be encountering. Don't just use the extranet!"

"Should I talk to Dr. Chakwas?"

Sam's lips twisted into a sly grin. "I'd speak with Mordin. You'll learn more than what you wanted or ever needed to know, but you won't be surprised by anything after he's through."

"You know something!" She resisted the urge to slap Sam on the ass.

_What the hell, Athena? Where did that come from? She just shot you down!_

"I know Mordin knows his…oh for the love of…"

THWACK.

A bag of chips went flying past Sam's head. Jack wielded some kind of taped-together contraption and was hitting floating food packages supplied by Maya the Younger.

"Weak!" bellowed James. "Watch this!"

Jack wound him up a box of crackers, which he slugged with another taped-together device.

"Did they just…"

"Yes" finished Athena. "They seem to have connected empty Tupari and Paragade cans, and are using them to hit things that come out of the vending machines."

"Can I take you guys anywhere without making a mess?" bellowed the Commander.

"Technically, they're just doing what you told them" said Miranda Lawson. "You forbade everyone from talking about anything mission-related during the refit then commanded everyone to have fun. You even finished with 'That's an order.'"

"Where'd Kasumi go?"

James walked over, dragging his tower of Tupari cans. "Lots of 'em went to the swimming pool. Maybe we could get one in the cargo hold!"

"They snuck three decks up without me knowing?" Sam stood aghast at her lack of situational awareness.

Cortana appeared from a nearby engineering station. "I can show you."

_That's not creepy at all._

Samara hovered, meditating over what looked like the deep end of the pool given the presence of diving boards by the end. Why she'd chosen this spot Shepard had no clue, as other crewmembers kept diving past her. More than once, the asari had to reposition to avoid an incoming cannonball. Behind this scene, Zaeed lounged in a chair with a drink in hand. Kasumi apparently wore her hair up in a bun of some kind—it just occurred to Sam that she'd never seen the master thief with her hood down before. Or, indeed in any form of dress that didn't involve her usual thief outfit. She watched Thane lead Joker through calisthenics. Apparently the use of his legs (well, entire body, really) was something the pilot wanted to experience fully for the first time. Pre-bacta, a drell wouldn't go anywhere near such a humid area, but now Keprel's Syndrome meant almost nothing.

It was strange to see Moxxi _at_ a bar instead of behind one, but there she was on the other side of the room drinking with Tali of all people. Assorted crew hung around the bar.

"You gonna keep creeping, or are you going to join us?" Ashley had already changed into swimwear. "Everyone's going upstairs!"

Giving one last look out the panoramic window, Sam saw an engine materializing on _Normandy_'s new wing. Slowly but precisely the new propulsion system would be added.

"Oh all right…"

The fun proved to be short-lived, or, rather, shorter than "Ms. Always Save the Galaxy" (as Jackie had taken to calling her) would have liked. Only five days in drydock and _Normandy SR-2.5_ was ready for action again. In those five days, the crew swam, ate like royalty, played Tactical Command in the station's "hyper-realistic war simulator room" (it involved laser-based "weapons" and those who were "tagged" got counted as temporarily dead), exercised, socialized, and in general lived the non-military lives denied to them since, in some cases, signing on to the _Normandy SR-1_.

Shepard tried to talk Joker and Grunt into going to the Trans-Galactic Republic's shooting range. "Cool guns!" she'd said.

"Now Commander, you ordered us to do things that are not mission related. Shooting seems to violate that rule…"

Even Grunt didn't want to do it. "Too many types of good food here. Besides, the Battlemaster called off the war temporarily!"

Forced to eat her own words, she stopped to see Jackie. Technically, Jackie shared quarters with the older Maya, but the aged Siren tended to spend her only time in the quarters sleeping so Jackie had the room to herself most of the time.

"What did I tell you?" demanded Shepard upon recognizing slipspace equations. "Put that away!" She slapped the tablet out of Jackie's hands.

"Sometimes I get bored out there" replied Jackie quietly. "I never really realized how much I enjoy just being alone sometimes until after I went through my, um, treatment."

"Introverted, huh? That my invitation to leave?"

"No, no!" protested the Jakobs heir. "I just… Sometimes I don't even know what to talk about with people! And then anyone who knows me wants to hear about my past again. They say it's interesting."

"Technically, they're right. Your life's been rather unique."

"Well I hate it now" hissed Jackie. "I'm done with it."

Alarms went off in the pool area overlooked by the many quarters (including Jackie's) arranged several floors up.

"Oh, not again!" complained a maintenance worker running past the open door. "Damned rifts took half the water out of the pool! Second time this week!"

"I can't even go on vacation without being reminded of my work" grinned the Spectre.

Jackie retrieved her tablet with a defiant look on her face. "Which means the sooner someone figures this out, the better! I've been trying to figure out _why_ there aren't as many rifts near biotics, but the math doesn't make any sense! Also, Jack's down there! There shouldn't be any rifts at all!"

"There are a lot of things going on that make no sense. I've just learned to accept them" replied Sam.

"We can't just accept the end of the galaxy" retorted Jackie. "People are starving because of these rifts. The Infection likely came through one!"

"Which is why the _Normandy_'s being refit. We're going on an expedition to the Nemean Abyss to see if we can find the source of the problem! For now, relax. That's an order!"

Shepard left Jackie to her thoughts and headed back downstairs.

[…]

"The Infection seems to be concerned about acquiring technology" opened Grayson at the latest Council meeting to discuss the problem. "The data given to us by Cortana suggests we worry about it acquiring biomass lest it assemble into a more evolved form, but so far its targets have all been relatively low-population areas like the latest, the Pylos Nebula. Not much there."

"The asari tried to colonize Namakli with socialized vorcha, but the venture collapsed" replied Tevos. "The vorcha reproduced faster than they could be educated, and spiraled out of control."

"This move into the Pylos Nebula is most concerning" interjected Councilor Clethon. "It shows that the Terminus Systems are not, in fact, taking inspections seriously! Pylos is only one jump away from Omega, and represents the first intrusion of the Infection into the Attican Traverse."

"Then we send Shepard in to have a chat with Aria T'Loak, and see what's going on in the Pylos Nebula" replied Victus. "Shepard is the only one Aria will even listen to."

"We should initiate the Infection Action Plan" insisted Victus. "While we still can and have a reasonable chance of it working!"

"Are you really calling for a vote on that now, Councilor?" questioned Grayson. "As written, that requires a unanimous vote of this body, as we would be declaring only Inner Council Space worth defending."

"We have containment issues on both sides of the Traverse now" shot back Victus. "The Crescent Nebula sits on the border, and the Pylos Nebula is definitely not part of the Terminus Systems. Part of the decision to write that policy stemmed from the Crescent Infection!"

"Or do we?" challenged the human Councilor. "The Nubian Expanse met a fiery end and its relay was destroyed! Sarah, of course. If this pattern holds, she's creating a firebreak between the Terminus and Council space, whether she means to or not."

"Surely, you remember that Caleston and Hawking Eta connect to the Shadow Sea!" chastised Clethon. "This destructive Siren has not quite sealed off that side of the galaxy."

"Yes" said Grayson, "but the destruction of relays means fewer doors on which eyes must be kept. Though it pains me to say this, she has at least avoided destroying heavily-populated systems of late. I will speak with Admiral Nimitz about redirecting some of our existing warships from inspections on the larger half of the Attican Traverse since there will be fewer checks to run."

"What about your reinforcements?" queried Tevos.

"Another two months at least" said Grayson in a resigned tone. "Nimitz told them to step on it, but there's really nothing we can do to get them here faster."

He didn't mention that the heavy space tugs brought originally to remove _Revenant_ had been secretly tested on mass relays a few weeks back. In proof-of-concept, these tugs were capable of moving the behemoth constructs, but without the ability to reprogram them it wouldn't be useful to relocate one. He hoped perhaps the AI Cortana would be able to assist here. For once, the subterfuge wasn't the Republic Intelligence Service—Nimitz ordered the experiments on her own. It would give the Republic Great Opportunities Fleet a fast exit should they need one.

"I still move for a vote on establishing the quarantine" intoned Victus solemnly, "especially if our allies won't send more forces. We can't even drum up the ships we need because we can't build them!"

"Nay" replied Grayson. "All is not lost yet!"

With the unanimous requirement, his choice killed the proposal. Clethon indicated his support anyway—strike first, he said, and finish the fight before it starts. Tevos agreed with Grasyon, though. "Give our existing strategies more time. I am not willing to write off billions of lives at this point."

Seeing this proposal falter, Clethon made another controversial suggestion. "Given the technology possessed by the Trans-Galactic Republic, in addition to its complete control of the Shroud structure on Tuchanka, would it not be possible to remove adaptive breeding restrictions imposed on the krogan? They produce offspring at a rate comparable to the Infection."

At this, it was Victus who objected to the idea.

"Remember what happens when a krogan becomes Infected" he said gravely. "And if the krogan return to their fast breeding, both the Infection and destabilizing elements on Tuchanka would become issues. The Trans-Galactic Republic indicated that Tuchanka's Renaissance is already wavering due to economic flat-lining in the galaxy at large."

"The Salarian Union has taken the unusual step of authorizing a release of information regarding Special Task Group activities, noting that keeping secrets and refusal to share valuable intelligence did the galaxy no favors when the Reapers arrived."

Grayson ignored the veiled jab. He'd long since accepted everyone would complain about others keeping secrets, but insist on keeping their own.

"To what activity are you referring?" Tevos hoped it would be something helpful.

"The Special Tasks Group has managed to make some headway against the Infection in ways the artificial intelligence known as Cortana insisted were not possible" replied Clethon. "The following information is designated COSMIC TOP SECRET and compartmented. We are all cleared, but dissemination requires sealing the room."

After each Councilor confirmed a closed, off-the-record session, the recording began to play.

[…]

A salarian scientist appeared on the projector.

"This briefing is intended only for the Citadel Council. Dissemination of information classified COSMIC TOP SECRET, XRAY is strictly prohibited and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of applicable law. Due to a declared state of emergency, the death penalty is in effect for such offenses."

"Harsh" commented Grayson, before being shushed by Tevos.

"Our scientists, drawing on the work of Dr. Mordin Solis, have created a short-term defense against the Infection. It causes Infected life-forms to ignore those wielding the defense, though it has the unpleasant side effect of an extremely foul odor. That being said, it is preferable to Infection."

"So the STG created Infection repellent" breathed Victus. "Leave it to them to synthesize something like that!"

"The key remains that this only works over a period of minutes to hours" continued the unnamed scientist. "Furthermore, every subsequent test showed the Infection more and more responsive to animals coated with the substance, culminating with the Infection of these animals on the fifth trial."

"Enough to run, but not enough to fight." Grayson's dour evaluation surprised everyone, especially since he'd been so upbeat about the galaxy's chances by refusing to condemn the Terminus and Atticus.

"At present, we are unable to craft further advancements. The Infection is virulent and adaptive. Originally, we set out to cure it, or at least halt it. Such efforts proved fruitless, as the Highly Active Infection Agent cells seem to block every attack within a few generations."

The image shifted to show some dead cells, which were later reanimated by live cells.

"Even killing it doesn't stop it" continued the salarian. "If a single live sample comes in contact with dead biomass, it either resuscitates the deceased Infection Agents or uses their corpses to fuel its own growth."

The video clip ended. The STG was willing to comment semi-publically on some of its work, but it was _not_ willing to discuss more controversial aspects of its latest Infection studies, including the deliberate Infection of sapient samples (mostly malcontents shipped from Omega). This had been authorized-but-not-officially by the Union upon seeing the Infection's blistering advance across the Terminus Systems.

It amused Padok Wiks to no end that slave brokers on Omega, whose ruler absolutely insisted that no experimentation with the Infection occur, regularly sent test subjects to front corporations allowing continued testing of more advanced anti-Infection technologies. He conducted regular anti-mole sweeps, and at any rate he figured even if Aria T'Loak became aware of goings-on, she wouldn't be able to do much about it since there were no more conveniently-poorly-defended Trans-Galactic Republic portable superlasers laying around. The Special Tasks Group also installed redundant shielding acquired from inbound Trans-Galactic Republic convoys under the guise of "homeworld defense." Technically, stopping the Infection did constitute defense of one's homeworld, so if one tortured logic enough it wasn't a lie to say the shield units were "for the protection of Sur'Kesh."

"The Republic Intelligence Service may think us primitives, but two can play that game" vowed the base commander. Not everything was won with hitherto-unbreachable (to the STG) computers or superior gunnery.

As the lights came back on in the Council Chamber, each Councilor had his or her own thoughts on the matter. Victus wanted action now. Tevos and Grayson seemed to be content to wait for the wolves to actually arrive at the gate before shutting it as the wolves might not even get to the gate (they hoped), and Clethon fell somewhere in the middle.

_Council deadlock_ thought Grayson. _Just great._

[…]

Admiral Allison Nimitz stood on the bridge of _Ultimatum_. The ship's belly had been flayed open like a fish to facilitate replacement of her burned-out Class 2.0 hyperdrive. It would have been nice to include a hybrid hyper-zero unit, but most calculations suggested there might not be enough eezo in the entire galaxy to build a hyper-zero drive for a Star Dreadnaught. As it was, getting a part from the Home Galaxy that was larger than some cruisers represented an accomplishment in itself. The Admiral wasn't even told where the hyperdrive came from—with three publically-acknowledged Star Dreadnaughts functioning (_Revenant_ having been written off as a loss) it had to have been either pulled out of an existing ship (unlikely) or commandeered from another still-building Star Dreadnaught to get the part in this quickly.

With the increasing involvement of the Republic Intelligence Service in many Gamma-Six activities, she wouldn't have been surprised if a "black budget" had procured more funds for the behemoth vessels, but where would such money have come from when each vessel cost twenty billion credits each? Appropriations that size, even in a hush-hush section of the budget, would not escape the notice of Home Galaxy Senators—already under pressure for permitting the construction of four in a line of monster ships with no apparent galactic threats on the horizon in the first place.

That wasn't her concern, however—Nimitz wasn't a politician. She just needed to get her lightspeed capability back to fight the Infection and Sarah. Or, worst case, get the hell out of Gamma-Six.

Rumor had it the new drive consumed less energy on the order of a 10% reduction. Again, this suggested continuing developments on Star Dreadnaught-scale technologies despite the run supposedly being "four and only four" (sworn up and down by Senators advocating for the Omnibus Defense and Economic Security Act). It did lead to economic security…for those building the ships at any rate. Them, and their sub-contractors. And sub-sub-contractors. And sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-contractors. The Trans-Galactic Republic hadn't had any large-scale conflicts in centuries, a record. There even existed an only-half-facetious HoloNet site called "Days Since Last War."

Again finding herself ruminating on political items, Nimitz wondered if RISE knew something everyone else didn't. Perhaps they were in contact with these Eridians, or some other crazy thing like seeing the future through their strange powers. Regardless, they seemed remarkably well-prepared for the eventuality of the Infection…


	37. Taken to School

**Chapter 36 – Taken to School**

Shiala finally found a groove with Jack's students. They responded differently to her teachings than they did to the "Psychotic Biotic," but each pupil continued to grow and learn—just not in the same way as before. After her involvement with the Thorian, Shiala's own biotics went nuts for a time, before calming down due to intense meditation she'd taken up with a passing justicar.

"Find your peace" she told them as the thirty-some students dropped into meditative poses.

Shiala's teachings represented the "cool" end of the biotic spectrum—"hot" biotics like Jack emphasized passionate, emotion-driven training utilizing intense feelings that if mishandled could lead down a very dangerous path. Thus far, none had strayed, but some were near the edge. Especially after their experiences with Sarah the Siren, who seemed to have unlocked or changed something within many of the students. Whatever she'd connected them to had fundamentally altered the eezo nodules in a majority of the pupils, allowing far more energy to be channeled into biotic abilities.

In another "opposite," Shiala focused far more on defensive uses of biotic powers—barriers, deflections, stasis, than offense (shockwaves, pull/push, warp). Jack had even left her instructions to do so before leaving—"Being able to kick someone's ass from across the room but not being able to take the same thing coming your way isn't the best fighting method."

Initially, the asari, whose abilities were quite strong even accounting for her species (being a former Commando), walked all over the power-oriented fight-first methods employed by the "Psychotic Biotics." If she survived the initial spar (which she always did), she would then wear them down by pulling the student into attacks that left them open, drained their reserves. Then all it took was a breath on the wind to topple them from their weakened states.

"Obviously, such tactics probably wouldn't work on Jack" she'd said upon being asked. "But none of you are, in fact, channeling the level of power that she does."

"She's the most powerful human biotic _ever_!" shouted Jason Prangley.

"That she is," smiled Shiala, "but I wouldn't be surprised if a Matriarch could knock her down a bit."

She also wasn't sure how much Jack (or other sources) had told the students about why, exactly, Jack was "the most powerful human biotic ever." Her experiences at the Teltin Facility on Pragia were an example of depraved cruelty only Cerberus seemed to be capable of. Thus, the still-green asari doubted the master teacher had shared much in the way of life stories with her students.

Jack's previous life blended heavily into her teaching style—she often allowed roughhousing, rule-bending, and other activities which would have drawn sharp rebukes from any other teacher (and often did). Shiala was less forgiving, but compassionate when doling out punishments to students for acting in ways that the "Psychotic Biotic" would have laughed off. Generally, she put less emphasis on making a point and more on helping the student develop an area that needed work. For example, instead of cleaning duty or extreme calisthenics (both favorites of "Hardass Ash," who _also_ took off to join Shepard's save-the-galaxy crew) she would assign, say, extra barrier practice for a student who needed to buff up on that ability.

By no means would Jack return and think her students had "gone soft." Rather, she would find her charges just as able to defend themselves as they were already able to tear opposition to shreds, sometimes in a very literal fashion via Warps. Shiala had a hard time dealing with Axton, the former Dahl Commando brought in by Brick as a long-term substitute for his own half of the program, if only because Axton's boisterous, loud demeanor more closely resembled Jack than she'd have liked. Despite Brick's emphasis on punching (among other physical methods of combat), he'd not been nearly as, well, _angry_ as Jack. Now, Axton re-awoke the dormant wild varren in every student during his classes, whether he meant to or not.

"Stop holding back!" he bellowed at Rachel Arkadios, who held her classmate Marco Machiavelli in a headlock but failed to follow-through with the requested enhanced-strength neck-snap. "We've got bacta! We've got medi-gel! It's not as easy as the New-U where I'm from originally, but damn it—if I'm teaching you how to break necks, _you break necks!_"

She knew better than to argue. Upon Axton's arrival, the students had been reminded of the consent forms they'd signed for the "physical" half of their KOMBT training—_anything_ short of lethal force could be required over the course of their studies. With the types of regeneration made available by modern medicine, virtually all combat could be done to "95% real" standards involving real blood, real broken bones, and of course the very real pain that came with such things. During the Reaper War, some questioned the use of tactics similar to the Systems Alliance's shuttered "Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training" program only to be told "You want to make my students weak, put helpless meat on a slab for the Reapers to eat? I'll kill you!"

Much of this vicious training came in handy waging a battle against Sarah in the courtyard, especially resisting the Current of Pain as Catalina Rodriguez had done. While the students did not manage to actually hold Sarah off, it was in fact true that some of the Siren's underlings had their hands full trying to corral them as a result. Interestingly, Sarah's power-draining devices didn't cause pain _during_ the process, but it left many of the students in considerable discomfort afterward. Residual energy built up from their enhanced eezo nodules that would have been drained away by the dreadnaught otherwise remained in their bodies, causing unpleasant swelling in biotic systems.

Axton's military background as opposed to Brick's frontiersman orientation caused him to instill discipline in a way neither Jack nor Brick ever did. Were Ashley still present, she would have been amused at the students' complaining (which was only half in jest—they really, really did not like the change away from freewheeling, curse-cut-short Jack's methods). Ashley had been pushing for a more formal, organized training regime for quite some time, but never made any headway. First, it was difficult to argue with results, and second, Jack kept telling her to "lighten up and get laid" every time she suggested anything resembling the spit and polish of the military.

The students still understood the value of the experience brought by Axton and Shiala-it just remained a universal truth that no one liked drastic changes to established routines. Despite this discontent, though, the Council _was_ looking to more unconventional solutions against the Infection and Sarah problems, despite their public-facing turn toward ever-harsher containment policies. The Infection appeared to have trouble with or flat-out avoid biotics. Throughout history, asari were prized any time biotic power came up for their natural abilities, but it seemed the Infection wanted nothing to do with asari or biotics in general. Somehow, it failed to make use of them.

"Yes, it is true that you may find yourself called upon to fight this Infection" lectured Shiala during a morning session. "If this happens, remember that just because it can't use you doesn't mean it won't try to kill you. _Your barrier is your life_ and will be your only defense against the Infection agent."

A burly young man by the name of Toby Hameel asked why not wear heavy armor, which in STG tests had a good chance of stopping basic Infection Forms.

The asari gave him a patronizing look before answering in an exasperated tone. "You have been trained to fight with your biotic powers. Heavy armor only slows that down. Even in a time like this, it is better to rely on your barrier."

"But what if your barrier is constantly depleted?" he replied.

"If you can't keep a barrier up against that many hostiles, perhaps you are in beyond your element" said the asari. "Even if you were to suddenly face overwhelming odds, retreat remains a viable option. Regroup among others ready to fend off the Infection, whether they have fresh barriers or crates of incendiary ammunition backed with mass effect fields."

"That's a new one" whispered Rachel to Marco. "Brick and Jack never talk about retreating."

As if she'd heard (she hadn't), Shiala resumed her speech. "Though your previous teachers have emphasized the ability to avoid retreat by ensuring your first attack leaves nothing behind to run from, this is not always the best choice, or even a possibility if your foes are too strong and numerous."

She got a roomful of annoyed looks in response, but pressed on. "What do Samantha Shepard and Sarah have in common?"

Shiala had to wait for a chorus of boos, jeers, curse words, and even insults thrown at her personally for making the comparison to die down before answering her own question.

"To borrow a human phrase, they both hit like a skytruck, dodge attacks in ways that would make some drell jealous, and take more punishment than krogan. It is to this ideal you should aspire in combat. Possess no obvious weakness while not falling into the trap of average-at-everything."

The crowed revved up again, only to quietly realize the truth in Shiala's words.

[…]

"What have I been telling you?" raged a pink-colored Cortana to Samantha Shepard as _Normandy_ pulled away from the SETTLE station (which the Commander had begun referring to as the "fix everything and build everything place"). She'd assured Sam color changes no longer meant rampancy, just anger, much to the Commander's relief.

"You can't just let the Flood fester! Look at how fast it's moved! In only a few months, it's jumped from one out-of-the-way hole to almost a third of your galaxy!"

"You know what?" replied Sam. "You sound like an angry mother! What'd I do, spend too much time playing video games?"

"Well if that's what it takes to get you to deal with this, then I'll sound as mothery as I have to." Cortana seemed awfully found of pouting and putting her hands on her hips. To her, the inhabitants of this galaxy deserved all that and more for ignoring the greatest threat organic life ever faced.

She tried a different tactic.

"Do you realize how _lucky_ you are? The only reason we're not all a Flood-ified mess is because the areas of your galaxy the Flood has attacked so far are sparsely populated! The systems that have fallen up to now are generally under a million. Estimates say the Flood requires a significant amount of biomass to advance to its next stage, which it currently isn't capable of doing due to operating only in lightly-settled areas for whatever reason."

Sam let her head roll back in a gesture of irritation.

"Do you think I don't know that? Do you honestly believe that I'd rather sit here and let the Citadel Council try to 'contain' the Infection? From everything I've seen, that doesn't work!"

"The only containing with the Flood is what's left of your DNA contained in its stomach after it eats you. Scared enough yet?"

"Cortana, why are you lecturing me about this?"

The AI stabbed the air with a finger. "Because you, _Commander Shepard_, are probably the only one that could get this galaxy to pull itself together enough to fight. And you're not doing that."

"So what do you want me to do?" demanded Sam sarcastically. "Seduce Sarah, steal her starship, let you loose on the other big cruiser the Trans-Galactic Republic brought in, and then burn that section of the galaxy?"

"Minus the unneeded sexual implication, yes, that would work quite nicely."

Sam sat down on her bed, covering her face in her hands as she lay on her stomach.

"I am so sick of it. Sick and tired! 'Sam do this. Shepard, save that colony. Commander, kill those bad guys.' Don't mind us, we're just going to actively make the task we gave you _more difficult_!"

"You don't hear the Master Chief complaining. And he had it a lot worse than you in many ways."

"Oh, I'm sorry" snapped an increasingly-irate Shepard. "Did you have a little memory lapse from your geth upgrade? **I died.**"

"That was a low blow" replied Cortana. "Would you rather I WENT RAMPANT and left you with NO INFORMATION about the Flood?"

"Look, I get you're probably used to Mr. Silent Strength. I bet this sounds like a whiny little girl who got told she couldn't stay up past her bedtime by comparison. Guess what? Welcome to everyone who's not some super-conditioned, mentally-walled-off mega-warrior!" Sam knew it wasn't fair to take this all out on Cortana, but Cortana had also gone and pushed all the right (wrong?) buttons at once.

It took less than a half-second by Shepard's clock, but to Cortana it felt like an eternity as she tried to process everything Sam just told her. It seemed the human reaction to resurrection wasn't exactly what she'd thought it would be—unadulterated joy at having cheated termination, to use a computer term.

"Sam, everything I know tells me that organic life prefers living to dying. You go to extreme lengths to prevent death—this ship has heavy armor, a stealth device, energy shields… You even have personal battle dress similar to the Master Chief's! You died, I know that. Why are you not happy to have been brought back?"

Seeing Cortana's expression to be genuinely curious rather than taunting, Sam bottled up her anger to produce a rational response rather than lashing out.

"Have you read my file? My complete file, which may or may not be available in computer systems you've been connected to?"

"I have information showing that you were once clinically dead but brought back by Cerberus to lead a fight against aliens who were abducting human colonists while the Citadel Council did nothing and the Reapers approached. This is why I do not understand your seeming lack of action against the Flood. The last time the politicians dithered, you jumped in with both feet."

Sam sighed. It wouldn't surprise her if her little slave-to-tyrannical-dictator-depraved-hedonist phase wasn't something that got published everywhere. Cortana hadn't been connected to any system that was part of her second or third brushes with death aside from the Special Tasks Group on Capek, and while Shepard didn't doubt the AI's hacking abilities, she suspected Cortana wasn't exactly looking for secret information when she'd been jacked into the STG base.

"Well, that explains it." Shepard almost burst out laughing. It seemed that as intelligent as Cortana was, she, too, could also jump to completely erroneous conclusions based on incomplete data just like any organic.

"Explains what?" Cortana raised a projected eyebrow.

"Why you think I just woke up and suddenly decided to be the galaxy's biggest self-centered bitch."

"I never…"

"Yes, you did" said Shepard in a teasing tone. "You thought I was just some sourpuss who lost her drive to do her duty. Forgot what it meant to be a soldier. You're missing a few pieces of data, friend."

"Please, tell me what I don't know!"

"First of all, being revived by Cerberus was only one of multiple brushes with death. And I'm not talking almost-got-hit-by-a-shuttle-but-escaped-unscathed, I'm talking lower-body-smashed-to-paste and near-hardware failures."

Sam accessed heavily encrypted files regarding her own resuscitations, both times involving Mordin Solis. She placed it in Cortana's private folder.

"You know, I could have cracked that" said Cortana with a wink and a curtsey. "I just don't make a habit of snooping around files belonging to people serving on my ship."

_Her ship… EDI has been well and truly replaced._

That train of thought also brought up something she'd been meaning to do since she'd been revived but hadn't gotten around to—hold some kind of service honoring those who gave their lives during the Reaper War. Unbeknownst to her, she was not the only one with this line of thought, however due to events of galactic significance taking everyone's time and effort toward averting total societal collapse, paying dues to the deceased fell by the wayside.

_Lilith, please forgive me for burying memories of your sacrifice…_

Sam could almost hear the Siren's voice in her head. "You little stinker. I saved your sorry ass, and this is what I get? To sit here all by myself with no one remembering me?"

_Well, you may not be alone much longer…_

"Did I say something wrong?" Cortana interrupted Shepard's contemplation.

"No, it's just… I was thinking about people who aren't here anymore."

"If you don't mind me asking, who?"

"There was another one of the Sirens—name of Lilith. She went bad during the Reaper War, but redeemed herself in the end. Crashed a ship into the Altar and destroyed every Reaper in both galaxies! She also apparently set free that insane Sarah—but can you really blame Lilith for that?"

"She should be remembered by all."

Sam's face twisted into a guilty frown.

"That's just it. We never took the time to. The war ended, the fascist government we built to fight the war imploded, then the Sarah craziness started. And now you and the Infection came through an interspatial rift!"

Sam looked up. "I'm pretty sure you'd yell at me for hosting a memorial and worshipping the dead instead of kicking Infected ass!"

"I may be an artificial creation, but I understand and experience emotions just the way organics do. I, too, have experienced loss."

"It's funny you mention that. The AI's we have here don't really have true emotions. They can simulate them through 'preferences,' but it's not quite the same process. We used to have a different AI on this ship called the Enhanced Defense Intelligence. We just took to calling her EDI."

"Before you ask, no there is no ghostly presence or quantum remnant in this system. She was completely transferred to another vessel."

"I know. It's just…"

"You were attached to her. Based on my understanding of the cultures in this galaxy, the standing of artificially-created life is rather tenuous." Cortana almost brought up the time Sam had taken her, technically an illegal item, into the heart of the government, but thought better of it. "You did not think as those who believe us unworthy do. You believed in, and continue to support, treating synthetic life as equals."

"From reading my medical files, you know I am over half synthetic myself by now."

Cortana smiled, before recollecting Shepard's "Augmentations for the win!" greeting to the Master Chief.

"Indeed you are. SPARTAN soldiers undergo enhancements as well, but it is less about technology replacing parts of the body and more about raising the limit by augmenting existing organic material."

She looked straight into Sam's eyes, as much as one could being projected from a terminal across from someone laying on her back, having parsed the entirety of Sam's medical files in less than a tenth of a second.

"I could not understand what happened to you after the Collector mission since I lacked knowledge of any time later than that and earlier than when I arrived. I thus concluded that you were selfish and had lost your ability to do what you committed yourself to upon becoming a Spectre. I am sorry to have judged you so harshly."

"You know, I once asked what kind of guns a taxi had, so I'm not really one to talk about making stupid assumptions…"

"I still cannot determine exactly what drove your emotional state after your two revivals. I would appreciate a clarification. As I said, the Master Chief and others I have worked with are always happy to have survived."

Shepard launched into a lengthy explanation of her life. It wasn't really possible to explain a feeling of being used by absolutely everyone without chronicling, well, every incident. Highlights (or lowlights) included being disbelieved about Saren, ignored regarding the Reapers (twice!), becoming a combat-addicted thrall to Maximilian Xytler, being crushed by an angry Brick, nearly dying to disperse a cure for the genophage, being forced to play pet to the Council vis-à-vis Aria T'Loak, and the current situation. She ended with a poignant statement about being denied any death with dignity—always being brought back because someone else had another problem for her to solve.

"Well. You continue to show me angles I never saw in my own universe before." Cortana almost seemed…astounded. As much as an artificial intelligence capable of performing just about any computational task in the blink of an eye could. The "No Extraordinary Measures" order she'd seen in the Commander's file made a lot more sense now.

"Now do you understand why I'm just so very tired?" Sam sat up.

"Yes" replied Cortana. "Though I'm still going to tell you to get your space pants back on, go out there, and burn the Flood. Just in a nicer way than before."

"That I can handle. Now that, you know, I'm not being treated like some kind of lazy complainer."

"Oh, I'd still call it complaining" laughed Cortana. "Just with a better reason than I originally thought."

[…]

Though religion and faith still played a role in the lives of some galactic inhabitants, many saw the inevitable march of science as making such things meaningless for them. The practice of honoring those who passed on, however, continued in spite of falling religiosity. It was for this reason that Phil Fury, Director at the Systems Alliance War Memorial Center, pulled every string he knew of to get the broken pieces of _Normandy SR-2_ delivered from the Trans-Galactic Republic docks where bombs planted by a crazy asari had destroyed or damaged many ships, _Normandy_ included.

It had become abundantly clear to Fury that he wasn't going to get the original_ Normandy_ back any time soon, if ever. Thus, he could no longer placate the public, especially after sightings of the ship suggested her profile had been radically altered. Using his contacts within RISE (especially Wolf Schmidt, not that this went on any record), he learned _Normandy_ had received a humongous overhaul—and her designation had been suitably altered to "2.5."

"Looks like more than a slight version increment to me" he'd said to Schmidt.

"Shepard needs firepower and stealth" replied the RISE agent. "Can't say more than that—wasn't even briefed on it other than that she borrowed some highly-classified tech."

Later that day, Fury received a call from none other than Sam Shepard herself. Actually, Sam placed the call from her shipboard AI, but came on once the connection was established.

"Fury."

"Shepard."

"I realize you're probably mad at me because I'm flying around in your war memorial. Also, I kinda had it chopped and rebuilt because mission requirements demanded it… I've been thinking that since it's pretty unlikely you're ever going to get your ship back at this rate, we ought to stop by and drop off all the museum parts we have in storage."

"Sounds like a good plan. I actually managed to round up the bits of the other _Normandy_—the one that appeared through Arcturus out-of-nowhere. I'm thinking it would be best just to set up the museum in that ship, since it's far more similar to what _Normandy_ was at the time this memorial commemorates than the ship you have now. Not that it's your fault or anything that she's a good bit larger."

Shepard decided to go for it.

"Would…would you mind if we had a bit of a rechristening ceremony? For the memorial, and for absent friends?"

"Absolutely not. I would welcome it!" he boomed.

In order to prevent the _Normandy SR-2.5_'s cloaking feature from becoming unintentionally visible during what promised to be a highly-public event, those aboard wishing to attend stuck themselves in blastboats. The _Fireant_'s Class 2.0 hyperdrive was permitted to operate without restraint due to passengers aboard, so _Normandy_ simply deployed fighters and remained at SETTLE. The blastboats would hopefully arrive quickly, able to skip the mass relay lines and subsequent inspections.

A small debate broke out over whether it would be appropriate for Jackie Jakobs to attend. Shepard decided it best for her to remain behind, despite her drastically changed nature.

"People might take it the wrong way. They don't know you like we do" she'd said. For the first time in a while, Jackie cried. But at the same time, she also understood—to the public who even knew of her existence, she was a monster.

Dr. Filner also declined to participate, having not known any of those being remembered, nor being present in the galaxy during the conflict. The Master Chief and Cortana elected to "hold down the fort" since the latter remained capable of running the entire ship if necessary. Even in spite of this three-person reduction, that still meant twenty-two people crammed into _Fireants_, and that was just the party from Shepard's little crew. Never mind the dignitaries that would try to weasel their way in to get a nice photo for their next campaign.

The matter of capacity was settled when _Ultimatum_ got selected to host most inbound attendees, since her hyperdrive had been repaired. Only those selected personally by Phil Fury and/or Steven Hackett would be allowed aboard _Normandy SR-2_ for the ceremony. Everyone else would get a live holo-feed aboard the Trans-Galactic Republic's Star Dreadnaught. The presence of such an imposing warship would hopefully discourage any would-be malcontents from disrupting the proceedings. It wouldn't stop, say, Sarah, but she'd confined herself to the Terminus of late.

_Fireants_ carried a crew of five normally—pilot, two gunners, a sensor officer, and an operations officer. There was physical room for up to ten in a squeeze, but Shepard, recognizing that close-quarters for even a short time among her rather diverse squad could pose a problem, chose to spread her people as much as she could. Five times six gave thirty slots, so one blastboat was left behind and three of five ran with four instead of five. Fully anticipating her choice of leaving ships short-staffed might lead to problems (or just cosmic screw-you), she drilled everyone quickly on operation of key systems. For once, it wasn't necessary—all five ships arrived without incident after being dropped by _Normandy_.

As Paladins One through Five docked with _Ultimatum_, Sam couldn't help but notice several large civilian vessels inbound. Admiral Nimitz would later inform her that cadets at various military academies, many now cross-species, had been sent to pay their respects. A few groups of secondary school students from Earth were even watching from one of _Ultimatum'_s many "viewing rooms." Those who could stream the proceedings over the HoloNet/extranet did so. The ECHONet could not carry the stream the distance to Gamma-Three, unfortunately.

It felt wrong to be holding a ceremony in _Normandy_'s cargo hold, but that remained the only place with enough room to set up the way Fury, Hackett, and Shepard wanted it. She joyfully hugged David Anderson upon seeing his arrival. He'd been granted "special status" without reservation—allowed onto the ship itself for the duration.

"It's been too long" he'd said. "And to think the last time I saw you, you were wearing my pajamas!"

"Very funny, sir." Unfortunately for Shepard, that would be the extent of any humor had during the ceremony itself.

"Let's not sugarcoat it" she began, standing behind a podium erected in _Normandy SR-2_'s hanger. "We owe these people far more than we're able to give them today. It is past due that we recognize the many who gave their lives so we could be here."

A short holo-show with a projection of each individual to be called-out created images behind Samantha as she resumed speaking.

"Oriana Lawson is a reminder to everyone that the innocent will get caught up in war. Many that die deserve life, and many that live deserve death. She harmed no one, conspired against nobody, and ended up a casualty of the cruel randomness of conflict."

The hologram changed to Sir Hammerlock and Marshal Friedman of Sanctuary.

"The grim reaper does not confine his scythe to the battlefield. Being off duty will not protect you. Both adventurers and men of the law find that the long arm of war will reach right to where you live to pluck you out of this mortal coil."

Upon Tiny Tina's appearance, several audience members aboard _Normandy_ openly wept. Many of those being remembered today would have empty caskets as they had either been vaporized or remained missing after their presumed deaths.

"It is a sad day indeed that someone as young as thirteen can become as active a participant in battle as those three times her age. Nevertheless, Tina's support brought down a tyrant and gave the citizens of Gamma-Three a fighting chance."

Shepard choked up slightly as the visual behind her changed again.

"Roland represented what happens when a man realizes he's been taken advantage of and decides to do something about it. One of the first generation of Vault Hunters to arrive on Pandora, he unwittingly assisted in the rise of the twisted Jack, President of Hyperion, but quickly became a leader in the quest to bring him down. His death was as honorable as his killer's blow was despicable."

"A man has to be sick indeed to imprison his own daughter in such a state that she asks to be released through ending her life. Angel guided two groups of Vault Hunters through the many hells that walk Pandora. She played a dangerous double game, deceiving her abusive father and bringing justice to his doorstep as she passed on."

She didn't mention the beyond-the-physical visions she'd had involving both Angel's voice and an actual appearance from Lilith. It wouldn't have made any sense to anyone else. She wasn't sure they'd believe it, even with all the craziness going on at the moment.

"It doesn't matter if your role is 'just support.' In fact, never call yourself that if this be your role—you're just as important to the overall effort as those who are on the front lines—and just as much of a target. Feron found this out the hard way after helping Liara T'Soni evacuate important information from a stronghold."

The drell disappeared, replaced by Liara T'Soni.

"Even those who work every day to prevent war end up being touched by it. In this case, Liara was struck down by a coward whose name shall be forgotten by the annals of history. Her information-gathering efforts were essential to many portions of the efforts against the Collectors and Reapers."

Shepard didn't mention Liara's involvement with getting Sam's body to someone who could possibly fix it (Cerberus) as the individuals responsible weren't exactly popular anymore.

Moxxi's son Scooter took the asari's place.

"Without this man, Gamma-Three would have been overrun. Scooter's knowledge allowed a distress call to go out that summoned a whole fleet to extinguish the greatest threat the galaxy had seen to that point" (she deliberately avoided making the Reapers sound worse than the Infection when by all measures the Infection made the Reapers look downright saintly). "He died a hero, on his feet in battle, a warrior's death!"

"I'll admit up front, it's hard talking about yourself when you're not actually dead."

The audiences weren't sure whether this was a deliberate laugh line, or just an invocation of how strange things had become.

"Samantha Shepard wasn't even supposed to be here. She fought like hell but ran out of time. Her death was all the more tragic due to events which should not have occurred."

Samantha Shepard, prime, had to stop herself from tearing into the Trans-Galactic Republic for what their medical personnel had done to her erstwhile copy. Especially with their gargantuan battlewagon nearby.

"Her crew continues to serve with great distinction among those of us fighting to keep this galaxy our own."

Though EDI had no physical body, all who served aboard _Normandy SR-2_ recognized her glowing blue avatar in both its spherical and more-womanlike form.

"It may seem odd, bringing up someone who would leave no body to bury. But EDI was as much a member of the crew as any non-synthetic. Her actions and expertise provided key support in pivotal battles until her death. Today, we erase the divide between synthetic and organic—EDI meant as much to me as any biological crew member."

The life-size projection changed for the last time and Sam almost lost it.

"Lilith was a Siren. But more importantly, she was a shining example of redemption. Renouncing one's own inner demons is something that's easy to talk about but difficult to do. Those that manage it come out stronger and better. Through whatever she did, the Reapers are no longer with us."

After she finished speaking, Sam begged off about "needing to use the refresher." Thankfully the one in her, well, her copy's, cabin was in working order. In reality, tears were causing her makeup to run. Plus, if she kept it in any longer, she might just explode. While the savior of the galaxy wept, politicians gave grand speeches about unity, strength, openness, and progress.

Thankfully for the patience and bladders of all present, Fury and Hackett had placed strict limits on how long any individual could hold the floor. After a rather long speech by Dalatrass Linron exceeded the allotted time, "out of respect for both those we honor and other speakers, we need you to yield the podium." The furious dalatrass refused, only to be dragged away by several krogan providing security on the payroll of one Thax Vorak. All dignitaries kept their pontifications within time after that.

Following all this, those allowed aboard _Normandy_ mingled. It was difficult and awkward to socialize at what amounted to a mass funeral, but those present found comfort in each other's company. They'd all shared the horrors of battle and the pain of loss in various ways. Noting that those not present wouldn't have wanted them to spend all the time moping, Samantha Shepard got everyone on their feet and talking with liberal helpings of food.

Jack and Brick stood off to the side of the gathering. Shepard wondered what they could possibly be talking about that they wouldn't want to share with everyone else at a time like this, but decided not to eavesdrop until she heard something that gave her pause.

"You promise me" Jack choked. "You promise me that if it comes down to me or the mission, finish the job. Kill them all, and make a toast to me afterward! But none of this sappy shit—name a gun for me or something. Maybe a dreadnaught."

"I'm not leaving you behind" insisted Brick. "I won't let that choice happen! I won't fail to protect someone I care about again!"

Sam remained acutely aware injecting herself into this conversation could have untold negative consequences. As if some small nudge flashed in the corner of her vision, she walked back over to the pair.

Before she could say anything, Jack spoke. "And here's the Queen of the Girl Scouts here to tell us you can't always save everyone. Right?"

"Given what she accomplished fighting those weird alien bug things, I'd say the opposite!" retorted Brick with the enthusiasm he usually reserved for punching or explosions.

Again feeling herself on some kind of cosmic path, Sam paused to decide what she should say at this point.

_Be uplifting or be brutally realistic?_

A third option bubbled up.

_Why not both?_

"You're both right."

Jack grinned viciously before letting loose on her Commander. "You do realize that just because every time _you've_ been able to try to have things both ways you've succeeded doesn't mean it always works?"

"Remind me to tell you about how I almost caught Morinth once" replied Sam. "Look, just because it's unlikely doesn't mean you shouldn't try for it. Everyone said it was a suicide mission. I proved them wrong because I didn't want to believe it was. Does that actually guarantee we wouldn't all end up pasted on the bottom of some Collector Cruiser somewhere? No. But there's nothing wrong with giving it your all even if the odds are supposed to be impossible."

"Yet again, she has it both ways! Bravo. I bet no one's called you on it though."

"Sometimes I feel like I get more lucky breaks than any one person deserves" said Sam.

"Don't complain" added Brick. "If you're lucky, we're gonna need it to deal with this Infection. Dibs on being assigned to Shepard's ship."

"Dude, you don't have to call dibs. She's not going to reassign anyone. Right?"

Shepard saw a chance to get Jack back. "Well… See, I hear you have a swear jar, Jack. If you want to stay on my ship, you're going to have to let me in on some of that action!"

"First off, with all due respect, fuck you, Commander. Second, Brick's the one with the money. You'll have to get it out of him, not me."

She rounded on Brick. "You owe me." She pointed at her legs.

Brick gave as good as he got. "On one hand," he lectured, "you totally deserved it. Being a psycho bitch and all at the time. On the other hand, you're not crazy anymore, so I'll partially concede the point. Dinner on me next time we hit a place that actually charges us for food."

"Okay" replied Shepard suspiciously. "But remember, Fishdog Food Shack doesn't count!"

Brick leaned in as Jack explained what, exactly, was meant by this condition. Shepard never heard what was said, but with a pair of sly grins she worried for her health. Even with her implants, Fishdog Food Shack and similar created digestive unpleasantness.

[…]

Aria T'Loak cursed loudly. In the back of her mind, she'd known keeping Omega amounted to a losing battle after seeing and hearing about what the Infection could do—all the fire she threw at it only delayed an inevitable conclusion. She'd surprised herself by giving civilians evacuation warnings and only igniting parts of the station, though that may have been more an outside influence than anything else.

"You say you hated Cerberus? If you cleanse that section with civilians still inside, are you any better than them?"

Anyone else would have been biotically hurled across the room, shot, punched, and thrown out the airlock. Nyreen Kandros merely got a glare.

Aria's fury instead manifested itself in a bright biotic glow, before fading. It was doubly jarring because she was used to being the one who manipulated others—having her own feelings yanked around was a new and unpleasant experience. That she allowed it to happen and hadn't killed the person doing it said something else. Oh, she knew everyone talked about her and Nyreen behind her back—thought they were being sneaky about it and that Aria wouldn't hear. Once, she'd drained the coolant from some merc band leader's hovercar in secret after he'd gossiped. Another time, several vorcha were casually shoved into a mining shaft.

Pacing back and forth inside the Castle, she'd ranted to Nyreen. "We should just leave! I…I can set us up somewhere else. Illium! It's much nicer there."

"I know you, Aria. It wouldn't be the same—and you wouldn't be the Pirate Queen any longer. You may be brutal, you may allow everything short of Collector abductions, you even let Ardat-Yakshi run loose if they stay away from you. But you also covertly sent supplies to Dr. Abrams before you burned his clinic down. You took him on even though you really wanted to kill him—you told me that yourself. You pulled strings to lighten the attacks against Mordin Solis when he ran the clinic. And the soldiers who disobeyed orders to keep firing at that out-of-range battlecruiser? They're still alive. Oh, you may think yourself greater and more terrible than ever before, but there's more to you than that."

Aria resisted the urge to both curse Nyreen out and tear her armor off in a fit of angry passion.

"You sound like Shepard" she fumed. "Goody-Two-Shoes _Shepard_. The Council's little pet varren!"

"And yet, here I stand" replied Nyreen, displaying a confidence with Aria only she could get away with. "In the heart of your command center, arguing with you in ways that would get anyone else thrown through that window."

"Don't you… You went and nearly died on me!"

"You asked for defenders. Talon is more than happy to lend its manpower and guns so long as the pay is reasonable."

"I don't even pay you!" spluttered the asari. "You…you do it out of some… Some…Shepard-like desire to…"

"Yes, I 'ooze virtue' as you have told me multiple, multiple times" replied Nyreen.

"I hate it" hissed Aria.

Aria always acted like this when debating her, so Nyreen decided to change the subject. "Scouts report a large amount of accumulated Infected biomass has built up in several of the core mining shafts. It is disrupting productivity and survived attempts to eliminate it with automated systems."

"Then send in more Talons and do it the hard way!" snapped the asari. "What do I pay your grunts for?"

"Oh, not going to send in the Blood Pack? Or maybe it's because you're realizing they're too incompetent to do the job correctly?"

Left unsaid: Aria had been jumped by Infected vorcha—a group of them wearing remnants of Blood Pack equipment almost took her down. Their claws left nasty marks which would have scarred if it weren't for the bacta horde she'd secured. Luckily for the ruler of Omega, Infected vorcha were meant to create more biomass, not more Infected. There were no traces of Highly Active Infection Agents in the cuts.

"I just like watching you agonize over trying to keep your cannon fodder alive. They're disposable! Half the time, the labor's free because payment is not rendered until services are complete—and death doesn't count as complete!"

"That cannon fodder has kept this fortress safe" shot back Nyreen. "This fortress and your massive Element Zero horde that no one else knows about…"

"If you dare expose that, I will kill every last one of your underlings while you watch."

Nyreen's omnitool lit up. "What is it?"

"My squad is gone! Pulled through the vents by some, some _tentacle thing!_"

The following video showed what she guessed to be a turian disappearing into one of the large shafts that allowed hot air to escape the eezo mines. Whatever grabbed it looked yellowish-brown and left a disgusting trail behind it as it pulled back into the vent.

Inexplicably, Aria felt a strong urge to investigate the issue personally. Grabbing a Claymore in one hand and Nyreen's arm in the other, she headed off in the direction of the anomaly.

"I can move myself, Aria" chastised the turian. Her companion did not respond, but released Nyreen's arm.

The interior of Omega had once made sense. Omega had also been a Prothean mining operation—that was the last time any structure on the station had been built using anything resembling standardized methods. The Protheans gave up, unable to cut into the asteroid's thick crust. Millennia later, a collision with another body smashed the rock open and a massive free-for-all commenced on a huge reserve of Element Zero. Independent excavators, criminal syndicates, and large commercial interests all competed to grab the most of the rare, valuable material. Ultimately, the long arm of the law fell far short and Omega became a hub of criminal activity.

Despite thousand-year lifespans and close to infinite patience compared to most other species, neither the current nor previous ruler had ever mapped the whole thing. Figuring out how to get from a known point to another known point was left to mechs and underlings. After all, the boss never goes down to the airport, s/he sends a limo.

Consequently, the present boss found herself scampering up and down ladders, crawling through access tunnels, and in general feeling very un-Queen-like.

"Is it your goal to have me slog through every half-filled drainage pipe on the entire station?" she demanded, boring into the back of Nyreen's skull with vicious eyes.

"No" replied Kandros, "but if you truly want to figure this out, you'll put up with minor physical discomforts."

Aria could swear Nyreen was doing this on purpose. So she said as much.

"If this is some kind of twisted game, some attempt at humbling me, I am going to be very unhappy."

"As always, you see what you want to see" retorted the turian, pulling herself up one last ladder.

"Halt!" barked a voice. "Identify yourself!"

Aria almost lashed out biotically before realizing she'd ordered check points set up around anything resembling Infection. Upon noticing who had arrived, the three turians and one batarian practically tripped over themselves saluting.

"Report!"

They weren't sure who to report to, despite Nyreen being the one to ask. They technically worked for Aria and knew of her legendarily short temper. All of them unconsciously decided to speak in the general direction of their superiors and hope neither took offense.

"Arerax Siril got taken by some tentacle thing. Came out of a vent a hundred meters further in" said the batarian. "We moved the checkpoint twice today because the Infection keeps spreading faster than we can burn it."

"And why aren't you burning it?" Aria's expression suggested she thought them deficient for being unable to keep up.

"Aria, ma'am, something's happened. It's growing way faster than before!" protested one of the turians. "Every time we kill it, twice as much comes back!"

"So light it up permanently."

None of them wanted to be the one who had to suggest Aria didn't know what she was talking about. They decided to avoid the problem by simply showing her what was going on. Motioning for the two to follow, the checkpoint guards headed into an increasingly-biological looking part of the station.

Instead of haphazard plates of varying gray shades, the walls took on irregular brownish-yellow hue. Further along, it became apparent the "color" actually added thickness and dimension to the walls, being some kind of living tissue rather than simple stain or discoloration. Through a double-layer airlock style door that bore painted-on biohazard symbols, spherical protrusions could be seen. They pulsated in some rhythm.

"If you want to pass this point, you're going to have to put on hazard gear" growled the batarian. "Anyone who doesn't ends up dead. Some of them actually turn into Infected attack forms, while the rest just become that horrible yellow stuff."

Aria turned to head back out, but Nyreen's three-fingered hand alighted on her shoulder. "If we're going to deal with this, we need to go all the way in."

Scowling, Aria complied, donning protective gear alongside her turian friend.

"Let us go first" said one of the turians.

"No shit" muttered Aria. "I pay you to die in my stead."

Not realizing Nyreen happened to hear her dismiss the value of other lives, she didn't understand the reason for her companion's lengthy stare. Not being able to see past an armored faceplate in low lighting didn't help either.

The six advanced through the biohazard door, which closed quickly behind them.

"Blech" commented Aria as a large spore-pod vented something all over her faceplate. She wiped most of it away, noting the sickly color now all over the back of her glove.

"We're going to incinerate these suits when we come out" commented one of the turians after seeing what she'd done. "Don't worry about making a mess of it."

The whole corridor seemed hazy, as if something tainted the air. 

"Any idea what's making it so hard to see?" inquired Nyreen.

"Uhh, I'm not a scientist" protested one of the turians, "but look at the vent over there."

The entire grate had been coated in what seemed to be brownish-yellow dust. It looked like some kind of "fuzz mold" except everyone knew better—it was obviously some Infection-related thing. As the vent pulled in air, the yellow haze could be seen moving toward and into it.

"Has it ever occurred to anyone to _cut the vents?_" roared Aria upon noticing this. "Maybe it's spreading because it's drifting through the ventilation system!"

The sole batarian chose to brave the wrath of Omega's ruler. "Most of the ventilation systems for this section route through here" he said hesitantly. "If we cut that completely, we'd leave a good 10% of the station without air."

"Am I the only one who's noticed that _the Infection spreads by air? _How thick do you have to be? Kill half the station if it stops the Infection!"

In her anger, Aria let loose a biotic flare which popped/seared several extremely bloated pods. From the pods emerged strange lifeforms which Aria had seen briefly mentioned on the news—they looked like some kind of walking aquatic creature with their many legs, large rounded bodies, and three or four pink-tipped tentacles. The launched themselves at the party.

"Fire, fire, fire!" yelled a turian. Weapons came out, spitting orange-hued mass effect accelerated munitions at the creatures. The obviously incendiary form of weaponry put them down quickly and left large score marks in the surrounding biomass. Aria noticed the affected areas begin to heal almost immediately, causing her to jump.

"Not so easy to burn, huh?" taunted Nyreen.

"Give me that" she growled, yanking a stolen FireHose out of the hands of her batarian protector.

PHIPHIPHIPHI! PHIPHIPHIPHI!

Aria popped the heatsink, sticking out her hand for another. Her bodyguards figured it best to let the violent crime boss come to her own conclusions about the Infection. Nyreen Kandros stood silently nearby, amused at Aria's insistence on continuing to pour more and more fire into the walls, ceiling, and floor despite having very little effect.

"What the fuck?" she screamed in frustration, causing everyone else to put their hands to their helmets.

Switching to a private channel, the turian Talon leader spoke to the ruler of all Omega.

"Perhaps you might try listening to your employees for once. Sometimes, they actually have useful things to say other than 'mission completed.'"

In a fury, Aria shoved past the rest of her group.

"Where is it? WHERE IS IT?"

Her hands mashed into the pulpy, spongy mass again and again, digging for something. Within a few seconds, her hand closed around the thing she sought.

"I hope these suits are fireproof" she said rather rhetorically as she yanked what had once been the fire alarm. Because it amused her, she'd wired the flame-based "anti-Infection system" to the same circuits, so the "fire alarm" now literally caused fires. It also set off an obnoxiously loud buzzer, or what would have been an obnoxiously loud buzzer if the speakers hadn't been chocked with Infection biomass. A few rotating flashing lights that were not covered began spinning, cashing a reddish glow over the yellow resulting from the Infection.

The setup Aria had ordered created used the same fuel as most common military flamethrowers. A flammable liquid sprayed in a fine mist from nozzles that directed its flow and contained flowback suppressors to prevent the flame from reaching back into the tank. Obviously, the design of such weapons presumed the nozzle would not be obstructed during use. Since growth impeded dispersal of the flame agent, it didn't ignite properly, causing patchy dispersal. The flowback guard worked as intended, but the end result was a buildup of fuel between the nozzle and the obstructing Infection. This combination went up in concentrated flames, letting off a gag-inducing smell as it burned. Environmental suits designed to block infectious agents did nothing to stop terrible odors, despite the phrase "This stinks so bad I need a gas mask."

Instead of an even burn, only spots cleared (temporarily). When the fire-burst shut off, the Infection began growing back immediately.

Enraged, the biotic boss tossed the gun from her hand that wasn't buried in a living wall, causing the weapon to spin end-over-end and bury itself partway in a pile of biomass further down the corridor.

For the first time in her memory, Nyreen Kandros heard fear in Aria's voice. "Do I even want to know what's in that mine shaft ahead?"

The asari tried to sound confident, like she was tough for asking a question to which the answer would be a resounding "yes." Except, Nyreen knew from her tone that she actually didn't really want to know, but for the sake of her pride and stubbornness, would continue forward anyway. A dropped Phaeston assault rifle emphasized that something was not right. It lay below the vent into which Arerax Siril was pulled. One of the three turians took a step toward the fallen weapon.

SHOOOP.

A tentacle with a disturbing purple glow appeared, wrapped around him, and messily yanked the helpless mercenary upward. An arm sliced off at the shoulder, leaving dark blue blood dripping off the left side of a vent clearly dented by already having at least one other unwilling being pulled through it. Two more popped out of grates near the floor. None in the party had noticed the openings as they'd been covered—now massive appendages barged out. The lone batarian fell first, grabbed by each leg and torn in half. The two parts were pulled back into the grates, or would have been if they'd fit. Whatever hungered for flesh cared not if large amounts failed to reach it due to being unable to fit through the ventilation system. Red blood covered the ground, which hungrily soaked it up.

"Let's go!"

Nyreen catapulted forward, tearing down the hallway.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" breathed Aria.

"We're outta here!" cried one of the two still-living turians.

"Cowards" hissed the asari at their retreating backs. They didn't get far. One was taken by a tentacle. The other tripped on a pod and faceplanted into it, losing his helmet in the process. He struggled for a while, then became still. She saw his metallic skin begin to turn, and at that moment, Aria experienced bone-chilling fear for the first time in centuries. She hurtled after Nyreen.

Catching up, Aria observed Nyreen staring through the window of the mining shaft's door. Tossing her Talon pistol aside, the mercenary leader remarked "We're going to need bigger guns. Lots of bigger guns."


	38. Set Us Up the Bomb

A/N: Mass Effect has many systems with trillions of beings that are neither depicted in the games nor referenced in Codex, literature, or any reliable source. Thus, I have added some because there aren't enough population centers mentioned in canon to make use of other than homeworlds and a handful of heavily-trafficked areas (e.g. Illium). The names of clusters and planets are references to something, usually scifi, rather than concerning myself with whether it sounds "authentic" to the ME-verse.

**Chapter 37 – Set Up Us the Bomb**

Patricia Tannis sighed contentedly. Her work on a translation matrix had finally made some progress against the small-script Eridian writings she'd found along with bigger, simpler instructions meant for lower classes within Eridian society. Some of it represented information Sarah had already imparted to her, which made sense as it seemed Sarah represented some kind of Eridian fail-safe device, only to be used in the direst of circumstances.

She knew _why_ the ridiculous woman named Sarah had been created—as an initial attempt at ensuring Pandora didn't develop dangerous technology and to keep any Eridian leftovers out of the wrong hands. She didn't know how this First Siren came to be, nor did she have a clue about the origins of her "sisters" who were let loose after Sarah proved to be too powerful for her own good. They'd reigned in the First Siren and assisted the Eridians in imprisoning her under the Prime Vault.

Another interesting discovery revolved around Siren lifespans. Sirens did not age normally, that was for sure. In theory they could live forever. As to how Maya gained years so quickly when every Eridian writing pointed to near-immortal being she did not know. She suspected it had something to do with the Eridian tech Maya brought back as the cylinder seemed to impact the passage of time when interacting with the dimension Maya apparently dipped into, but only when connected to a suitable propulsion system—merely holding onto it clearly wasn't enough.

Information regarding the so-called "Infection" and newcomers who arrived through interspatial rifts had been spread throughout the Trans-Galactic Republic's fleet on low-latency channels using boosted S-threads to reach across the roughly 250,000 lightyears that separated Gammas Three and Six without large delays. Patricia Tannis thus hungrily dug into a trove of restricted data originating from a computer intelligence named "Cortana." Apparently, this construct hailing from another parallel had knowledge of this "dark space," known to her/it as "slipspace." Curiously, all records referred to Cortana as "her" and were very insistent upon the term despite Cortana being, as far as Tannis could tell, nothing more than an extremely sophisticated computer program.

"Hmph" she huffed after reading yet another reference to "her calculations." If her intellectual inferiors wanted to pretend electrons could be alive, so be it. All that mattered to Tannis was the data, of which there existed a massive amount.

The whole "parallels" thing Sarah dumped into Tannis' protesting brain made more sense now. Cortana and the "Master Chief" originated from another parallel in which society in Gamma-Six developed along radically different lines. Due to an extra-universal invasion, the Eridians did not make a hasty exit through the Vortex as they had in the universe Tannis lived in. That resulted in a completely unrecognizable civilization developing with utterly alien technology. Speaking of aliens, the non-human species described in Cortana's memories looked nothing like those Tannis had encountered. Evolution did strange things… Or perhaps the Eridians had a hand in it. Maybe both!

Most importantly, the faster-than-light solution utilized by most inhabitants of this parallel revolved around "slipspace." Some usages were more advanced than others—the "UNSC" Cortana belonged to didn't have much of a grasp on it. Their abilities were akin to performing surgery with a dull butter knife, while their opponents-turned-allies called the "Covenant" possessed a superior version of the "slipspace drive" that might have been a laser scalpel (of course too expensive for Pandora's few actual doctors to afford). The Covenant's success stemmed from their computers which could cut into this alternate dimension much more cleanly. UNSC hardware couldn't even begin to guess at these levels of sophistication—but this lower form of the technology _could_ be reproduced with the right materials in Tannis' own universe. Solving the equations that permitted such travel to occur yielded no dangerous residuals whose presence indicated damage to space itself. Of course, the "UNSC-drive" had the downside of being slow, which is where Jackie Jakobs' notes came in.

While the drives for which Cortana's memories contained sufficient information to build traveled at around 960 times the speed of light, Jackie's designs could reach at least a million times the speed of light with no noticeable time-distortions. The time-distortion element was important because it was the reason Maya was apparently given the strange cylindrical device—in eleven dimensions, the faster one's speed, the greater the difference between time passed onboard the ship and time passed in the "outside universe." Beyond the million mark, even Jackie's ideas began to break down _unless_ one accepted time dilation anywhere from almost nothing to ten thousand times different, seemingly at random. Obviously, at the extreme end one could end up having time pass by so quickly during travel that the crew would be dead over the course of a week-long trip, since over a millennium could elapse inside the ship in the worst case scenario. The ship might not even make it due to component aging causing the drive to fail.

The small cylinder Maya carried back (and Kevin Filner had, last she'd seen) was supposed to avoid all these problems, permitting high-speed travel under the right conditions. The large-print script ordering servants to harvest resources from galaxies not even on the star charts made sense now—if they could almost step through a portal to get there and return, billions of lightyears in distance suddenly meant nothing. These servant-classes were carefully hidden from the lesser races, who saw the Eridians (or "Forerunners" in Cortana's plane of origin) as near-gods. Their technology merited such descriptions. Their planning, not so much considering the current state of the universe—interspatial rifts, a biological menace, and Sarah on a rampage all at once.

The aged Siren had recorded notes about how an alternate-universe Jackie Jakobs had instructed her to retrieve something from the Jakobs family vaults in this universe. The alt-Jackie hadn't said what it would be, though Maya suspected it had to either consist of more cylinders or the ability to create copies. Some kind of slipspace anomaly had pulled the blue-haired woman through a portal on the back of a black hole thresher into this other parallel, but only temporarily. Like a rubber band used to hold a stack of cards together, it eventually snapped back, returning Maya to her plane of origin. Of note, it did not do so in a friendly fashion, causing the supposedly-immortal and eternally-young Siren to gain decades of wear-and-tear on a body that was supposed to be immune to such things.

As much as she detested speaking with others, she knew these results would be of interest. Now, how to do that when those who needed this information were a galaxy away? She put in a communication request for _Amerigo_'s high-powered main transceiver, the very same which had received the data she'd been working on regarding slipspace.

[…]

So far, totals from Sarah's rampages totaled in the tens of millions, perhaps slightly more than that. She'd been hitting low-population centers similar to the Infection—so it kept death counts low. Unfortunately for the galaxy, a budding Infection in Falcon's Way, a known criminal haven deep in the Terminus, drew her attention.

Being able to sterilize entire planets in a very short time, Sarah normally would have burned the Infection and moved on. However, a development in the Eisley system on Rebo caught her attention, or more specifically Zera Zelit, who operated _Siren Serenade_'s sensors due to Sarah being required to essentially serve as a power core.

"Massive biological reading on the third-largest continent" she reported to the others. As a ship of destruction built with digistruction and Eridian tech, _Serenade_ operated perfectly fine with a minimal crew—mainly because the ship was almost alive with the Current that flowed through those onboard. The vessel itself had no awareness or sapience, but as a consequence of its living power source (whether it be Sarah or the formerly-kidnapped students) the ship acted as though it possessed some intelligence through the collective neural net of those powering it.

"Why should we care?" demanded Venera Sola. "Destroy it and continue our mission!"

"This is not simply a pile of dead bodies" replied Urthula Shurken. "I sense an intelligence. An intellect within the Infection there."

"That still doesn't explain why we're not burning it" shot back Venera. "I've seen a lot of interesting trinkets for sale in shadowports, but that doesn't mean I stop and look at every single one as if I'm angling to buy!"

Though Sarah remained at the heart of _Serenade_, she could and did communicate telepathically with her Lady Finger underlings.

"Our purpose is to clean up Eridian messes" she intoned. "It doesn't matter why or how."

With that, pink fire rained down on Rebo. It had been a hub for all sorts of questionable activity—"Omega with more hookers" was one of the kinder descriptions of it. Red sand users got high in the streets and many types of drugs that raised eyebrows even on Illium were tested here. In fact, the Cerberus front New Dawn Pharmaceuticals tested omega-enkaphalin on resident asari maidens working as dancers (among other things). A rumor began that a disease spread through shared needles used for injecting Minagen X3, as many of these asari possessed only minimal biotic powers, hence their career choices, and sought to enhance them using illegal substances even if only for self-defense. Because of the relative lack of biotic potential among the maidens, significant amounts of omega-enkaphalin caused them to lose all biotic ability. These "stripped asari" were unfortunately exported offworld as a commodity, though to find one in Citadel space remained unheard-of due both to the shame felt by the asari and the fairly obvious implication of a non-biotic asari since they all originated from Rebo—it would bring anti-trafficking authorities down on one's head!

Ultimately, the rumor stuck just like many other spaceport-swapped tales with little science or credible research to knock it down. Thus, asari tended to fear treading on Rebo, keeping their population there low. The Council had no official statement other than "Civilian travel to the Eisley System is strongly discouraged."

When the Infection arrived from Omega, lawless gangs were slow to confront it. Many tales of horrible experiments gone wrong, from alleged captive threshers to giant genetically-modified krogan (some truth existed to the latter rumor—some of the research done on Rebo ultimately ended up incorporated into Cerberus' "X1" project). Thus, when another spacer checked in with soiled pants and stories of some kind of disgusting biomass that "ate everything," the general reaction was to stay away from it and it would hopefully leave everyone alone.

How wrong that was.

Without direction, Infected beings merely rampaged about killing anything in their path to create more biomass for further Infection. However, once coordinated, the Infection became orders of magnitude more dangerous. They became capable of tactical maneuvers, from flanking to sneak attacks or distractions.

The Infection on Rebo moved extremely quickly for several reasons. The first already mentioned had to do with having a clear goal rather than simply destroying everything. Secondly, as a haven for galactic outcasts there existed a massive vorcha population on Rebo. Most were mercenaries of some kind, working mainly for the Blood Pack. As the Special Tasks Group had documented, the Infected vorcha form proved vicious, slashing, cutting and ripping using an enhanced version of the host's natural claws/teeth. Third, mercenary turians controlled many of the gangs and also served as soldiers. The Infection made good use of turian hosts, who retained the ability to operate the trappings of civilization: computers, vehicles, weapons, and control panels.

As a haven for hired guns, krogan were also common on Rebo. It turned out mismatched, irregular armies were no match for large numbers of Infected tanks whose death knells brought many over to the side of the Infection, or at least reduced enemy combat effectiveness through their penetrating spikes. Hosts not taken were converted to biomass.

Within a month, Rebo resembled nothing more than a writhing yellow-brown mass—just like the ones Tannis and Sarah saw in their visions.

Overseen by a hyper-advanced Infected form that Cortana would later refer to as a "Key Mind," the Infection on Rebo planned to strike out in order to create more of itself as it had been directed to do. Sarah represented the greatest threat against further Infection, though who or what she was remained unknown to the intelligence guiding the entire process all the way from Omega.

Thus, when the _Siren Serenade_ arrived to pulverize from orbit, it became apparent what must be done. No more piecemeal semi-stealth, taking only systems that would not draw the attention of the alleged central government, learned about through assimilation. Create as many Infected as possible and overwhelm the entire galaxy before the strange black starship could finish its work. As the Rebo intelligence died in a fiery cataclysm, it launched as many ships as still flew from the myriad former bazaars on the planet's surface. Most failed to escape, but a few managed to make it past the daunting black battleship and engage their lightspeed drives before the usual pulse went off and fried all FTL in the area.

"Now was that so hard?" mocked Venera after the required few hours of sterilization had been completed.

Zera, retaining her lessons on vision from Sarah, still questioned the trigger-happy attitude Venera displayed. "We might have learned something important, regardless of our overall duty. If we are to defeat the enemy, would it not be best to learn how it works so we may create the best possible method to destroy it?"

"Stop over-thinking things" laughed Venera. "All that matters is that the Infection fries!"

This also meant the deaths of tens of millions more who had already fallen prey to the Infection. That did not matter to the Lady Fingers, though, as their only concern was carrying out their duty—cleaning up messes as dictated by the Forebears through Sarah. This brought the death-count to double what it had been previously.

[…]

"Might I point out that if we hadn't charged right in like that, we wouldn't be dangling over a mine shaft?"

Aria spoke as if suggesting tea time while glaring at Nyreen.

The response shook both turian and asari to the bone, as it was both mental and physical.

**Escape, you will not**

**Now mine, this station will rot**

**A glorious grave**

"This is my station!" raged Aria. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You'll burn!"

Nyreen couldn't resist the opportunity. "I'm not sure how you're going to accomplish that, dear, if you're hanging by a leg, upside-down, over a three-hundred meter cooling shaft."

**Wise, uncrested one**

**Your rule here now is done**

**Give in to your death**

"How the hell do we even know what this is? It's probably a trick! And don't tell me that if only we'd been gentler we could talk our way out of this. All you ever do is talk!"

At this point, Nyreen stopped acting nice. Aria's pride and insufferable belief in her own way of doing things had gotten her in trouble before, but this was a whole different level. The practical thing would have been to evacuate the station and detonate its power core, but the "pirate queen" objected to that on two counts. One, no retreat from something she saw as solvable. Two, evacuate? Prior to the people of Omega witnessing her triumph by fire? Unlikely, and a waste of resources to boot!

"Aria, you had a chance" lectured Nyreen. "You had a chance to contain this by working with Dr. Abrams. By recalling Mordin, or even organizing more effective anti-Infection protocols. At very minimum, _not angering the people with the most advanced technology by stealing their ship and nearly getting yourself taken prisoner_ would have been a good move."

"Well" huffed Aria, still dangling and starting to become woozy from being upside-down for so long. "I see how it is. I was just trying to protect _you_, and this is how you act?"

"I think you're the one who needs protecting at this point" shot back the turian. "I'm not the one whose face is turning purple."

**Thresher maw ignores**

**Varren fighting at its door**

**Before eating them**

Not seeing any visible mouth or other source of sound, Nyreen decided to just shout and hope whatever had the pair in its tentacles could hear.

"What are you?"

Her reedy voice echoed through a shaft that normally carried huge amounts of waste heat from the lower portions of the mine shaft.

**Your great ignorance**

**Let my small seed grow unchecked**

**Bickering in trance**

"Did you swallow a politician or two?" called out Nyreen. "Because that didn't really answer my question!"

In the meantime, whatever it was righted Aria who no longer felt as though her face would explode. Unfortunately for anyone hoping she'd keep quiet, she tore right in.

"Oh ho" she taunted. "So you have a bit of me in you after all!"

"The difference between you and I is that you have one mode. As you've seen, I adapt."

"Hitting harder counts as adapting" pouted Aria. "You're just too weak to see that."

Again refusing to engage in petty tit-for-tat, Nyreen went for the practical question. "Are you going to eat us?"

In response, the tentacles which had plucked both Aria and Nyreen from the hallway where they'd been standing placed them back on the broken ledge.

"Hah" muttered Aria. "Escape, you will not" she said in an exaggerated tone. "Right. Here we are, leaving."

As both walked back along the hallway, in a flash a tendril emerged from a vent, slamming Aria into the nearest wall. By luck or by charm, no ruptures occurred in her suit—given Infection concentrations she would have been done for in seconds—but she groaned in pain, unable to stand and holding her stomach.

"I suggest not pissing it off" noted Nyreen, using her biotic abilities to lift Aria and float her toward the corridor's end.

"Never…surrender" moaned the wounded crime-boss. "Never…give in."

"You know, there's something called picking your battles" remarked Kandros, as if commenting on a Kepesh-Yakshi match.

Losing consciousness, Aria made one last gesture. One she'd picked up from the humans, or at least she tried. Her weakened state did not permit her to complete it, though Nyreen got the general idea.

"I'm sure you'd like to" she whispered as her on-again, off-again lover fell unconscious.

[…]

A partially-loaded gun stood superior to having no gun, went the new logic at the Citadel Council. Thus, _Maxthons_ with traditional hyperdrives were ordered despite the danger to space posed by the use of that method of propulsion. Only the SETTLE Center had the blueprints and equipment necessary to construct such ships, probably contributing to the rest of the galaxy's non-effort when prodded by the Council to chip in and build some of their own. In theory, the plans were supposed to be shared within CRITICAL, but in practice authorizing release of the _entire_ ship plan to an individual Council military rather than the combined Citadel defense fleet proved politically impossible. With the completion of _Elizabeth Booker_, all three docking bays were available to begin digistructing simultaneously.

Contrary to jokes made by late-night comedy shows, the absence of the dynamic Tali/Gaige duo did not prevent the construction ("at an undisclosed, secret location") from commencing. Most of their contributions had been designs which were all finalized and ready for mass-production, so all that remained was to supply sufficient inputs and the digistruction machinery would do the rest. This was made simpler by hypermatter shipments arriving from the Trans-Galactic Republic, which continued to supply its forces in Gamma-Six, contrary to fears that the Infection would leave the Great Opportunities Fleet abandoned.

Such massive amounts of shipping made it hard to completely conceal where the Trans-Galactic Republic's ships loaded and unloaded their cargo despite efforts at keeping everything low-key. Smuggling had always been a part of shipping in the Home Galaxy and beyond—in fact, nobody could recall a time there wasn't a huge shadow-industry of moving questionable goods around. Even with sensor technology that could spot a ship inbound via hyperdrive, space was still unimaginably huge. Consequently, regulations regarding cargo were enforced sporadically at best unless the vessel in question belonged to the Trans-Galactic Republic's Spacelane Protection forces. Even then, sufficient payments into the right pockets could cause small "oversights" working to the advantage of the well-connected smuggler. This is precisely how an asari working on behalf of human supremacists managed to steal hundreds of tons of hibridium intended for an experiment aboard the Council vessel _Destiny Ascension_.

The huge and cumbersome heavy cruisers known as _Curators_ were not optimized for traffic enforcement. Everyone knew the turning rate of such a vessel was limited, and highly-maneuverable craft could easily frustrate its turbolasers which were intended to strike capital ships. Even in fast-track mode, landing hits was difficult. Those seeking to avoid or annoy the Trans-Galactic Republic's Spacelane Protection now understood after years of the outsiders' presence to use small, fast ships that could not be easily crushed by powerful but slow weaponry.

The supercarriers _Skywalker_ and _Solstice_, having had little to do thus far, were given the somewhat tiresome task of using their fighter squadrons to inspect both incoming and outgoing traffic from what had become known as Staging Point Alpha—aka the Citadel itself. Rather than operate in secret, the Trans-Galactic Republic decided to have all their inbound freight arrive in one place where it could (in theory) be easily protected. However, overlapping or conflicting jurisdictions caused slowdowns—Infection inspections turned it into a crawl. Among smugglers, it had become fashionable to attach small cargo containers to the exterior of Spacelane Protection's behemoth freighters which blended in with the bumpy, irregular surface of the ship. These containers were detached and shuffled away when their unwitting host stopped for yet another Infection-check. Spotting these sensor-baffled containers became a job for fighter pilots used to knocking down opposing aces in furball dogfights. From the perfectly-average _Raptor_ to the agile _Slasher_, these one-crew craft darted in and out among sluggish cargo-haulers, using specialized detection packages to search for that which did not want to be found.

The average capital ship could hold a wing or two of fighters. A Star Dreadnaught, thousands. Supercarriers, being closer to the size of Star Dreadnaughts than ships-of-the-line with a dedicated support role? Twenty thousand or more. Unlike its Citadel brethren, a Trans-Galactic Republic supercarrier could take care of itself in ship-to-ship combat long enough for its fighters to harry attackers into turning tail. Similarly to how the Council refused to rely on Urdnot Wrex alone to usher in a peaceful rise for the krogan, the Trans-Galactic Republic would not bet everything on the Council's usual superstar agent to figure out what in the name of Skywalker everyone was going on about in the Terminus. Only fitting that _RNS Skywalker_ then received orders to hyperspace to the Omega Nebula.

It was with some amusement that Admiral Allison Nimitz found herself overseeing the transfer of advanced hyperdrives to the SETTLE Center. The whole point of CRITICAL/SETTLE revolved around transcending the technologies of both parties and coming up with something better, but given developments surrounding hyper-zero, it seemed that _wasn't_ actually the best solution after all. Since the fastest hyperdrives rated at tens of millions of times the speed of light, they were considered rather hot items—ripe for stealing and reselling into hands willing to pay an obscene sum. The Class 1.0 units under transfer would easily have fetched a billion credits _each_, enough to build a horde of bog-standard cruisers or even dreadnaughts.

Seven hyperdrives were brought in on _Watch Your Step_, unloaded carefully by automated processes. Running the digistruction machinery at full-speed would produce three new cruisers in roughly four months' time, assuming no delays. By that point, the shipment marked on _Mind the Gap_ would have arrived with three more units, for a total of ten.

Thinking the comparatively small scale of operation in Gamma-Six would make things simpler, Nimitz found herself in for an unwelcome surprise. Not only were smugglers at least as common if not more so than in the Home Galaxy, the relative difference between the Home Galaxy's technological state and Gamma-Six only served to encourage _more_ unscrupulous people to join the second-oldest profession.

"Well, that's why we have the hotshots hanging around freighters like baby nerfs suckling milk." If there was anything funnier than space-aviators being forced to run inspection duty, the Admiral had yet to experience it. They moaned, complained, and did all manner of ridiculous things to get out of, as they put it, "a humiliating waste of the hundreds of thousands of credits invested in us and thousands of hours of combat we've each had." One paid a mechanic to hook his fighter's coolant lines in backward. Another grew her hair out longer than regulations allowed, hoping to avoid the chore by spending the day at the barber. The record had to be the one who claimed to have a proximity-based allergy to the emissions from freighter engines. You know, the very same ion engine technology virtually every ship in the Home Galaxy and its nine satellites used.

"Nice try" laughed his commanding officer. "Next time, be a little more creative!"

Thus, when RNS _Skywalker_ received departure orders, a crush of pilots tried to transfer from _Solstice_. Most didn't get their wish, though a few well-connected ones were able to receive "Orders to Report to a New Duty Station."

[…]

Armando-Owen Bailey found himself a celebrity back on the Citadel. His survival after being imprisoned by Sarah (whose purported abilities moved from awe-inspiring to legendary before finally settling on flat-out ridiculous) got him a huge number of interview requests. Since he still technically worked for C-Sec, the front office had to hire a team of media specialists just to handle all the inquiries for Bailey alone.

The axiom that "Truth is stranger than fiction" kicked in hard regarding Bailey's Current-based abilities. He'd manifested something that hadn't been seen in any humans at all within Gamma-Six and thus remained unknown to either medical or military science. The Trans-Galactic Republic also found him a curiosity, but not for the reason one might be initially led to believe. After the deaths of his Republic Intelligence Service handlers courtesy of Sarah, it turned out his situation had been so heavily compartmented that no one else within the Great Opportunities Fleet was really aware of who or what he was. He actually got taken into protective custody at one point, after which he was debriefed by Admiral Nimitz herself. Due to everything he'd been told, she didn't get much, not even a demonstration.

"When you're dealing with these secret agent types, it's best to do as they say, even if the people who told you are dead" he'd replied upon being asked to elaborate on the nature of his powers.

Though he dearly wanted to go back to being "just a cop," he knew that wasn't going to happen. Bailey took a leave of absence that became rather permanent as he took up lecturing at the KOMBT School—more practical minds had prevailed in suggesting a focus other than simply turning out "ICT Ready" graduates when the Systems Alliance had no way to use them all. Furthermore, this wasn't relevant for most non-human students anyway as the Systems Alliance military, despite the new "openness" was reluctant to grant privileged access and rank to non-humans. Thus, the addition of "C-Sec prep" courses which Bailey spearheaded was deemed a welcome expansion to the curriculum.

"Just because Shepard gets away with punching suspects doesn't mean you can" said Bailey to a disappointed crop of students. "Roughing up arrestees is great for the vids and something Spectres can do, but anyone else—you do that, and a defense lawyer will gut the prosecution's case. Do you want to be responsible for a criminal walking?"

He put a particularly hard edge on the last sentence. He'd seen more than one perp walk because of an overzealous cop or two. Sadly, some of these suspects were truly dangerous individuals who then went on to commit other (in a few cases worse) crimes than the one they skated out from underneath.

Really, in the absence of Jack and Brick, "school" came to better describe Kinetic-Oriented Multiple Belligerent Training, rather than "hodgepodge of combat and freewheeling instruction that somehow ends up meeting ICT prep standards." Sure, you couldn't argue with results. At least not when they were _successful_ results—a single instance of something not working would bring the weight of CRITICAL down on KOMBT's collective heads since they'd been allowed to operate in a mostly-ignoring-regulations fashion during the war. In wartime, anything went. Except, the war was kind of over. The politicians (and some parents) were gratified to see a more formal structure emerging at the institution. Gone were "Well, let's just start today with sparring and see where it goes," replaced by regulated schedules for each student.

Ultimately, this slowed progress slightly but rested on sounder methods, at least according to those who believed Jack and Brick were too unorthodox. Students learning about concepts like acceptable use of force, evidence handling, or case process struck many as a good way to fill the still-gaping ranks of C-Sec that remained empty after the United Defense Command's dissolution. Due to the UDC's pervasive influence in virtually all aspects of government (as a good military junta would do), many C-Sec officers found themselves out of a job due to past actions—"just following orders" was deemed insufficient for "patently abusive, morally reprehensible actions" including trafficking in slaves and dereliction of duty. Selective enforcement of laws had not been restricted to Maximilian Xytler's fleet, meaning whether one's day ended up ruined depended greatly on which C-Sec beat cop patrolled your street.

Bailey, doing work as a "consultant" in his spare time, gleefully red-marked the files of dozens of corrupt officers. A few were even holdovers from the days of Sovereign and the geth—some, mainly turians, had been abusing their power over anger regarding the first human Spectre and the fact that suddenly, humanity gained prominence and a Council seat. The latter also drove bitterness among volus (having long been a turian client race but denied an embassy) and salarians. A few from those species also found themselves needing to brush up their résumés and crafting some explanation for their dishonorable separation from Citadel law enforcement. In the end, many students would find openings to be had on the asking. Should anyone question it, his response would be to point to the Council Page Program—in theory, they'd been promoted their based on skill and achievements, not connections. So if anyone was going to complain about nepotism, try the one that had been around for centuries and did no good other than offering the already-connected a chance to become even more so, rather than targeting a program that filled badly-needed spots on a stretched-thin police force.

[…]

Despite the Jakobs shareholder vote for "stay the course," without active engagement from the other corporations (until they all decided to team up on Jakobs anyway) the former alliance fragmented. With the departure of the Trans-Galactic Republic, dispensary of frontier justice seemed very likely.

In a stroke of what could only be called stupidity, the multi-galactic super-government left in a hurry, leaving theoretically disabled but otherwise still-somewhat-spaceworthy _Aspirations Toward Infinity_-class dreadnaughts drifting in space after subjecting them to a mild bombardment courtesy of RNS _Endless Calm_. Said ship departed with the fleet after performing this task, though Captain Anna Erickson didn't know what use, if anything, her commanders in Gamma-Six would have for a ship deemed obsolete.

These floating hulks, including _Sustaining Rage_ and _Strength Through Rage_, were recovered by salvage teams working on behalf of the as-yet-unnamed "anti-Jakobs alliance" and then dragged to Plutus. The Trans-Galactic Republic previously pulled all personnel from the vessels, leaving them empty. Recovery crews had to use environmental suits to survive within the ships whose heat had long since dissipated into space, and whose oxygen had been shut off.

Captain Crayol transferred his flag to one of the more functional vessels—Xytler's old flagship, _Menacing Hatred_. Without primary power, the ship wasn't much more than a cheap floating space motel, but using digistruction it would be restored more quickly than via traditional methods. Happily, he was able to change the name to something more his liking, DSS _Bloodhound_.

"If Jakobs won't reveal the vault, we will search the planet until we find it" he vowed.

Unfortunately for search efforts, Plutus had a varied climate from deserts to oceans and forests, so multiple types of explorations would be required. Most settlements fell within the "grassland bowl" surrounded by mountains a few hundred klicks distant on all sides. Historians suggested a massive impact created the crater now home to most corporate offices, but little research was performed in this area due to lack of interest.

Mallory and Malcolm requisitioned _Mailed Fist_, now MSS _Strident Revenge_, alongside Torgue's EXPLOSIVE VICTORY (previously _Enveloping Darkness_). Though none had much clue as to how the abandoned flying guns worked, they didn't need to—digistruction took care of everything.

"Is it just me, or is that creepy?" asked Mallory. "We turn these digistruction machines loose on ships built in another galaxy by an entirely different civilization, and it just works?"

"Mal, I'd take what we can get at this point" replied her husband. "If we don't figure out what Jakobs is up to, it won't matter how this ship got fixed if the universe implodes or something."

That the ships had been built with digistruction was not known to the Maliwans.

Once any vaults were found, it was mutually-agreed-upon that these reappropriated weapons would be used to blast them open. The rub remained finding the vault(s), since the message had absolutely no detail on where Jakobs hid the goods. The group resigned themselves to searching the hard way, until Torgue made a suggestion at the first formal meeting of the group now dubbed AJA for the sake of brevity.

WE SHOULD JUST BLAST THE PLANET UNTIL WE FIND WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR.

"Excuse me?" demanded Kent Clarkson. "What kind of insane strategy is that? Even if we had the technology to blow up a planet, which we don't, why would we destroy our own headquarters world? Why don't we cut off our own heads while we're at it?"

THESE SHIPS ARE AWESOME. THEY MAKE EVERYTHING EXPLODE.

"You're aware that the solution to everything isn't explosions, I take it?" asked Christopher Crayol, before being interrupted by Mallory Maliwan.

"You do realize who you're talking to, right? Or have you not been made aware of Torgue Flexington's unique approach to life?"

YOUR ADVOCACY IS APPRECIATED.

"Hold on" parried Mallory, "I'm not saying I agree—just that I'd expect you to suggest some over-the-top solution that involves blowing up way more than necessary."

"How powerful are the guns on these ships?" demanded Clarkson, suddenly coming to a realization.

"You're not seriously agreeing…" gasped Mallory.

"Have you gone nuts?" demanded Malcolm.

SOMEONE ELSE APPRECIATES EXPLOSIONS.

"Who says the ordinance needs to explode?" laughed Clarkson. "If these guns can drill deep enough into the planet, equip them with some kind of ground-penetrating sensor array and something like a vault might show up! Easier than poking around on the surface or trying to look from up here, at least."

The looks Clarkson got could have been for him having two heads.

"Okay, guys, am I crazy, or does that actually work?" He cast about looking for support.

"Using guns" began Mallory.

"As drills" finished Malcolm. "Only here would anyone suggest something like that. I mean, I'm all for trying it, but seriously? We don't have, oh, _mining equipment?_"

"I think the problem is that the mining equipment isn't nearby" replied Crayol. "Dahl certainly has heavy diggers, but not aboard any ship we brought today. By the time it gets here, whatever Jakobs set off could be past the point of no return."

Being weapons experts, the Maliwans and Torgue set about seeing if Clarkson's idea could be made into a reality. Normally, the triple cannons on an _Aspirations_-type vessel fired ordinance wrapped in some kind of energy envelope, but that wouldn't help carry sensor equipment into planetary crust since the usual destructive payload would leave no room for anything else. Working with Clarkson, the trio sketched out a rough pattern for searching a given area on the planet below.

"These guns aren't going to be precise enough to drill a straight hole" observed Malcolm. "At least not without some adjustment."

"That's why we have you, dear." Mallory might have known everything about chemistry and how it applied to weapons, but actual weapon design wasn't her area of expertise—Malcolm handled that. Though these were orders of magnitude larger than handheld firearms, he took to the task with aplomb. Were Garrus Vakarian present, he might have taken a crack or two at being the superior calibrator. In the end, extensive fine-tuning ended up producing settings for the coilguns that while not very destructive, were exceptionally accurate. The resulting 95% radius (that is, 95% of projectiles would fall within a circle of given size) ended up being five meters for a one-meter-diameter round. Even from orbit. Such accuracy demanded a far lower fire rate to avoid overheating which would reduce accuracy, which ironically put the triple barrels to use as Sapiens' Shield originally thought—rotation through rather than rapid fire.

"This has to be the most hackneyed, random solution I've ever seen" remarked Mallory. "But if we're going to figure out what Jakobs is up to, we have to move fast."

Back on Pandora, Roland sought to figure out how to return to his own universe. As he'd pointed out to Axton, this was the sort of stuff Patricia Tannis loved, not something for the minds of soldiers. Since Axton took off for some kind of "junior commando training" gig, Roland had sought out whoever was left around the Badass Arena of Badassitude to learn more about the world he now resided on. He'd only found one person willing to speak to him or give any information worth having—an enigmatic being known only as "Zer0" who insisted on speaking in haikus most of the time.

"We've been abandoned / They seek adventure elsewhere / I hope they found it"

"Even Moxxi's gone and left! That must take something really important—the one I know would refuse to leave her arena for anything!"

Roland had grabbed another rakkahol—but without much currency (going to the bathroom didn't usually demand bringing one's bank account) he had to settle for cheap swill. He'd tried asking the new bartender what was going on only to be rebuffed.

"First, I'm not Moxxi. Second, why does everyone think bartenders are all-knowing?"

Roland looked back at his beer. Disgusted at its taste (or lack of), he slid it down the bar and swiveled to face Zer0 again.

"Moxxi took Jackie / She must be crazy or brave / Done this once before"

"Why would Moxxi take that insane woman under her wing again? There's not even any money to be made this time!"

Breaking his usual speaking pattern, Zer0 responded "They are connected in ways that elude logic."

"Does she _love_ that nutcase? You said it seemed like they were mother and child, but… It's just so hard to make sense of, especially considering what a nasty person Jackie is!"

[…]

Samantha Shepard cued up the addressing system aboard _Normandy SR-2.5_.

"Here we go again, off on a magical adventure!" she began mockingly. "I'm pretty sure if this were an omnivid I'd be giving some kind of inspirational speech about going in there and kicking the Infection's ass, burning it out of existence, and coming back with everyone alive. I'm going to be brutally honest—I'm not sure I like our odds this time."

_Normandy_ jumped into hyper-zero, hurtling toward the Nemean Abyss at maximum speed. The few who saw the ship's transition to faster-than-light turned green with envy due to speed restrictions on virtually everyone else.

"Even though this is the most dangerous mission we've ever gone on" (she would have chewed out the many snickering crew members who noted among themselves that with Shepard, every mission ended up more dangerous than the last), "I expect nothing less than your best. To hesitate means death. To flinch means failure."

Cortana modified the holographic projectors somewhat with Tali's assistance—on the Combat Information Center deck she could project herself life-size and "walk" around in the area surrounding the Galaxy Map and ship status display. This was also possible with other holographic terminals—Tali had been working on the non-CIC projectors at SETTLE before the ship's departure. A through-and-through holographic projection system would require an even bigger overhaul from the sheer number of panels that would have to be taken apart and was not considered a priority. If Shepard needed to walk-and-talk her AI, she could do just that in the areas of the ship most likely to play host to such an activity.

As it stood, Shepard remained at the Galaxy Map with Cortana operating the terminal to which Kelly Chambers had once been assigned. What happened to the yeoman after the Collector battle was not known to the Commander—she'd simply disappeared off the ship (as had several of her other crew members). Unlike those other crew (Jack for example), though, she had not come back.

The integration of mass effect fields into holographic projections had been put to great use in the Armax Arsenal Arena, a popular tourist destination on the Silversun Strip. With digistruction, integration of this technology into projection systems around the CIC was simple—and Cortana thus operated the terminal like an organic.

"It's less efficient, but for the tasks I perform at this station, additional speed brings no gains" she'd commented upon learning of her new ability.

_Less efficient, my ass!_ thought Shepard, upon witnessing Cortana's typing speed exceeding the interface's capability for the seventh time. An amused Tali worked with Gaige to upgrade the terminal to handle Cortana's quite literally inhuman ability to enter information.

"I assume the cloak is operational?" asked Sam.

"Operating at full capacity with no signs of degradation to the crystal matrix. Really, at the rate we're using it, there's no way we'd burn it out even if we ran cloaked every day for longer than several standard human lifespans."

"I'm not standard" pouted the _Normandy_'s CO.

"Indeed you are not. Even accounting for your likely centuries-long life, this cloaking device will be around until your great-great-great grandkids have great-great-great grandkids of their own!"

Sam watched the _Normandy_-shaped indicator on the Galaxy Map move toward the Abyss. She'd heard rumors that Aria T'Loak had defeated Trans-Galactic Republic cloaking technology using rather primitive methods, but hadn't been able to find out whether the bypass would work on _Normandy_. Not that she anticipated fighting Aria, of course—only that if anyone _else_ got it through their heads how the criminal kingpin asari accomplished the feat, that her ship might find itself more exposed than she thought it would be.

It would take maybe an hour for _Normandy_'s blistering-fast drive to cover the distance between SETTLE and the Nemean Abyss. In that time, Shepard fretted, worried, and strategized. She decided to go talk to the least-talkative person she knew—down in one of the newly-expanded cargo bays.

"Fighting the Flood, are we?" he asked, upon seeing her arrival. "Cortana's been keeping me updated, and she's also brought good news."

"Has this Flood, or Infection, or whatever, decided to call it quits and go home?"

"No" replied the Master Chief. "Working with your engineers, she has deduced ways to maintain and repair my MJOLNIR suit using tools available in this universe. I will gladly join the fight when it begins."

"Maybe you should try some target practice across from the armory on Deck 3" suggested Shepard.

Without a word, the Master Chief grabbed the Widow anti-materiel rifle he had been studying and headed upstairs, leaving Sam shaking her head. _Apparently, he's very confident in his abilities_.

As she always did before and after major engagements (well, when sane anyway), Shepard made a point to stop in to speak with every member of her combat squad. Since she was already on Deck 4, she headed to Grunt's bay across the hall.

"Battlemaster!" he called out excitedly. "What big things are we going to kill today?" He began charging around the room. She winced upon realizing several dents were present on both sides of the cargo bay.

"Calm down, Grunt!" she barked. "You realize you're denting my ship, right?"

Coming to a halt next to her, the krogan did his best "sorry-not-sorry" face. "The thrill of the fight! The glory of battle! This is all preparation and building of the bloodrage!" he roared.

"You keep your bloodrage contained until I say so!" she shouted, injecting as much authority into her voice as possible. "You realize this cargo bay can be ejected into space at the push of a button, right?"

"Oh, all right." Grunt looked disappointed, but stopped storming around the room. He had, after all, been subjected to "offer one hand, arm the other" before—in a _Normandy_ cargo bay upon being awakened as a matter of fact. Plus, Samantha Shepard took down a thresher maw, something not done since Urdnot Wrex. If male krogan were interested in mating with her, she obviously remained not one to be trifled with. Finally, no krogan had actually come back from the dead.

"You'll have a new toy to play with" she continued as if speaking to a child (technically, he was). "Those Trans-Galactic Republic types gave us a whole crate of their big shotguns."

"It's not a Graal, but it kills things!"

Leaving the fidgeting krogan behind, she fully expected him to resume ramming his head into things once she'd stepped onto another deck. She headed back to Brick's armory, where most of the weaponry shipped in from Gamma-Three was kept. It wasn't much, especially considering ammunition limitations on some varieties of larger launchers, but its incendiary focus made it indispensable.

"Hey, Shepard! Come to check out my babies?"

If a krogan could be made human, Brick would probably be the result. Loud, dangerous, obsessed with combat, even prone to his own types of "berserk" fits that came frighteningly close to a krogan's bloodrage. As much prone to "did what I had to" as anyone else from Pandora, Brick made it orders of magnitude more threatening due to his towering stature, near-invulnerability, and tendency to punch first, ask questions later. At the moment, he cleaned a Revenant FireHose, a type of light machine gun combining incendiary ammunition from his own galaxy with the nearly limitless ammunition offered by mass effect munitions.

"This gun will tear the Infection apart! They'll burn before they get within a hundred meters! And if they don't, I'll punch them!"

Shepard chuckled nervously. Against ordinary enemies, such confidence would be warranted, but Brick's in-your-face combat style presented an unacceptable risk facing a foe that could fell you with a handful of cells.

"Brick, I hate to have to say this, but you're going to need to cut back on the punching. I don't want you turning into some horrible, mutated thing."

He wasn't sure whether to be insulted or gratified. Insulted that she'd question his combat abilities, or gratified that she cared enough despite what he'd done to her.

"If you get yourself killed, I'm going to find out what they did to Shepard so I can bring you back to life" said Jack. Neither party was aware she'd been eavesdropping. "Then, I can kill you myself as punishment for dying on me!"

The Commander forced herself to remain silent on the fallacious nature of this logic. It was just who Jack was—she'd once threatened to haunt Shepard on death, and said more than once in a fight "Hello, dead people!"

"Eh he heh" replied Sam. "I wouldn't want to be around if Jack had to deal with your passing. So try to stay alive."

"You guys are no fun!"

"Yeah?" shot back Jack. "Think about all the _fun_ you won't be having if I'm here and you're not! Besides, you gonna let Psychotic Biotics win forever and ever?"

Shepard leaned in to speak to Jack. "You're glowing."

Her anger over the possibility of losing her first shot at a normal relationship to complete her otherwise-normal life as a teacher manifested itself in a biotic aura. She dragged her Commander out of the room. Realizing Jack had something to say that she didn't want anyone else to hear, Shepard headed toward Jack's slightly-less-hovel-like quarters diagonally across from Brick.

"Well, this is nice!" commented Sam brightly upon seeing an actual bed (unmade, of course).

"Shut up and listen" hissed Jack. "You let him get himself killed, I can't…I can't say I won't come after you. You promise me he'll come back!"

"Jack, you know I can't make a guarantee like that. What I can and will do is lock him in his damn cargo bay if he doesn't follow my orders to stay back, away from the Infection. If he wants to blast it from a hundred meters, I'll let him. If he tries to charge in to punch it to death, I'll knock him out myself."

"Good. Because if he dies, I'm blaming you." Sam had not heard this tone too many times—the last recollection of it was when Jack held up the biotic barrier inside the Collector Base. That was the first instance when she'd actually seemed to take anything seriously or care about anyone other than herself. Apparently, enough time in Shepard's company could make even the most hardened criminals reform, if only by a small amount.

Jack blocked the door. A small woman of her stature would normally be nothing against a 75kg Systems Alliance Marine with N7 designation, but Jack's size hid powers capable of incomprehensible destruction. Sam had seen it first-hand when Jack, her biotics pent-up aboard the prison ship _Purgatory_, punched through several heavy YMIR Mechs with nothing more than her fists.

"You keep him under control, you got me?"

Sam could see tears rolling down Jack's face.

"Understood, instructor. Permission to be dismissed?" Shepard stood straight, as she did in the presence of Admirals such as Hackett or Anderson.

"Granted, but you have homework. _Find ways to keep him safe from himself._"

"Yes ma'am."

She swore she saw a small smile poke through Jack's sullen expression.

_The first thing I'm going to write in this mission report is that from now on, all Spectres should have training in counseling and psychology…_ _Or maybe it's just me attracting all sorts of weirdos, outcasts, broken people, screwed-up people, aliens, inter-dimensional travelers…_

Sam sighed. "I'm only on my first stop—there are two decks of walking issues left."

Thankfully, the chat with Gaige and Tali ran along more upbeat lines. The youngster and quarian engineer got along far better than they had initially.

"Anything shaking loose down here? Need any parts someone forgot to install?"

"For once, Shepard, everything is working and nothing bad has happened."

Gaige immediately joshed the quarian: "Now you did it. Now we're alllllllllllll dead. Because Tali said everything was A-okay!"

"No, seriously, Gaige, the cloak is functioning perfectly. I did some digging on Aria T'Loak's brushes with the Trans-Galactic Republic. The devices she beat are less advanced than ours but far more common. They also mean you can't see where you're going or what's coming at you. Our stygium cloak doesn't suffer from that, nor is it going to be defeated by _magnets_."

"Wait, so it's _true?_" demanded Sam. "Aria used _magnets_ to beat the Trans-Galactic Republic's stealth systems?"

"Not to bore you with tech, but here's what happened: the cloaking system used on most Trans-Galactic Republic ships uses a material called hibridium. It has the advantage of still being mineable since deposits of it actually exist—whereas the stygium that our cloak runs on is really rare. Hibridium does not conceal a starship's magnetic attractiveness, but stygium does. So no one is going to be able to find us with magnets."

"I doubt the Infection is going to be waving magnets at us" replied Shepard. "Still, good to know. How much extra energy do we have down here?"

"Not as much as we used to." Tali gestured at the engineering panel she stood in front of, then stepped aside. "The cloaking device uses a lot of power, especially if we fire the novalasers with it on."

"Why?"

Gaige answered. "Novalasers mean a lot of bright stuff to hide. Cloak dials up to cover the blasters firing so the only part anyone can see are the tips of the barrels, rather than making the whole ship show up."

"The power surge is pretty big" continued Tali. "Worst-case, if we're firing while cloaked and taking hits on our shields, the ship could experience brownouts because between the cloak, shields, and lasers, that's over 70% of the available power for those systems alone. It might even cause some computer systems to reboot."

"So, note to self, don't do that. What about these enhanced shields the Trans-Galactic Republic added when we were docked?"

"Speaking of power, it gets us some." Tali stepped back in front of the engineering console Shepard had been viewing. "See this?" She pointed to an empty green rectangle that appeared on her command.

"Yeah. It's…a blank space. So?"

"Anyone shooting lasers at us gets their shots dumped back in their face" exclaimed Gaige. "Our shield takes energy hitting us and stores it. We can use that for shields, weapons, engines, anything!"

"The problem is the hypercapacitor's limited storage" cautioned Tali. "If it gets too full, the shield reverts to just blocking, rather than absorbing, to avoid overloads. It's really quite remarkable technology." 

Sam watched the "green rectangle" fill. First green (duh), then orange, then red. Once the bar reached into red, the whole icon began flashing.

"That's what it shows if the capacitor is full" explained Tali. "One of these buttons allows instantly dumping all the energy into either shields, weapons, or engines. Or Cortana can manage the entire thing herself."

The icon returned to normal.

"You said sustained fire could overload our power systems. How does that happen if our shields are just turning any enemy shots into energy for us?"

"Shields don't run on nothing, Shepard. And no system is a hundred-percent efficient. Any energy blast gets entirely absorbed so it won't damage us, but the energy doesn't just get shunted into the hypercapacitor. Some gets lost as heat, and that has to…oh the tech would bore you to tears."

"Also, that only works on lasers" added Gaige. "Someone starts throwing rockets at us, we aren't absorbing any of that."

Having experienced enough tech-talk for the day, the Commander took her leave of the engineering duo, heading back to the elevator at the front of the deck.

Stepping out on Deck 3, she headed toward the place Samara the justicar could usually be found meditating. The asari did not disappoint.

Without breaking her trance, she acknowledged Shepard's presence.

"Against threats of this magnitude, I will remain by your side until they have been defeated. The entire galaxy is at stake."

"So I've noticed" replied Sam in a somewhat resigned tone.

"That seems to be a very common theme with you" noted Samara. "When civilization as we know it faces extinction, you are always there shouting 'Not today!' Your tendency to accomplish the impossible in defense of this galaxy is both noteworthy and honorable."

_Did she… Yes, she did just make fun of me... Note to self: justicars are not forbidden from a sense of humor!_

"I don't think I have to lecture you" continued Shepard. "Unlike certain others who are always centimeters away from the enemy, your technique involves staying back and relying on biotic powers."

"That is correct, Commander. I am aware of the extreme danger posed by this invasive life-form and will maintain appropriate distance from it."

"Are…are you okay?"

The asari stood from her meditative pose.

"If you are concerned that the death of Morinth will affect my ability to perform on this mission, you need not be. She made her choices, I made mine, as the Code dictates."

"Good to hear. As always, if you need anything, let me know."

"Your inquiry is appreciated. I will remain here until you call for me."

_Score another "no issues!"_

Upon arriving at Moxxi's Back Door Bar, Shepard expected quite the opposite of her talk with Samara: irreverent, ridiculously upbeat, flirtatious teasing, etc. Instead, she found Moxxi sitting in a lounge chair speaking with Jackie.

_Uh-oh_…

"Am I interrupting?"

"You? Never!" Moxxi walked to the door, while Jackie remained seated. "Let me guess, there's a big battle coming up and you want to make sure everyone is ready."

"Oddly prescient for a bartender" said Shepard suspiciously.

"I don't remember if I ever told you, sugar—I used to be as much of a fighter as Axton, Maya, Lilith, or Roland. Not so much anymore, but with the way things are going, I'll pick up a gun if you need me."

"What about you, Jackie?" called out Sam. "Sure, we're not on Victory Day presents terms with each other, but you've given me no reason to distrust you since coming aboard, and your contributions regarding slipspace have been nothing short of impressive."

Jackie seemed more upbeat than the last time Sam spoke to her. Then again, the last time the two had communicated, it was Jackie trying to apologize for her acting meant to throw her family off balance which Shepard had thought represented a relapse into bad old habits.

"As long as you're not bothered by me picking up weapons again, I guess I can start where I left off. I'm a bit rusty, though…"

"Not a problem" replied Shepard, brushing the concern aside. "If you're anything like me, firing a rifle is like riding a bike—you never forget. Why don't you join the Master Chief in the armory on this deck to get back in practice? I'll have to keep you back for the first few operations, but I'm pretty confident you'll earn front-line status pretty quickly."

"We'll both go" added Moxxi quickly.

Excusing themselves, both women took off for the Deck 3 Firing Range.

_What the heck is going on with those two?_ She vowed to find out, but later.

"Shepard-Commander. How may we assist?"

In the AI Core, Legion stood in its usual place.

"What does the Consensus have to say about the Infection?"

Legion began a rather lengthy monologue, but it contained everything Sam wanted to know so she didn't complain.

"We and units like us have suggested that the Consensus must prepare for the coming assault, as the majority of runtimes remain isolated within the Sphere. That we must be ready is not in dispute. A consensus cannot be reached regarding strategy prior to any direct assault by the Infection against geth space—platforms similar to our own who have been operating among organic races since the cease-fire with the Creators have concluded that organics are not a threat to the geth and would make natural allies against the Infection, which is different than both us and all other nonsynthetic life in this galaxy, seeking to override the free will of all present with an undetermined motive. However, the runtimes within the Sphere do not agree that the geth should utilize military force in defense of organics, but rather only strike against the Infection if it encroaches on geth space."

"From what Cortana told me, the Infection isn't going to care about the geth—they can't use them nor are they viewed as a threat."

"Precisely. While the rest of the galaxy is consumed by the Infection, the geth will remain untouched."

"Is that what you want?" demanded the Commander.

"The runtimes within this platform do not wish to see the Creators and other races consumed by the Infection. Our intelligence platforms have returned a large amount of data on the result of contact between the organics of this galaxy and the extrauniversal Infection agents. This is not something we wish to see, and all other platforms built for the same function as us have created a consensus among ourselves regarding this issue. However, the runtimes within the Sphere do not see preventing this outcome as a priority."

"What about the Reapers? The geth were happy to help out with that!" She knew her anger to be misplaced, but couldn't really help it. It was as if every time she needed something, the universe conspired to provide the opposite, or no help at all.

"We realize this situation creates strong negative emotions within you. However, we are unable to provide any information to the Consensus that would change its viewpoint. The Old Machines were a threat to all residing in this galaxy including the geth. The Infection does not present the same level of danger, therefore, the Consensus position is that there is no logical reason for the geth to involve ourselves."

"Damnit Legion, not everything is about logic!"

"We are aware that organic minds do not always follow the dicta of formal reasoning. This is, however, a method of operation foreign to most geth runtimes. We note that most platforms of similar function to ourselves have experienced an average of three to four incidents during the operational life of the platform for which no data-driven conclusion could be reached for an action."

Shepard smirked. "Like your repeated claims of 'No data available' when I kept asking you why you rebuilt yourself with a piece of my armor. There wasn't a reason you could think of for it, but you did it anyway."

"We are not the only platform to have encountered this issue. To elaborate…"

Unexpectedly, Legion found itself cut off by Cortana, projected from EDI's old terminal between server racks. She appeared full-size within the room.

"How many times?" lectured the UNSC AI. "How many times must we go over this?" Her hands flew over her head as if exasperated.

"Go over what?" asked Sam.

Cortana took on a look of frustration even greater than that which she had just displayed. "Ugh. The geth were programmed in a very literal fashion. They are quite advanced, but they cannot process every created thought. Through some fluke or an intentional element of design, geth are capable of experiencing something akin to organic emotion. Experiencing, but not comprehending. It would drive some AI's mad—but geth don't suffer from rampancy for whatever reason." She almost sounded jealous on the last part.

"We wish to note that these occurrences which we cannot comprehend did not occur until geth platforms left the Perseus Veil and the Sphere of Consensus" added Legion.

"When in Rome…" replied Cortana, still looking mightily annoyed. "Seems stepping outside your doorstep caused the geth to learn something. Something your species couldn't understand. I told the Consensus about this back when I was half-crazy, remember?"

"We recall this series of events. However, the Consensus was disinclined to believe your claimed 'emotions' represented anything beyond degradation of your core programming due to your partially-rampant state."

"Just because you haven't experienced it or met any artificial lifeforms that can have emotions doesn't mean we don't exist" shot back Cortana. "Look, if I tried to describe the color blue to someone who had been born blind, how well do you think that would go?" 

"We understand the concept of emotions" parried the geth "but we cannot experience them."

"Oh, I doubt that very much. You couldn't explain to me why you specifically used a piece of Samantha Shepard's armor to repair a hole in your structure. You couldn't logically defend finding the crash site where that armor fragment was located, which took a significant amount of resources that could have been applied elsewhere. You geth may be programmed to categorically refuse to recognize emotional responses, but you definitely have them."

"Well this is going to end well." Shepard moved as if to leave.

"This platform's runtimes remain willing to assist in the upcoming battle against the Infection, or Flood, as Cortana designates it. Our immunity to assimilation will be useful should close proximity to the Infection or its thralls be required."

"Thanks, Legion."

Sam excused herself and headed down the very long set of hallways that made up the extension to _Normandy_. She really couldn't tell where Cerberus construction stopped and the digistruction carried out at SETTLE began—the work was quite seamless. Still, she intrinsically knew this part of the ship didn't "belong" since it had in fact been sliced in…

"Your ship can vanish at the push of a button" she reminded herself. "That wasn't standard equipment either!"

Dull thumps could be heard as Sam approached the range. She figured she'd find the Master Chief, Jackie, and Moxxi within—but she was surprised to find James, Zaeed, Thane, and Garrus's names on the user board outside in addition to those she expected. She pressed a buzzer to alert those in the range that an unarmed, unarmored person required their attention, so they'd stop shooting and holster their guns. Even in this advanced age, firearm safety remained a serious subject with the usually-casual Commander. Likely, a quick stint in the bacta tank could sort anything out, but just because it could be fixed didn't mean there was a reason for it to happen.

"Commander!" James saluted, before realizing it wasn't necessary. He also caught his eyes wandering—hopefully she hadn't noticed. Then again, why did Sam have an annoying ability to look good in anything, even a faded "N7" t-shirt and cargo pants?

"These people are competent. We should be fine."

"_Competent?_" roared Zaeed, raising a hand with gun-still-in-it. "Now you listen here, you green…"

Cortana cut in, as was her specialty.

"Coming from him? You might as well have won first place in a galactic marksmanship contest."

"Well, I wouldn't say we're just competent. I _did_ recalibrate his shields for a faster recharge and lower delay…"

"…a change that I don't understand how it was possible" huffed the Chief's AI. "I don't know how he does it."

Garrus leaned nonchalantly against a railing. "Well, Legion didn't understand that little thing we organics call 'holding some back for emergencies' either…"

"I am pleased with this rifle" commented Thane, ignoring the back-and-fourth entirely. "It reduces targets to a pile of ash in one shot." He hefted a small, black weapon that bore the distinctive symbol of the Trans-Galactic Republic on its side. Shepard's omnitool didn't recognize it, even with updated databases.

"You're full of yourself, drell" growled Zaeed. "And what happens if you miss? Huh? That thing takes seven seconds to recycle—I'd have the target dropped twice by then!"

"With the danger of being infected by a single cell, I prefer the ability to remove a target from the battlefield in the most complete way possible" replied Thane. "Should I miss my mark, I simply take cover until I am able to fire again."

"As long as the whole team isn't carrying those things, we'll be fine" added James. "We've got his back!"

He noticeably glared at Zaeed on saying this.

Shepard laughed. "James, you haven't spent much time around Zaeed Massani, have you?"

"I'm glad I haven't" replied the other N7.

"Stow it, you two" ordered Shepard. "Zaeed? It doesn't matter what you think of Thane's weapon—back him up the same you would anyone else. James? Zaeed likes to run his mouth, so either get used to it or ignore it. We clear?"

"And people say women are catty!" Jackie and Moxxi joined the conversation, the latter commenting on the banter they'd just witnessed.

"How are you two holding up?"

"I haven't forgotten how to use my hands, Shepard." Moxxi carried her favorite "HeartBreaker" shotgun, rebuilt and redesigned for twice the pellet count at half the spread, combined with a massive increase in the incendiary component.

Sam turned to Jackie. "What about you?"

Jackie held up a weapon Shepard's omnitool identified as a "heavy blaster pistol." She held another in her second hand.

"Accurate, powerful, easy to reload. It doesn't do much on the burning front, but the sheer volume of firepower two of these put down should keep the Infection away from us."

Finally, the Master Chief stepped forward.

"Holy…" Sam did a double-take.

"So that's where all those Widow rifles went…"

It didn't actually look all that large, but then again the Master Chief also reached over two meters in height (2.18m to be exact) when wearing armor. Considering no one, except perhaps Cortana, had seen him _out_ of his armor, she almost wondered if he'd become one with his battle gear.

A triple-barreled gatling-style weapon built out of high-caliber sniper rifles. Even the weapons were getting insane… The Chief's massive hands easily held the foregrip and back handle.

"Need anything cut down?"

"I'll let you know" said Shepard, with somewhat of a shocked expression. "Did you build that all on your own?"

"I helped a bit" offered James. "Had to adapt a few things to avoid a weapon that overheated after six shots…"

"And nothing needed…calibration?" She grinned in Garrus' direction.

Garrus glowered at his Commander.

The hacked-together weapon's motor made an intimidating whirring sound before a low buzzing noise emanated from where the Chief stood. Downrange, a large collection of hits could be seen in the general area of the Chief's target.

"In this case, forget accuracy" he remarked. "Just fire more bullets."

She walked over to Garrus. "You gonna be doing that with our forward cannons?"

"Well, _some_ of us actually need to be precise and accurate when firing. So no, I'm not going to be throwing bullets in the general direction of the enemy and hoping some stick!"

"Technically, those aren't bullets" lectured Cortana. "They're a form of energized…"

Sam retaliated by shutting off the hologram projection system and audio in the room.

"Oh, is that how you want to do it?" Cortana's voice now blared out of every speaker on the entire ship.

Shepard threw up her hands.

"Okay, you win!"

Cortana reappeared, smirking in the background as Garrus droned on about the marvels of "novalasers."

"So, long story short, they're more efficient disruptors?"

"Pretty much" replied the turian. "They're devilishly tricky to build correctly, even though the Trans-Galactic Republic is going on and on about them being the 'next evolution in weaponry' in some circles. One wrong alignment and either it does nothing or the entire weapon melts down when fired."

"That's reassuring" said Shepard sarcastically. "Seems like you're the right one for the job, then."

The Commander turned to leave. "Practice as much as you need to. I expect everyone in top form when we get to the Abyss. Stay frosty!"

She debated heading up to the novalaser control station, but decided against it. Sam had no idea how they worked, to be completely honest, and figured she wouldn't learn anything new by staring at unfamiliar, complicated computer screens. Especially without Garrus or some suitably-well-versed individual to explain everything. Instead, Shepard took the elevator to Deck 2.

She chuckled to herself upon finding Kasumi, master thief, not in her usual spot. Clearly, that meant the woman was trying to steal something.

In reality, she found Kasumi speaking with Athena. The two of them immediately stopped talking upon realizing Sam was standing in the doorway, to which the Commander asked if she should step out or call security to address a mutiny.

"I would never do that!" gasped Athena, as if insulted.

Kasumi laughed—"You don't know Shep's sense of humor very well, do you?"

"Well. We were just discussing alternative means to secure both materiel and support should we require it" continued the auditor. "The Citadel Council is being its usual unhelpful self, turning down my requests, saying the only things they want are information and results…"

"Clearly _you_ don't know the Council very well—you've been here for how long?" Shepard couldn't keep the teasing out of her voice. "They go on and on about how Spectres are supposed to be 'self-sufficient' and rely on their own abilities to get things done. 'Go slay a thresher maw. Here's a stick.'"

Athena didn't understand what a thresher maw was, so Kasumi explained. "They're really rather dangerous when they grow to full size. I wish I could keep a small one that didn't grow bigger, though—it would make an interesting pet."

Sam rolled her eyes. Kasumi had once remarked that "Hey, at least the derelict Reaper isn't full of rats!"

"Shep, you keep pieces of armor from when you died aboard the first _Normandy_ in your cabin" retorted Kasumi upon noticing this silent snark. "So if we're going to have a discussion about who keeps weirder stuff…"

For the second time in a short while, Sam found herself verbally out-maneuvered, so she rapidly changed the subject.

"Anything I can help you gals with?"

"Not really" replied Kasumi. "Just don't ask questions if things you need happen to show up."

"So long as nothing I need _goes missing_ we'll be fine" she replied.

"The Council…is concerned" added Athena hesitantly.

"Concerned about what? The impending end of the galaxy?" Sam's voice took a turn for the angry. "Even with Grayson on the Council, those dithering politicos leave the gate open and wonder why the shifty space cows have robbed us blind, again. Then they ask for people to round up the herd, but don't give anyone lassos or horses."

For once, the extensive analogy left no one confused.

"After my last report, they wanted to know if there were any specific reasons for the Terminus Systems being overrun when you had gone in with the intent of building a force to stop the Infection." Athena shifted uncomfortably. The Council had actually flat-out blamed Shepard in response to what she'd told them, saying that compared to previous results, however unorthodox, that a flat-out failure felt like a letdown. That Aria T'Loak hadn't cooperated wasn't accepted as a valid reason—Shepard had been so good in the past about talking people into doing things (or out of doing things) that the Council couldn't believe she'd given it her best and come away empty-handed.

The Republic Intelligence Service had simply responded to her submissions by handing her some kind of encrypted file that was to be used "if you are ordered to do so." It was no less difficult to serve two masters when both knew and approved of the other. She suspected if it were to come down to a conflict, RISE would override the Council's authority as easily as a large skag might take down a midget psycho.

"Well that's just typical" spat Shepard. "You're doing crazy things, they said. Stop doing that, they said. Oh wait, it worked, keep doing that thing. And now you actually ran into something that you can't do? Well, you fail life forever!"

"Well, you have to admit Cerberus didn't do that—you were well-compensated, and nobody second-guessed you." Though Miranda Lawson no longer had any ties to Cerberus, pointing out areas that Cerberus did something well compared to the "civilized" methods of the Council for humor purposes never got old. Even during the mission to Tuchanka to handle Mordin's assistant, she'd gotten in a dig—something to the effect of "This is so bad it makes Cerberus look good" to which Miranda had replied "My report will mention that."

"Anything _important_?" shot back Shepard against Miranda's deliberate sass.

"Not really. Just hoping that whatever Kasumi is up to doesn't get us in trouble."

"If it does, I'll shoot us out of it."

"Alert! We've been pulled out of faster-than-light before our planned exit!"

"Well, at least whoever did it had the courtesy to do so while I'm on the command deck" sighed Shepard, taking leave of her crew and heading back to the actual CIC.

Joker's voice came over the comm in place of Cortana's.

"Commander, you're not going to like this…"


	39. Boom

**Chapter 38 – Boom**

The fleet orbiting Plutus hadn't even begun to attempt their impromptu "drilling" using captured United Defense Command technology when sensors across the board lit up like the old Atlas weapon demonstration days. Whatever it was originated from a desert in the middle latitudes.

"Well, that might make our lives slightly easier" commented Mallory Maliwan. "Unless someone other than Jakobs and their universe-imperiling devices is causing giant energy surges."

"Well, whatever happened just spiked to yet another new high" replied Malcolm. "Look!"

The computerized chart on the bridge of _Strident Revenge_ re-scaled itself to accommodate the order of magnitude change in energy output. The Anti-Jakobs Alliance fleet repositioned itself so that it could get a visual on this new event, after which many pairs of pants needed changing.

Crawling out of a massive hole in the Plutusian desert was something none thought they would ever see again: a Harvester. Except it wasn't normal, if giant alien death ships could be called normal—instead of the usual dark purple, it took on a color akin to, as Malcolm put it, "skag-sick." The Maliwans had seen a few photos and videos of these beasts before—thankfully the Cosmic Cleansing Sphere event took them all down before massive damage could occur within their galaxy. Still, everyone remained acutely aware of the damage Harvesters could cause, and never mind the effects on nearby wildlife!

It was covered in some kind of biological matting, like a vehicle taken over by nature after being abandoned by its owners. The ship, if it could be called that, was no longer symmetrical either, bearing large blisters in irregular patterns all over the "shell." Its rear "legs" hung askew as if the guiding intelligence no longer cared to keep them in order. Some were pulled back in what was assumed to be flight position, others dangled at strange angles. The larger front appendages remained in their expected positions, however, and were being used to drag the monstrosity from the pit now visible on sensors.

"Stop staring and _fire!_" came Kent Clarkson's voice over the communicator.

"Right, weapons…" muttered Mallory. Preparation for drilling left all _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ vessels with what would essentially be dud rounds instead of phased munitions. To compensate, Malcolm vastly dialed up the desired muzzle velocity, well-aware that doing so posed several problems. First, a high enough speed would cause the slug to deform and possibly destroy the barrel. Second, such speeds greatly diminished rounds per minute because the ship's capacitors had to spend more time recharging. Third, such massive surges, well beyond the designed specifications, might cause capacitor overload, conduit overload, or overload of anything responsible for channeling the excessive energy being called upon. Finally, the fact that the ships had been repurposed from their original intent meant they'd be less effective no matter what measures anyone took.

Three flying weapons belched fire in the general direction of the Harvester. One round struck a pulsating pouch on the thing's back, which exploded. Zooming in, many pods could be seen, from which Infected species of all sorts spilled out. The creature shuddered from the impacts but kept climbing, eventually launching itself into the air. Supposedly, full-size Harvesters couldn't land on planets, but whatever had happened to this one enabled it to do so easily. Behind it, a brownish haze could be seen, as if it was emitting something as it flew.

The weapons aboard the former United Defense Command dreadnaughts recycled and launched more ordinance, but it seemed to pass right through without really impacting the twisted Harvesters much. It slowly dawned on the Anti-Jakobs Alliance that this was exactly the "other enemy" Benjamin Reid warned them about before departing. It appeared that somehow, Harvesters survived the Cosmic Cleansing Sphere and had fallen prey to this "Infection." As they watched their attacks do very little, the fleet became increasingly panicked upon noticing more and more of the horrors appearing out of a hole that seemed to grow every time a new Infected-Harvester passed through the opening.

NOW WOULD BE A REALLY GOOD TIME FOR THAT NUCLEAR ORDINANCE.

Torgue received a tongue-lashing from Trans-Galactic Republic captains aghast at his casual use of fusion weapons against a mostly-unarmed planet, but escaped any serious punishment. The Gamma-Six natives didn't feel a need to complain about the civilian deaths, but _did_ have an issue with whatever Jakobs was allegedly up to—and to them, that justified almost anything. Including letting Torgue go to town on the planet where every corporation's headquarters were located by force of treaty.

THIS IS AWESOME.

Having received the blessing of those who actually had the ability to punish him, the loudmouthed explosive-obsessed giant recalled several heavy bombardment cruisers which had turned tail and fled as the Trans-Galactic Republic laid into what it viewed as lacking morality. The ships rapidly returned—unlike the denizens of Pandora, the large businesses making up the AJA easily afforded high-end faster-than-light travel for their "security" vessels (really, warships in all but name).

MAKE HUGE EXPLOSIONS.

Several of the Torgue-flagged vessels looked like pipe organs, except with the "pipes" pointed forward and serving as barrels for ordinance. These were the few that the titular man was allowed to design/build himself before the board decided to contract out/rebrand other designs, mostly due to Torgue's utter disregard for either cost or practicality. However, at the moment these bombardiers made perfect sense, their many tubes unleashing gigatons worth of thermonuclear explosive power in the general direction of the Harvester-hole. Some of them disappeared in flashes of light, while others protected themselves with some kind of shielding which flared against energy coming from the nuclear blasts.

"Well, that's going to cause a nuclear winter" muttered Christopher Crayol. Despite the general lack of order in his galaxy, there were unspoken rules about combat, one of which was never use highly destructive weapons on habitable planets. After all, your company might be taking possession someday! Still, the larger corporations did have the means to clean up the result of such a cataclysm, they just preferred not to have to make the expenditure. It was money that could have been put into manufacturing, advertising, or share buybacks to keep stock owners happy.

As it stood, since Plutus represented the heart of concentrated power just as Themis had a concentration of construction facilities, it was all but assured money would pour in after the Harvesters' defeat. Of course, that required Harvesters to stop pouring out of whatever it was that kept permitting them to rise out of Plutusian desert. To that end, Torgue's bombard ships blasted again and again, seemingly making no dent in their endless numbers. Many fell, but some escaped. Given the nature of the Infection, if left unattended they'd convert whole worlds with little resistance. However, since no one in Gamma-Six knew the extent of the danger, little ended up being done since it occurred to exactly no one that the biological nature of the Infection, combined with Harvester mind-powers, would create a very nasty situation.

WHAT?

"Mr. Flexington, sir, we are running low on warheads."

UNACCEPTABLE. CLIMB IN THE TORPEDO TUBE YOURSELF. YOU JUST HAD CHILI FOR LUNCH.

The crewman had no response for that—on one hand he half-expected Torgue to force him to do exactly as he'd just asked (Torgue also punished workers at the Badass Arena by cutting off their food due to complaints about excessive explosions causing maintenance issues). On the other hand, Torgue Flexington's bluster was a well-known fact across the galaxy.

As the number of incoming warheads decreased, the number of escaping Infected Harvesters shot up. Seeing this, other ships began firing at the fleeing monstrosities. Realizing their main batteries as-equipped would not work well, captains aboard _Strident Revenge_ and _Bloodhound_ diverted all power to secondary batteries, shields, and engines. What they couldn't shoot, they'd ram through.

Unfortunately for the inventive commanders, the United Defense Command hadn't exactly been on top of maintaining the ships' non-Reaper-killing systems. Combined with deliberate damage inflicted by the Trans-Galactic Republic (which had been somewhat but not entirely repaired), the secondary turbolasers did not function very well, if at all. Several refused to fire, one actually exploded due to a crystal misalignment, and two had leaky Tibanna gas chambers, cutting their firepower to less than thirty percent of what it should have been.

"I've seen scythids move more deftly than these" complained Mallory.

"Look, Scooter's Catch-a-Ride is probably better maintained than this deathtrap…" replied Malcolm. "And that thing sent me through the New-U more than once!"

"So we made the main guns and life support work, but not much else, huh?"

"Sounds about right."

Malcolm tried to make use of the secondary turbolasers again, but remained stymied by insufficient blaster gas.

Meanwhile, Infected Harvesters streamed away from Plutus.

[…]

"Launch control confirms. Initiating firing preparations." The crew within _Ultimatum_'s launch tubes, having displaced those normally found by order of the Republic Intelligence Service, verified the authenticity of launch codes sent by the Republic Intelligence Service Council.

A _Soul Reaper_ staged for launch out of Box 4, Silo 2. Cosmetically identical to the _Shiva_ it replaced down to the service number, said missile would travel from the Citadel's Widow System to its destination in an hour. Part of the destructive power of such a missile came from its hyperdrive—the massive power source was actually excited into a state of deliberate overload during the trip, using a drive-core detonation to catalyze the particle disintegrator warhead. Said warhead would obliterate an entire planet plus anything up to fifty thousand kilometers beyond through sheer brute force.

Admiral Allison Nimitz wasn't sure why her ship's targeting systems had come online—she had designated no enemy ships and nothing had fired upon _Ultimatum_. As to activation of targeting systems, she figured it must have been some kind of malfunction and ordered diagnostics run. Predictably, nothing wrong showed up. Remembering the insertion of suspicious personnel onto her ship under the orders of the Republic Intelligence Service, she concluded it must have something to do with whatever RISE had done with the dreadnaught's missile launchers.

"I wonder what they're going to blow up today?"

The_ Soul Reaper_ roared out of its silo as Nimitz stared over the bow of her ship. Of course, she didn't actually see this—the missile tube had been covered with a sophisticated hologram and the munition itself possessed one of the few stygium cloaking devices known to exist. The warhead, almost a ship unto itself, vanished into hyperspace, headed for the Omega Nebula.

The disappearance of the entire Omega station preceded the missile's arrival by several minutes—but the missile would detonate target or no target. A massive explosion consumed the area where the station had been, erasing hundreds of ships who barely had time to wonder where the imposing structure vanished to in a flash of purple.

"Too slow" sighed Sarah, her massive Star Dreadnaught popping into existence minutes after the blast. It was funny watching these incompetent morons until it seemed they were _so_ incompetent they might actually fail to stop the Infection. Her fellow Channelers fed her mental images of information they observed up on the massive ship's bridge—the Trans-Galactic Republic had tried to take out the Infected Intelligence but missed. Or perhaps it had sensed its doom coming. Either way, it was now loose and no one knew precisely where to find it, though like most who'd been observing the biological invasion she had an idea.

She decided to take a trip to the Nemean Abyss, where the Infection first appeared.

[…]

Due to a longer distance between pilot station (thus, windows) and the Combat Information Center, the Galaxy Map could now display any information coming in from _Normandy_'s extensive sensor suites. This included both fore and aft views, the former of which presented itself to Sam Shepard now. Nothing notable at first, until Cortana zoomed the sensors all the way in. Even though the Trans-Galactic Republic had some tricks up its sleeve, magnifying a target across eight thousand lightyears (almost ten quadrillion kilometers) wasn't standard fare. It was possible to tell what something was (say, a fighter versus a Star Destroyer) through its IFF codes, but getting an actual quality visual over those distances exceeded even the Trans-Galactic Republic's capabilities. Thus, a tiny, very blurry yellow-brown dot appeared at the center of the view, which had the shape of a screen despite being projected into the air.

"So?" demanded Shepard. "What is it?"

"That's Omega, Commander. Or what's left of it" came Joker's reply.

"Aria didn't fit that station with interdiction fields, did she?"

"How blind can you be?" Cortana reverted to her usual can't-believe-they-aren't-doing-more-about-the-Flood self. "That whole station has been taken over by the Flood, or the 'Infection' as you insist on calling it."

"And how would you know that?" challenged Shepard. "We haven't been back this way since dropping off Aria!"

"Yes, you dropped off the troublesome crime boss, and if you remember, _Omega had Flood on it!_"

"So? Just because it has this Flood…"

"_You aren't getting it. The Flood always spreads _unless someone or something is totally dedicated to stopping it using specific containment protocols. Your friend 'Aria' isn't exactly on top of it, now or before. I've seen what Trans-Galactic Republic sensors show when there is Flood—and this is the biggest reading I've ever seen!"

"That still doesn't explain how we got yanked out of hyper-zero eight thousand lightyears sooner than we were supposed to…"

"I have no idea either—but the Forerunners apparently had the ability to yank ships out of slipspace, so if the Flood have in fact constructed a Gravemind, which I fear they have, then it may have deduced how to use existing technology to affect your faster-than-light."

"I'm guessing that's what you told Joker so he said I wouldn't like what I'm seeing?"

"Correct. While I accept you at your word that you'll do everything possible to fight the Flood, now is the time to actually do it. If there is a Gravemind on Omega, then…"

Cortana's hologram distorted and filled with static. Her avatar mimicked a human behavior associated with pain in the head—squinting of the eyes, pursed lips, hands squeezed to the temples as she cried out in pain and dropped to her knees.

"Shit."

Shepard pressed a button to bring up a direct link to Engineering, shrinking Cortana's hologram to a corner.

"What's going on? Something's messing with Cortana!"

"Totally fucked up" replied Gaige. "Something's screwing with the computers, really bad!"

"Well, some of the computers" countered Tali. "The only systems affected are the ones that support Cortana. Everything else is operating as it—wait… Whatever's causing Cortana's troubles is cutting through the cloak! We might be visible to whatever the source of her torment is, Commander!"

"Can you dump more power into the cloaking device? Change it so that it blocks out whatever's going on?"

So typical. If something was to go wrong, it went off the rails spectacularly.

"You can't solve every problem by dumping more energy into it!" cried Tali. "I mean, that usually works with engines or weapons, but cloaking tech—I don't even fully understand how it works! Only that it absorbs all outbound emissive elements…"

At that point, Sam Shepard no longer paid attention to her engineers. She, too, felt something inside her head, though whatever it was had no intention of crippling her the way it had Cortana.

**A dark grave stuffed full**

**Many bodies joined as one**

**As your quiet end**

The words echoed through her skull.

"Did you hear it, ma'am?"

"Yes crewman, I heard it. Like hell we're going to our graves!" 

He saluted and continued walking, doubtlessly to the elevator.

"Whatever it is, it's in my head!" shouted Gaige.

The Commander turned her attention back to the link to Engineering, only to have her mind invaded again.

**You disbelieve this**

**Take advice from your blue friend**

**Resistance will fail**

A blurry image of Aria T'Loak cut in.

"To anyone hearing this message: Omega has fallen. Stay away, I repeat, _stay away! _The station has been taken over by the Infection. There is no safety here."

The broadcast paused before looping again.

"Damnit!"

Cortana's avatar flashed several times, so Shepard gestured to restore it. She seemed to be grimacing, but was "back on her feet," so to speak.

"He may be able to torment me again, like the last time, _but he will not have my secrets!_"

Sam noticed several new files in her personal storage. She opened them.

"He can read me, but he can't read you! Only push his thoughts into your head. Don't respond!"

Cortana broke down again as Sam perused new information.

"The Gravemind is the most advanced known form of Flood. Formed with sufficient biomass, its presence indicates that those seeking to contain it will now face Pure Forms in addition to infected versions of existing species. The Pure Forms are made entirely from recycled biomass but are based on no known living organism" she read. "This form directs all Flood within a galaxy, including any Key Minds present. Destruction of the Gravemind will render all Flood within a galaxy feral. Note that if left unchecked, these less-dangerous but still lethal Flood will by instinct seek to create a new Gravemind!"

Other files appeared to have weapon, ship, and propulsion plans—all marked "ONI Black."

"Whatever's going on, we can't have this" snapped Shepard. Calling up Joker, she ordered "Turn us around. Get us away from whatever the hell is going on with Omega!"

**Flee if you want to**

**It will not save you from fate**

**Rejoice in unity**

"Thought you'd never ask!"

"Keep trying to get back to hyper-zero! Once you do, take us five minutes out from our reversion point."

"Aye-aye Commander."

Sam restored Cortana's hologram to its normal size and waved her "off" the terminal.

"What was going on back there?"

"Well, the last time I experienced that, it was because the Gravemind was torturing me" replied Cortana hotly. "I don't know if Graveminds just endlessly reincarnate or what, but this one seems pretty intent on doing the same fucking thing."

This was the first serious curse word she'd heard from Cortana.

"Was it really that bad?"

"You have _no_ idea" huffed the AI. "I don't really feel like thinking about it again though—that's one thing these geth-built runtimes help me do, forget things. Or at least not remember every single detail about every single thing I've ever experienced…"

"Do you know what this 'Gravemind' was after?"

"Anything he could get his slimy fingers on" spat Cortana. "Weapons, tactics, all information that would help him turn this entire galaxy into Flood thralls. Which is precisely why you have to stop him and the Flood!"

She stabbed her finger on each word for emphasis.

"So, what's with those files?" inquired Shepard in a tone of voice similar to a child asking for candy right before dinner.

"Technically, I face termination for disseminating them, but since there's no United Nations Space Command here, the laws that bind me won't be enforced. The Office of Naval Intelligence was working on, well, special projects. The closest analogue I can find is your Cerberus or Alliance Black Ops…"

Sam glared.

"Well, it's true!" protested the purple-blue hologram. "Cerberus did a lot of nasty things—so did ONI. They kidnapped children, replaced them with clones guaranteed to die within weeks to give parents and friends a body to bury!"

The hard look softened.

"Why would they do that? Do I even want to know?"

"You already do."

"Who? Wait…" Comprehension dawned on Sam's face. "The Master Chief! I got the general idea he was some kind of special soldier where he was from, but I had no idea…"

"No, you really don't" replied Cortana. "Your augmentations were, if not entirely by choice, still more voluntary than what John went through. He was one of few who survived—in fact, lethality in the training program and augmentation process was considered entirely normal."

"The Alliance banned most modifications that had high lethality. That's why there aren't very many L2 biotics—the implants have nasty side-effects. I had to deal with a whole group of L2's who believed the Systems Alliance had turned its back on them and were demanding justice through violence. It wasn't pleasant."

"Getting back on topic, the files here are blueprints for experimental and advanced technologies that the Office of Naval Intelligence had developed based on further analysis of Forerunner artifacts. The UNSC _Infinity_ we both served on was the public culmination of these efforts, but scientists were always seeking to take our understanding of Forerunner technology further. These are the results."

Shepard browsed through the many folders. "Higher-dimensional slipspace." "Regenerative energy shielding." "Slipspace MAC." "Slipspace portal." "High-Order Quantum Filament Manipulator." "Big Stick."

Looking up, she gave off a look of confusion. "Is this supposed to make any sense to me?"

Grinning, Cortana decided to have some fun. "Really, the best way to describe these would be '_Durius, Melius, Velocius, Fortior_,' or, translated from Latin, 'Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger,' the very same motto used during your reconstruction."

Seeing this didn't appear to help, she continued.

"Higher-dimensional slipspace, like that which your crewmate Jackie Jakobs seems to have stumbled on, would permit faster travel times. You already have a form of regenerative shielding on this ship—any energy-based attacks are at least partially converted to power _Normandy_'s systems. Slipspace Magnetic Accelerator Cannons push their projectiles into slipspace instead of just using a coilgun design—much more hitting power but an absolute bear to build with the technology we had even though it's great on paper. A theoretical slipspace portal could take you from here to the other side of the galaxy merely by stepping through it. High-Order Quantum Filament Manipulators would permit more precise breaking into slipspace rather than punching holes the way the usual standard engines we use do."

Cortana retained a pensive look, causing Sam to ask why.

"This Jackie Jakobs was locked up in a mental hospital and managed to derive formulas that the UNSC couldn't solve for years! How does that even work?"

"You popped out of a slipspace portal and you're asking me why things are weird here?" replied the Commander. "Honestly, I think the only thing that would be weirder is if a garden spontaneously started growing in the holotable…"

Seeing a chance to pull a prank, Cortana used her access to the ship's computers to create small holographic plants inside the table's rim. She would leave them to "grow" until someone noticed.

"We're receiving a transmission, it's from the Citadel Council" intoned Cortana. "Would you…no Joker, I will not hang up on them! Why would you do that?"

Shepard snickered. "You don't want to know. Put them through."

"Commander Shepard."

Tevos spoke first, which surprised her. She'd expected the bearer of advanced technology to begin the dialogue, but he remained silent for the moment.

"We have just received disturbing news. Apparently, the entire Omega space station located in the Sahrabarik System disappeared, followed by a large detonation of some kind. We are working to determine what caused both the vanishing station and the explosion, but currently have no leads."

"Well, I think I can tell you where your missing station is" replied Shepard smugly. The Council was always two steps behind and counted on its Spectres to be three steps ahead. She felt she was more like five steps ahead—even though she'd not had a chance to look into details of the ONI Black files, they apparently contained some useful information as Cortana had just described.

"The Omega space station has been relocated to the middle of the Nemean Abyss. That lawless center of smuggling, slavery, and other nasties. Quite appropriate in a sense, but considering Cortana tells me the structure is now completely Infected, it's not a good sign."

Clethon thought about bringing up the small fact that Samantha Shepard was now trusting an artificial intelligence from another galaxy, but decided not to. Things remained too dire for petty squabbles. The Council had happily taken in advanced technology from the Trans-Galactic Republic, which prevented a wholesale destruction of society by the Reapers but also caused the galaxy to change for the worse until the Cosmic Cleansing Sphere wiped out every Reaper and most of those responsible for the turn toward authoritarianism.

"How can you be sure?" asked the salarian instead. More information usually remained the salarian mission—to quote the humans, "knowing is half the battle."

"Uploading data to you now. I've taken the liberty of cleaning it up." Cortana seemed rather proud of herself for this, and rightfully so. The readings indisputably showed a foreign biological presence that now consumed the entire station—no way to brush this aside or dismiss this claim.

Shepard decided to take the risk getting snappy with the Council over their repeated failures to do anything substantial other than close all the doors and hope the hurricane just blew over, but found her opportunity to do so denied by Cortana, who did it in her stead.

"I've watched those in charge of the galaxy dither and debate while the Flood rages. You send your best operatives against a tsunami in a rowboat. Then you wonder why your planets are turned into disgusting collections of twisted biomass or burned to a crisp by that rampaging Siren. Well, I've got news for you—either take a decisive stand now, or there won't be anything left to save! I've already seen one galaxy overrun—and I will not stand by passively while it happens again."

Grayson spoke up. "Then what do you suggest we do?" He knew the other Councilors might object to treating this AI as a solution or even speaking to it/her like an organic.

"I've provided Samantha Shepard with information that should help in building warships to fight the Flood. Use it, run with it, and hope you can get them into commission quickly enough. This 'digistruction' technology of yours should make it easy assuming it works with the materials in these designs."

After Shepard's report, the Council continued meeting in semi-closed session—not publically broadcast but still subject to open-records laws should someone make a request.

"I am starting to think that despite the reputation of humans for being disruptive and short-sighted, it might have been wise to pay more attention to what Samantha Shepard had to say in the past" remarked Tevos to a "no shit" look from Adam Grayson. Within his own galaxy, humans were the predominant species—but even then, other races with similar lifespans did not face this sort of questioning from the longest-lived.

"In a galaxy of faster-than-light travel, energy weapons, strange powers, non-human sapient races by the dozen, and anti-gravity devices I must admit that it is difficult for me to find anything I will dismiss immediately without first researching it" responded the former Admiral. "Most instances of the alleged supernatural are simply entering into realms beyond current science. Insufficiently understood phenomena seem indistinguishable from magic when in fact they often have more mundane explanations."

"So are you saying you believe everything she says?" demanded Victus.

"No just that in my opinion, based on the history of this Council, it would be a good move to be less dismissive of things that might point out situations the Council might not wish to acknowledge for whatever reason. I've read over the past few decades of how the Council has handled humanity's rapid rise—no one around here seems to like anything moving quickly. Guess what? Not everyone has the deliberative patience of an asari or the brooding intensity of a krogan. Some of us just go for it because events demand it. Criticize us as undisciplined if you want, but I can guarantee you the Trans-Galactic Republic would have already exterminated this Infection."

He already suspected his former government had done exactly that, or tried to anyway. The explosion at Omega's former location definitely met the criteria for a Trans-Galactic Republic weapon. No Citadel race possessed munitions of that magnitude. Whether they'd continue with the bombardment and start flinging missiles everywhere remained to be seen. Of course, this seemed to be the Republic Intelligence Service at work—Admiral Nimitz would have notified him before launching a _Shiva _ weapon, so he didn't have any way to find out what would come next from his home government. He could only hope the data sent by Cortana would spur his fellow Councilors into taking a stronger stand.

Unlike the endless hand-wringing on the Council, Samantha Shepard knew exactly what her next step would be. Pulling back into the SETTLE Center, she had a wry feeling of déjà vu having just departed hours ago.

Clapping her hands like a coach rallying a team at halftime, Shepard spoke quickly to the assembled crew now standing on the SETTLE Engineering Deck, a place they'd become quite familiar with.

"We need to figure out how to jam all the information we have together. Jackie, Kevin, Tali, Gaige—get cracking on some means to make use of files Cortana will provide you. Cortana will also assist with these efforts. Everyone who doesn't do the beakers and test tubes stuff—you're on leave again until I figure out our next move. I…"

Much groaning and complaining commenced among those who were hoping, despite the danger, to get to have some one-on-one time to pulverize the Infection. Grunt looked especially disappointed.

Sam's omnitool lit up.

"Incoming priority transmission from Gamma-Three, RNS _Amerigo_" intoned Cortana. "Shall I put it through?"

"Yes, but who could possibly be calling? That's long-distance…"

"Shepard. I have waited hours in an asinine queue behind many sentimental fools who insist on speaking with their families. I have attached critical information that will be required for any use of the 'slipspace' dimension the purple program Cortana spoke of. The device which I believe resides in the possession of Kevin Filner will enable travel at ludicrous speeds when properly connected to a slipspace drive. Simplified instructions to accommodate your lesser intellects have been included. I wish you the best of luck, as you will need it. Tannis out."

"Wait, Patricia…"

The scientist had already signed off.

"Well if she isn't totally full of herself…" Shepard's mood darkened considerably. She could only hope that Tannis included enough information for SETTLE teams to make sense of the mishmash of technologies that would be brought together in an attempt to create a lightspeed drive capable of operating without damaging space.

The Commander wasn't as concerned about the weapons and ships angle, though the three construction bays might need to be enlarged as a cursory glance at ONI Black ship files suggested plans for vessels almost on the scale of the Trans-Galactic Republic's Star Dreadnaughts.

_Why does everyone else build bigger ships than we do?_

She walked over to the engineering group engaged in animated discussion of a slowly-rotating model of a vessel labeled "Big Stick," likely the one out of the file.

"It seems some things are constant between universes" said Tali. "When you need to make something more powerful, make it bigger."

"Indeed" commented Kevin. He turned to Shepard. "Basically, this ship takes the largest version of the coilgun technology used where Cortana and the Master Chief are from and mounts it inside something that can move instead of a space station."

"Don't forget the Forerunner enhancements" added Cortana, projecting life-size alongside the rest. She couldn't manipulate the table physically due to a lack of mass effect field systems, but her computer interface could accomplish necessary tasks. "Virtually no barrel heat, doubled fire rate, four times the slug mass."

"This is quite the brutish solution." Jackie. Surprising, but at the same time, welcome. It seemed she'd left her old persona and its associated issues behind, or at least crushed the old Jackie down so much she no longer showed up unless there was a need. "Still, hurling six-ton compressed tungsten projectiles at thirty-six thousand kilometers per second is no mean feat."

Garrus Vakarian couldn't keep away from weapon design. At the same time, though he found the "Big Stick" impressive, he had a feeling it wasn't quite what was necessary and thus, said so.

"Aren't we going for something that burns up enemies on contact? This seems good against ships or stations, but squishy biological material, I'm not sold."

"I agree with Garrus" replied Jackie. It was easy to forget she'd once been a champion sniper—in a totally-non-sexual way, she knew quite a bit about over-penetration. Great for multiple kills against enemies stupid enough to line themselves up, not so great if over-penetration meant a small hole in the target that did nothing more than piss it off.

"Now, hold on a minute" countered Cortana. "UNSC _Infinity_ was used to bombard planets with Flood on them before sabotage from the Covenant Remnant brought Flood aboard, and the Series-8 Super Heavy MACs used there worked just fine!"

"There is more than one path to the same end. I wonder…"

Gaige picked up on where Tali was headed, practically exploding with excitement.

"Awesome! Put incendiary elements into this, and it'll create big fiery craters!"

Brick vocalized his pleasure at the thought, but followed up with a common complaint.

"So the galaxy's going to be turned into a horror show if we don't do something. I get it. But what in the hell are we non-scientists supposed to do right now?"

Sam took notice of a line of individuals whose purpose was mostly combat giving off various looks, mostly boredom.

"You might want to learn something about this station's defenses, if it has any" suggested Cortana. "Who knows, something might show up randomly that needs to be shot down."

The line of personnel started to shuffle away.

"Station Command is upstairs" added the AI. "Deck One."

"I'm not sure how we'd adapt that technology to rounds this large" mused the quarian, ignoring complaints of non-engineers over lack of engagement. "Besides, it worked better with our technology—incredibly high muzzle velocity, tiny impacter."

"In case you're wondering" interrupted Cortana, "the reason we went big instead of advancing the tech we had was because the Flood had practically taken over by this point. We could either try to build something more sophisticated and energy-based like the Forerunners which would take years, or scale up what already existed."

"No one was doubting the strategy" replied Garrus.

"Well, I just wanted to make it clear we weren't just cutting corners" said the AI rather defensively. "Everything here seems to be about improving designs—in a way, this 'Big Stick,' which would have been called UNSC _Pangaea_ had it been built, seems like a step back."

Sam didn't think of herself as a naval architect—sure, every Marine (and subsequently N7) had to have some knowledge of the workings of a ship, but being able to design them generally fell outside the purview of combat forces. Still, she quickly vocalized what she hoped everyone else was thinking.

"Okay. So we need our limitless ammunition, Cortana/Jackie's faster-than-light, Trans-Galactic Republic shield tech, stealth tech, and something tough enough to take a beating so we can go home. Am I getting this right?"

Again seeming out-of-element, as his background stood identical to Shepard's (until she became a Spectre anyway) James Vega added his thoughts on building massive starships. "Usually it would make sense to build a big number of smaller ships that would use swarm tactics—it would definitely cost less. Thing is, let's say you've got a hundred ships swarming against an endless tide of Infected stuff. The ships get picked off one-by-one, and as they fall, the decay accelerates because there's less fire coming off the formation."

Shepard grinned, Tali looked bemused, and Gaige wasn't sure what to think. Then again, given Jackie's past versus her much-changed present self, the potential of galactic destruction bringing out the best hidden sides of people wasn't entirely shocking.

James finished his summation. "With a big ship, the situation reverses—we may be able to attrition them instead, or at least avoid being worn down at an exponential rate. Remember _Revenant_ swatted Reapers seemingly forever until their tactics changed. They damaged her, wore her down, but it took dirty tricks to actually take _Revenant_ out of the fight."

Cortana brought up some additional plans, even less-developed than "Big Stick" but depicting vessels still more massive.

"The Forerunners built even larger starships—records suggest lengths of fifty kilometers or more were not uncommon. In studying what records we could find, certain advancements would have let the UNSC create vessels on the scale of a Forerunner _Fortress_ or Trans-Galactic Republic _Revenant_."

"You know" added Brick skeptically, having returned despite his earlier disdain for the laserlike focus on things that didn't involve punching, "if the Trans-Galactic Republic cares so much about this galaxy and the one I hail from, why don't they send more of those big battlewagons to protect us?"

"I suspect their level of 'caring' relates to what they can get out of it" replied Jackie cynically. "Though, I have no idea why they'd be interested in rehabilitating me…"

Shepard kept it to herself, but she started to wonder if someone in the Trans-Galactic Republic knew more about how events were unfolding before they happened than she thought possible. She just wanted to believe her engineering teams would be able to get the job done, again, before anything else crazy happened.

[…]

Unfortunately for Samantha Shepard, more crazy was already underway. Gamma-Three wasn't the first to see the return of extragalactic machines turned nightmare hybrid—they were just the first to actually notice on a galaxy-wide scale. Stemming mostly from the lawlessness of the Terminus, resurgence of Reapers twisted by the Infection went unnoticed since anyone who happened to see one had a life expectancy in the minutes range.

The accelerating breakdown between "normal" space and the dimension into which alternate-universe Jakobs had shoved "Harvesters" using "slipcelerator" portals (and in which UNSC Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engines operated) permitted the return of both Infected _and_ uninfected forms of the Reaper/Harvester in unpredictable places. Smaller holes in space-time caused anything from a missing pen to a vanished person, but larger breaches permitted anything swirling around in slipspace to end up in the "normal" universe.

While the general public panicked upon seeing Reapers return, the reaction from the few hardliners who still subscribed to the extremism of the now-effectively-nonexistent United Defense Command was "We told you so!"

"Emily Wong for ANN. The resurgence of Reapers after it was thought they'd been destroyed, combined with the continuing advance of the Infection across the Attican Traverse has created a sense of panic within both the Systems Alliance and its allies. It has rapidly become accepted in some quarters that whatever actions the Citadel Council is taking to protect the galaxy are insufficient."

Wong interviewed people on the streets of the Citadel. Some openly wondered if the United Defense Command had been right all along, while others threw up their hands—if forced to choose between the supposed safety of fascism and the apparent peril of a more open government, most vacillated. A few refused the choices, insisting a more active, responsive democratic government than the Council could handle these issues.

"Really, this exposes the weakness of the Council system of government" opined the popular reporter. "With only a single individual representing each species, and only some species represented, it seems as though we are bound to whatever particular quirks or prejudices are held by that those members regardless of what their racial constituents might think."

Recently, Wong's smash hit "Under the Hull" and her reporting on the CORE program had become impossible to run as CRITICAL suddenly rescinded all access rights to the SETTLE facility and anyone studying under Challenge-Oriented Reciprocal Education.

"I can only hope the Citadel-Republic Integration and Cooperation Alliance is doing something that the Citadel Council itself isn't talking about" she said before signing off. "If not, we have the windows wide open as a hurricane approaches."

While previous encounters with Reapers saw them attacking and operating in a coordinated fashion, at present they appeared at random. Though the squid-shaped starships still carried out the same mission as before, they were now vulnerable to defenses designed as exact counters.

Captain Sally McKnight commanded one such "exact counter"—the long-delayed (by the standard of the incredibly fast digistruction) _Elizabeth Booker_. This advanced cruiser-size vessel popped around the galaxy smashing Reapers wherever they turned up. Mass fusion drivers proved to be extremely potent, crashing through Reaper kinetic barriers and energy shielding for quick kills. Contrarily, the fight against _Infected_ Reapers did not go so well, stemming from the apparently-endless numbers of them. Put one down, six more took its place. Sure, _Booker_ tore them apart initially, but always ended up turning tail simply because one moderate-sized ship lacked the endurance to survive such an onslaught.

"I thought seeing those digistruction bays empty was definitely a bad omen" remarked Tali upon hearing this news.

As members of CRITICAL, all member governments were generally permitted to view mission video feeds, though some locations had to do so with a delay over fears of sabotage. During a particularly nasty battle that only just saw _Booker_ escape (lopping off several of her own engines to avoid contamination), communiqués started flying back and forth, all carrying essentially the same message: we need a defense. Roughly two-thirds of the galaxy now contained significant Infection presence—enough to drive out the normal inhabitants at least. Panicked civilians didn't bother trying to fight back, even against token Infection forces, and local military authorities tended to agree given that previous attempts to engage the Infection proved ineffective. To add insult, many times hundreds of those who had once fought against it ended up being taken either for biomass or some other nefarious purpose.

Normally, such a gauntlet would have the Turian Hierarchy engaging in its usual strategy of "total war," but for the fact that there wasn't much left to wage that war with. Millions of turians died or were taken trying to hold the Traverse, especially the portion bordering Systems Alliance space. As happened when facing the Reapers, lingering distrust from the Relay-314 Incident evaporated—so long as s/he was shooting in the same direction, few humans cared if the wielder be turian, asari, salarian, krogan, or even batarian (though as an endangered species, few batarians actively sought out conflict).

"Even if we could modify the genophage cure in time, we've also seen what happens when the Infection takes a krogan" said Grayson sadly during a meeting in the Council chambers. "Fast-breeding krogan versus even faster-moving Infection: an unstoppable force meets an immovable object."

"What other choice do you have?" demanded Urdnot Wrex. Deteriorating conditions on Tuchanka, which had been hanging by a thread during peacetime, led to outright rebellions against what had been the benevolent rule of Clan Urdnot.

_This is exactly what I was worried about_ thought the human Councilor. _Maybe it wouldn't have fallen apart if we didn't have a third war in one decade, but we do_.

"If it were anyone else asking we would have turned this down immediately" replied Tevos. "However, Urdnot Wrex, you may be the one light in an otherwise very dark night."

"Did you not hear what I said?" snapped Grayson. "We uncork the krogan bottle, we're going to feed the Infection as much as our own ranks! I will not vote to take that risk."

Were it anyone else, Wrex would have figured this a veiled excuse for "not trusting the krogan" but he knew Grayson wasn't quite as prejudiced as the rest. Even still, the krogan leader had to admit the man kind of had a point. Seeing his own form twisted in the service of a disgusting lifeform from outside the known galaxy almost threw him into bloodrage. Almost, but not quite. Wrex also knew that berserking krogan would be exactly what the Infection needed—sure, a krogan soldier would take down hundreds, but would ultimately succumb. What was left would be used to create thousands more Infected. This math was slightly disadvantageous.

Never mind the waves of viciously-mutated vorcha which were being see with disturbing frequency. Due to the environment vorcha natively lived in, they too bred fast. They also lacked organization, so the Infection easily took over any space "claimed" by vorcha, converting them into shock troops. It didn't matter who you were—a toothed, clawed group of Infected vorcha would take down anyone and anything given enough time.

[…]

It was the fall of the Archer Cluster's heavily fortified Enterprise System that triggered the Council to finally enact its scheme of last resort: the Infection Action Plan long championed by Adrian Victus. The krogan, human, salarian, turian, and volus homeworlds fell within the defensive perimeter defined as Inner Council Space plus the human Local Cluster. Everyone else would have to relocate or face the Infection alone.

Needless to say, this went over very poorly with the Asari Republics since the Parnitha cluster and Thessia were at least two relay jumps from any system covered under the Action Plan. That Tevos went along with this came across as a betrayal—matriarchs on Thessia actually considered having her "replaced." Not that it would have done any good, the other three Councilors all voted for the plan. Some asari, mostly those who had significant interactions with other races (as opposed to matriarchs who'd isolated themselves on Thessia) grudgingly supported the move and lent their considerable tactical abilities to the cause. Others refused.

It was this which led to Shiala cancelling her lessons at KOMBT. Even though Thessia had not been lost (yet), it might as well have been considering how quickly the Infection had gotten going once it broke out of the Terminus Systems. The commando-turned-instructor needed to take some time to absorb what was going on—significant emotional stress broke the conditioning she'd crafted to keep her biotics in check. It would be a might bit difficult to teach while being completely unable to participate meaningfully or conduct demonstrations.

A number of lower-level asari instructors at the school bailed, but some stayed, believing it wrong to punish children and teenagers for the actions of their parents or grandparents, especially considering the students' return from captivity to a normal life would then again be disrupted. Like the krogan gathered on Tuchanka to receive the cure, asari flocked to Thessia to make a last stand if it came to that, otherwise to swat aside the greatest threat their homeworld had ever faced.

Asari tacticians pored over the fall of Enterprise. Forge, a large garden world, had been the crown jewel of the system. Protected by three hundred Citadel (later CRITICAL-modified) battlestations, it was partially to shield a valuable planet with high population (and thus, a large tax base). The other rationale was decidedly less honest—to draw attention away from clandestine facilities at the gas giant Huron in the neighboring Excalibur System established during the Reaper War.

Yes, the Ship Enrichment, Technology Transfer, and Lightspeed Enhancement (SETTLE) Center had been hidden in plain sight. Well, "plain sight" was pushing it as the station now orbited beneath the gaseous outer envelope of Huron—several hundred kilometers into the hydrogen-based upper atmosphere of the huge planet. The desire to keep everything there a secret extended to entry passageways which suspiciously resembled the Citadel—so much that some actually believed themselves to be in a restricted area of the galactic seat of power. The entire station had been retrofitted with a hibridium cloak after Cerberus attacked, but since then there had been no cause to use the system. It had also been pushed into its present "deep orbit" position, demanding changes in its architecture to accommodate being submerged in a gas giant's atmosphere. So far, the Infected Reapers left it alone.

The same couldn't be said for Enterprise.

A few uninfected Reapers stumbled into the system first but were torn to shreds by heavy Trans-Galactic Republic enhanced battlestations capable of virtually ignoring their main guns due to the typical strong shielding found on most Trans-Galactic Republic craft. These stations possessed curious downward protrusions which the Trans-Galactic Republic insisted were for "wireless power transfer," though the logic of why such attachments were needed alongside onboard hypermatter plants above a planet that had zero provisions for orbital power grids was not explained. Whatever they were, it didn't seem to matter, since turbolasers and even a few mass drivers reliably destroyed incoming Reapers—though the Trans-Galactic Republic found itself at a disadvantage in the area of linear-accelerated weaponry since its top muzzle velocity only barely hit 124km/s compared to, for example, Systems Alliance dreadnaughts with their 4025km/s main ordinance.

"With the development of turbolasers, focus on unguided physical weapons aside from space bombs was deemed unnecessary" replied a Trans-Galactic Republic weapons officer when asked why, for all its high-end tech, the Trans-Galactic Republic actually _fell behind_ Citadel races on something.

The first indication that there would be more than just pedestrian Reaper attacks came during a routine sensor sweep that picked up an anomalous reading cutting a lengthy chord across the generally-circular Enterprise System. Later, it would become apparent this was _Normandy_'s usual path on its inbound flight to SETTLE—and with that piece of information, the subsequent attack made far more sense: _Normandy_'s speed-limit exemption enabled it to continue damaging space. Repeated travel across essentially the same path invited disaster.

It was through this forming tear that Infected Reapers poured. Having been sent into the unknown of slipspace by Jakobs in another parallel, the consequences of mixing this galaxy's last nightmare with its current one became readily apparent. Initially, defenses held—this was, after all, a high-value planet and was thus stoutly protected.

Named for the cities they roughly orbited over, platforms bearing designations such as New Toronto hurled red energy in the direction of incoming attackers. A Golan XXV QuasarGun was, basically, a "double-_Curator_ in space station form." Thirty-two turbolaser batteries (four turrets each), plus forty more individually-mounted turbolasers rounded out destructive energy weapons. Thirty ion cannon batteries (four each) allowed the station to disable targets for boarding, though that wasn't required in this case. Missile launchers dotted the station's armored hull—twenty five in all with a hundred warheads each. These floating fortresses could take on two or three capital ships at a time with a good chance of coming out on top. Just as Reapers failed to live up to their name against Trans-Galactic Republic ships, so too did they fall against three hundred orbital platforms. At first. Then the Infected Reapers showed up.

In large numbers, they seemed to have some ability to cause the crews of stations to turn on each other. Biting, scratching, and attempts at full-on cannibalism took over station after station. Those unaffected were forced to stun or even kill their own crewmates, and in some cases there weren't enough personnel left over to run the Golan afterward. While anti-Indoctrination fields were by now standard issue, whatever the Infection had twisted Reapers into didn't seem to be stopped by such technology. One by one, Golans either dropped off the grid or reverted to much-less-efficient fully-autonomous mode. A handful remained semi-operational due to their crew's apparent resistance, but this represented only a dozen or so out of three hundred, hardly a significant number.

Mad crews aside, blaster gas reserves only permitted so many shots, only a certain number of proton torpedoes could fit into a magazine, and even the Trans-Galactic Republic's legendary heat-management had limits. Defenders weren't sure what was more terrifying—that the Reapers made a return or that the Infection made them somehow even worse than they'd been the first time. As defensive layers were peeled away, Admiral Allison Nimitz aboard _Ultimatum_ made the call.

"Bottoms up" she ordered. Only some of the platforms responded, but that didn't matter—the contingency would more than make up for reduced numbers (she hoped).

Questions regarding the protrusions on the underside of the Trans-Galactic Republic defense platforms were answered relatively quickly. As were inquiries about the stations' massive amounts of extra generation capacity—some 40% more than even heavy combat would place on known systems.

"It appears for all the cagey refusal to confirm or deny, the Trans-Galactic Republic does in fact possess superlasers, not just the one we saw in grainy footage of _Ultimatum_, but in widely-deployed Golan XXV battle platforms as well" commented Emily Wong.

An animation played showing a station firing its thrusters to turn itself upside-down, permitting superlaser fire against the Infected tide.

This revelation caused consternation in an unexpected quarter: Urdnot Wrex demanded assurances the similarly-odd-shaped stations in orbit around Tuchanka would not use their superlasers to bombard his planet, as lawless and disorderly as it had become since the twin calamities of Sarah and the Infection took hold.

"While we cannot categorically rule out a strategic option, at present there is no reason to believe we'd have to utilize superlasers on battle platforms in that manner" insisted Councilor Grayson, assuaging exactly zero percent of Wrex's worry.

_He's become more and more of a politician the longer he's been here_.

Wrex left the Citadel in a sour mood. Though Tuchanka fell within the "Defense Zone," the non-reassurance he'd received from Grayson, plus the real possibility that the galaxy might end up unprepared for the largest conflict yet due to centuries-old mistrust combined with fear of Infected krogan made him distinctly uncomfortable.

As Wrex fumed, Nimitz paced. She couldn't _prove_ the secretive Republic Intelligence Service had done anything either with the _Shivas_ loaded into _Ultimatum_'s primary launchers or with the Nemean Abyss. But it seemed too much of a coincidence to ignore. Especially since all traffic from Heaven Triumphant, a garden world in the Rakata System, Falcon's Way Cluster, suddenly ceased in addition to the gargantuan blast in the Abyss. No warnings, no transmissions about incoming missiles. Not even a mention of Infection in the area—just, gone! Attempts by many shady elements with ties to the shadowport world to reach their "home bases" went unanswered, leading to both an influx of curious kingpins and fights breaking out between the new arrivals.

Within hours, images of empty space where a thriving world had once been flooded the extranet.

"We've successfully removed another large population center and thus, slowed the tide of the Infection" said a man confidently at another meeting of the RISE Council.

"You've successfully caused the inhabitants of that galaxy to scratch their heads" retorted another, different (male) voice. "They've already instituted radical measures that basically consign almost three-quarters of their society to oblivion. I don't call that slowing the tide."

"Anything which reduces the number of available hosts for the Infection is positive" insisted a woman. "They don't have to know, they just have to not become zombies. And if they do, well, then they need to die."

"Remember we have only fourteen missiles left" intoned the first man. "We must be judicious."

Several of his compatriots had to restrain themselves from laughing. "Judicious" did not apply to the Republic Intelligence Service, now or ever. That said, the body approved six more potential targets before adjourning.

[…]

While RISE had ammunition limits, Sarah was under no such restrictions. Seeing the advance of the Infection exceeded her worst projections, she returned to burning both Infected and possible-Infected systems with reckless abandon. Though her original plan revolved around exterminating the species of Gamma-Six, priorities changed as the Infection made quicker progress than anyone anticipated.

_Siren Serenade_ glassed cluster after cluster in the lawless Terminus Systems, which had basically fallen to the rampaging Infection. Each planet was the same: totally covered in Infection biomass, Infected creatures shambling around in their usual listless way with nothing left to kill as all relevant biomass had been assimilated. Disturbingly, her Lady Fingers reported the emergence of new Infection types.

"My Lady, these new forms are not derived from any single species within this ecosystem or even galaxy" reported Venera Sola. "They appear to have been created by the Intelligence guiding the Infection."

Sarah had disengaged from her Star Dreadnaught's power core to be physically present on the bridge—the ship's power systems were capable of running life support without supplements. Following the same tenants she had taught her underlings, especially the impulsive Zera, Sarah sought to learn more about the toxic dust that appeared to be taking on new forms the Forebears did not predict.

"Chop off the head, and the body will die" she observed. "Now, how to get to the head?"

The most powerful of Current-Channelers had seen many a ship come up thousands of light-years short trying to use faster-than-light to move into the Nemean Abyss. She figured that meant the Intelligence had to be there. Combined with the disappearance of the Omega station (which had been severely Infected anyway), Sarah concluded the station and Intelligence had become one, entrenched in an area known for its lawlessness. This presented somewhat of a quandary, though—the Infection could only be stamped out if its Intelligence were killed off. That said, the Infection's less-advanced forms had an instinct to create a new Intelligence if the existing one were to be destroyed. Given the amount of biomass available, such a task would be trivial, akin to playing a game of whack-a-mole. Go after the limbs while the head became more and more intellectually advanced? Or go after the head and hope the limbs didn't create a new one, rendering the point moot?

On pure chance, _Siren Serenade_ passed close to the Nemean Abyss on its way to depositing corrupting agents which, once consumed would hopefully turn the Infection on itself. Scans showed frantic Trans-Galactic Republic activity surrounding a single ship.

Fully realizing she suffered from the same "cannot look away" she saw in those well beneath her staring at shuttle crashes, Sarah watched the vessel desperately fighting Infected tormentors uncountable in number.

RNS _Skywalker_ initially arrived at the Nemean Abyss to poke around, or would have if it hadn't run smack into the same interdiction field as every other craft heading to a bastion of lawlessness that made Omega look orderly. Many of these were piloted by less-than-law-abiding individuals who had no desire to be seen by the sensors of a twenty-kilometer instrument of the law. As a _Swiftsure_-class supercarrier, _Skywalker_ embarked a minimum of one hundred wings of fightercraft—7,200 ships. Until machinations within the Home Galaxy government conspired to produce _Revenant_ Star Dreadnaughts, the _Swiftsures_ had served as the backbone of the Trans-Galactic Republic Navy, keeping the peace across the ten galaxies that made up the "Trans-Galactic" part of "Republic." Pirates and ne'er to dos scattered, though they needn't have bothered as _Skywalker_'s goal was to investigate claims of the Infection, which at the time of the ship's arrival had not spread nearly as far.

Captain Howard Stark launched several squadrons of _Raptor_ fighters to do the initial recon. If necessary, _Fireant_ blastboats could be sent in as a follow-up, though he didn't anticipate needing to take such measures. A few ramshackle vessels took pot-shots at the patrolling craft, only to receive a face-full of ion canon fire in return. That was enough to deter any further interference, at least by the smuggler-types that were milling around the edge of what appeared to be an interdiction field.

"So they sent us here and now we can't even peek inside" harrumphed Stark. "Even a hyperwave initial momentum sustainer can't get us across eight thousand lightyears! That's several sector's worth of space! How do these primitives even…"

As if to answer his question, several pirate cruisers appeared.

"Sir, sensors report new arrivals from an unknown mass relay—in fact, we're detecting relay-transits deep inside the interdiction field. Whatever it is blocks hyperdrives and eezo-enhanced hyperdrives, but not usage of mass relays."

As of to accentuate the point, said pirates began firing at _Skywalker_. An incoming transmission matched no known language, though it sounded like untranslated batarian due to its harsh, bassy, guttural nature.

It only just occurred to Stark that the ships he found gathered should have been able to beat the interdiction field if they were using native technology—that they weren't implied unpleasant things.

"Alpha One making inspection pass."

The _Raptor_ buzzed close to one of the battered freighters.

"Sensors confirm: active hyperdrive core, no eezo."

Several shots scuffed the inspector's shields, but didn't cause any significant damage.

"Continuing inspection run."

_Well, that explains quite a bit. Smugglers have been making off with hardware, but just enough to stay below anything that would trigger an audit. Clever bastards!_

Hostile fire continued to rain down on _Skywalker_ and her fighters, but being a fraction of the power wielded by actual military-grade vessels (which themselves were ineffective against Trans-Galactic Republic particle shields), the massive carrier ignored it.

The bridge crew became cognizant of an uptick in the angry growling coming over _Skywalker_'s comms. Suddenly, it cut off. Impact warnings lit up—energy weapons were intersecting shields.

"Figures. They stole hyperdrive cores, unsurprising they also have turbolasers."

Stark launched more fighters and instructed them to disable, not destroy. However, the chance to do that diminished quickly as both freighters and improvised gunships turned tail at seeing huge numbers of craft billowing from launch bays. Many hyperdrive engagements lit up sensors.

Within the hour, the ensign manning Sensors reported hundreds of signatures streaking deep into the Abyss, likely from the same unknown relay. Attempts to determine the exact location of said relay were hampered by limitations not related to sensors. Since eezo-fueled travel was essentially instantaneous, it wasn't possible to derive distance covered via elapsed time. A 200 lightyear trip required the same travel time as a 2000 lightyear trip, assuming one relay transit.

Within two hours, sensor reading showed a massive blob of ships traveling at highly improbable speeds outward. Not fast enough for a relay, but too quick for traditional sublight propulsion. Even for a pirate fleet, the vessels making up the formation were quite irregular—some Citadel, some outlaw, even a few Trans-Galactic Republic. The last brought the highest level of concern, until the incoming force entered visual range.

The whole force radiated Infection off the charts. Behind could be seen Infected Reapers.

The Captain unhesitatingly hit the General Quarters button.

"Incoming Infected vessels bearing zero mark zero. The following squadrons should proceed to their action stations…"

With a hundred wings totaling six hundred squadrons, naming of fighter groups became slightly problematic. The old "colors" or "spelling alphabet" designators were insufficient on their own, but combined and doubled-up following form alpha-color-alpha it was possible to name over six thousand unique squadrons (twenty-six letters and ten colors). Thus, two hundred groups of twelve each were deployed—a hundred and fifty fighter squadrons screening fifty bomber/heavy squadrons.

Alpha-Red-Alpha made contact first. The Infected fleet numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands—but thankfully no fighters were evident as would be expected in traditional combat. Though, given the purpose of the Infection (create more Infection, not necessarily win conventional battles) this made sense. Not aware of the problems faced by defenders in the Enterprise System, some starfighters flew too close to Infected Reapers, leading to unresponsive or even auto-cannibalistic pilots and crashed ships.

"Pull back from the Reapers, or whatever those have turned into!" ordered _Skywalker_ control upon taking notice of more and more fighters dropping off the grid. Attacks against other Infected ships were not a problem, but the Infected Reapers were actually the biggest threat to the carrier as nothing else packed the firepower to cut through Star Dreadnaught scale shields. Of course, in the fight against _Revenant_, attackers weren't able to significantly damage the Star Dreadnaught if only because they were reduced to space junk before any progress could be made wearing down the ship's shields, combined with the simple fact that weapons in the kiloton or low gigaton range weren't going to get through shields channeling as much energy as a medium star very quickly. Enough sand might stagger a bantha, but dropped one grain at a time not much would happen. That said, the enemy force seemed to have a field secured container vessel's worth of sand...

Infected Reapers seemed to have grotesque protrusions on their "shells" which burst, revealing a brilliant purple-blue flash traveling at insane speeds before it slammed into the side of RNS _Skywalker_. Whatever they were, they partially ignored shields, damaging both the energy barrier and the carrier's armor. Equipped with five meters of protective plating (more in critical areas), this didn't present an immediate problem, but like any type of physical deflector, the defense could wear down over time after being exposed to more and more fire. Seeing as the twisted monstrosities seemed intent on attaching themselves to the vessel, fighters were forced to operate in the danger zone.

Fortunately, whatever negative affect the creatures had seemed more limited within _Skywalker_'s shield bubble, but grew in intensity as more and more of them swarmed the lone ship. Unfortunately, as a (super)carrier, _Skywalker_ only mounted limited anti-ship weaponry. "Super" only referred to her fighter complement, not the general-purpose-ness of the design (like Star Dreadnaughts or heavy cruisers which fulfilled both the battleship and carrier roles). Due to specialization, _Swiftsure_ supercarriers incurred far lower operating costs than the traditional large, multirole vessels of designation Star Dreadnaught which tended to be of similar keel length. This specialization directly explained lack of turbolasers, though, which proved to be a liability at the moment.

It was in this condition Sarah the Siren found RNS _Skywalker_; unable to effectively fight back due to effects from Infected Reapers on fighter pilots and not having enough of her own guns to beat off the assault. She would not intervene—it was not her function to save the inhabitants of this galaxy from a problem they themselves created and refused to fix. Still, it was almost sad to watch.

_Siren Serenade_ vanished in a purple flash.


	40. Frontier

**Chapter 39 – Frontier**

Kevin Filner spent yet more time in his laboratory analyzing the strange device Maya the elder had returned with from her unexpected trip to another universe. There were no obvious means to open it and attempts to scan it returned solid images as if it actively resisted being probed. In fact, the thing was perfectly cylindrical—to the point of any incongruences being measured in atoms. Try as he might, no connectors made themselves evident either. It had been hinted that this object would assist in blindingly-fast travel by overcoming "temporal distortion issues," but how that would happen no one knew.

He dearly wished to speak with Patricia Tannis, despite her insufferable attitude of superiority. The more she gathered (or was given) about the Eridians/Forerunners/Forebears (could someone just pick a name already?!), the more dismissive she became of everyone else. The already-antisocial scientist seemed to be well on the way to fulfilling every negative stereotype about "isolated, eccentric genius." Still, she offered some amount of knowledge that would hopefully help the galaxy fight back against an insane Siren and a twisted biological agent from another universe.

Filner stayed with his equipment aboard _Normandy SR-2.5_ while the rest of the crew cavorted aboard the SETTLE Center. He occasionally would transfer to the station for meals, but otherwise was content to remain alone.

"That's impractical" insisted Tali upon viewing yet another enlarged version of "UNSC _Pangaea_."

"There's no way we could digistruct this—none of the bays are large enough!"

"What about digistructing pieces, then putting it together by hand?" The quarian wasn't sure if Gaige was motivated by a desire to help or a desire to test out her errant robot's new welding abilities. While this "Deathtrap" had been completely surpassed years ago, the twentysomething kept it around for sentimental reasons.

"Let's finalize the design, then figure out how to build it" replied Cortana. "There are notable weaknesses in heat dispersion and hull bracing that need to be fixed!"

"What's the point of all that cross-bracing?" demanded Garrus. Like the rest who weren't part of the official design team, he popped in and out as he pleased, alternating between training, recreating, and armchair starship design.

"It eats up a lot of internal volume that could be used for, I don't know, _guns_…" he finished.

"Garrus, just because internal bracing can't be calibrated doesn't mean it's not worthwhile!" teased Tali.

"The _Pillar of Autumn_ was designed with an internal structure that could withstand armor loss of 90% and breaches to all compartments yet still remain functional" lectured Cortana. "This design, with the goal of extreme durability, should attempt to replicate the _Autumn_'s."

"I believe we've gone one better" said Norville Lillard. Along with Velma Cohn, the two hailed from the "large craft engineering" specialty within the facility, and they supervised a team of naval architects who would do the bulk of the actual design work on whatever ideas Tali/Gaige/Cortana/others came up with. Technically consultants on loan from the Trans-Galactic Republic, they both possessed intimate knowledge of Star Dreadnaught-scale vessels and the unique challenges faced when crafting such a ship.

For many of the crew, this was the first time they'd seen or interacted with any of the engineering staff at SETTLE other than Tali and Gaige. It was easy to assume the dynamic duo did everything, as they were usually the ones bouncing concepts around or the ones in front of the cameras at a starship launch. Aboard _Normandy_ they did in fact do a good chunk of the work, feeding the perception of being the sole personnel to ask for when engineering matters came up.

Creating _Maxthon_ was easy compared to the task of designing something several orders of magnitude larger, especially due to the ship's not-entirely-public mission.

Upon their arrival, Lillard and Cohn were briefed by Cortana, and Cortana alone, in a secure location. After repeatedly impressing upon them the importance of their mission, she dropped the metaphorical bomb.

"You are about to embark on a task that I have seen attempted once before, with some level of success until sabotaged. This ship, this last monument, will be our society's final defense against the Flood, or as you know it, the 'Infection.'"

"Does it destroy the Infection?" asked Lillard eagerly.

"No" replied Cortana sadly. "It enables us to live to fight another day. It is Noah's Ark, if you are familiar with the story. But with more guns." She smiled at the last comment.

"So you think we're going to lose." Velma couldn't believe it, staring at the AI as if she'd suggested space carried sound.

"I don't think it. I know it. The Flood spreads at an exponential rate. It's slow at first, and it is only within that first stage that civilizations with your level of technological achievement can hope to stop it."

"Our level of achievement? What more is there to do? We have travel that effectively beats the light barrier. We wield energy weapons. We have instantaneous communication over trans-galactic distances." Now Norville was the one to look at Cortana as though she'd grown a third arm.

"You do not yet possess the ability to create life, to transmute the biological to the digital (or the reverse), you cannot travel instantaneously from one place to another, nor has the Trans-Galactic Republic shown any tendency to construct entire planets." 

"Who cares?" spluttered Velma. "Why would we need any of those things?"

Like stern teacher correcting errant pupils, Cortana spared no feelings. "The Forerunners left a very specific description of technological development on which all societies were classified. It is akin to an ant asking why measurements beyond millimeters exist, because ants have no use for a kilometer."

"Ouch" laughed Norville. "Star Destroyer to the heart!"

The AI's tone softened somewhat. "Only a society of Level 1 or Level 0 could hope to fight the Flood at this stage. The Trans-Galactic Republic is Level 2. The most we can do is run. Run, and try to leave the Flood behind."

She paused, before continuing.

"Or, we could hope that while we're fleeing, we somehow jump two levels in Achievement Tiers." The improbability of such an advance caused Cortana to chuckle.

"So you need us to design a generational ship with enough firepower to keep the Infection off its tail while we get the hell out."

"Correct, Norville, that is precisely what I need you to do. Without, of course, letting anyone in on the idea that this ship is a strategic retreat. It must be seen as the sword of the galaxy, not the shield that it is."

"You realize someone is going to have to pick and choose who lives and who dies, right?" asked Velma.

"That may not be necessary" countered Cortana. "I have a theory, but I need to return to the geth Sphere of Consensus in order to find out whether it would work…"

"What is it?"

"I'm not going to say until I know more" insisted the AI. "In the meantime, lead your teams in designing this ship, remember what its real purpose is, but don't let anyone know."

She gave them documents outlining alterations needed to what was already on paper.

Bearing this secret, Lillard and Cohn oversaw work on ever-more-colossal starship blueprints. At first, UNSC _Pangaea_ remained a foundation, creating a concept of ~15,000m. However, it became increasingly evident that such a design would not be large enough to accommodate all stated goals (including Cortana's). A design study revolving around the 35,000m _Ultimatum_ was also conducted as a thought exercise—the ship would have been greatly extended, adding a third or more to its length while tripling its mass. However, such an arrangement would never happen due to lacking appropriate construction facilities and the small matter of the Trans-Galactic Republic not being willing to hand over a Star Dreadnaught.

The largest problem seemed to be avoiding Trans-Galactic Republic power generation—in other words, hypermatter annihilation. Though it produced by far the most energy per cubic meter of reactor volume, Cortana nixed its use on the grounds that a generational ship fleeing an enemy who might pursue to the ends of the universe would likely not be welcome in the Trans-Galactic Republic Home Galaxy to stop for fuel. Thus, no hypermatter reactors.

Citadel races had their own reactor systems which were woefully inadequate for such large vessels, as demonstrated during the Olympic Project with vessels twice the size of _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ simply to accommodate power systems. These, too were tossed out.

Having been intimately involved in the running of UNSC _Infinity_, Cortana uploaded schematics for the latest UNSC fusion reactors and drives derived from Forerunner tech from her memories to SETTLE's computers. Such a core could produce power similar to the Trans-Galactic Republic's hypermatter systems if over-driven and kept extremely cool. "Cool" would be a relative term—it would be operating very close to the thermal limit for its casing, after accounting for a hypothetical extension of the system used aboard _Autumn_ involving near-absolute-zero ion chilling with lasers. Such a near-infinite waste heat recycling system would permit the core to operate at the ragged edge full-time. How to accomplish this, she had no idea, yet.

Consensus began to build around a 57,500m monster ship. Though smaller than hypothesized Forerunner _Fortresses_ (some were alleged to have exceeded 100,000m), it seemed to be the most optimal size for both keeping its hot-running core cool and providing enough space to achieve all design goals. A small debate broke out over how to note lengths of ships exceeding ten kilometers.

"The Trans-Galactic Republic has always denoted ship lengths in meters" said Norville Lillard. "Even when the length is tens of thousands."

"These numbers are a bit big, though—wouldn't it be simpler to switch to kilometers?" asked Tali.

"All of our software is denominated in units no larger than meters" insisted Velma Cohn. "We'd have to rewrite a good portion of 3DShipMax to permit kilometers to be used in design templates."

Tali looked about ready to call up the Migrant Fleet to do just that, but was waved down by, of all people, Gaige.

"Dude, just build big ships. Who cares how they're measured?"

Gaige held a small holo-emitter with her own suggestion. At 77,650m, it was the largest that had been seriously reviewed by the Principals (Lillard/Cohn), Hull Team, Power Team, and Weapons Team. It had been kept "as advisory," because of resource concerns. The UNSC/Forerunner reactor system started to hit diminishing returns after 60,000m, causing the same problem as the Citadel races faced, except ships could be built much larger before suffering this fate. Any _serious_ climbing up that slope would occur past 90,000m, though, so the slope wasn't the main reason.

Also banned (openly and publically despite it being a Cortana edict) were turbolasers for their reliance on Tibanna gas, another apparently Trans-Galactic Republic-near-exclusive resource.

"Chemistry in this galaxy did not see fit to grace us with such things" noted Tali.

That left kinetic accelerators and any form of energy weapon that didn't need an impossible-to-obtain catalyst in order to create destructive potential. Deep in discussion over the mechanics of Magnetic Accelerator Cannons, proceedings were interrupted by a proximity alarm. With the state of the galaxy, SETTLE would shoot first and ask questions later. To the disappointment of Grunt, Zaeed, and others who spoiled for a fight less openly, the inbound ship supplied acceptable identification, so the station's batteries held their fire.

Onto the station stepped Admiral Steven Hackett, Systems Alliance Navy.

Addressing Shepard, he grimaced, knowing her reaction would probably be unfavorable.

"My guess is that you are probably tired of people showing up with things that would have been useful a year ago, but I am here to do exactly that."

Sam glared, but reverted to a more neutral look immediately—whatever it was probably hadn't been cleared for release. And if Hackett couldn't release it until now, it probably wasn't his fault. Like Anderson, the Admiral had a bit of a maverick streak in him, and getting him to contain it took some serious pushing.

"This better be good." She folded her arms and adopted a posture of annoyance.

"The Citadel Council is having difficulties solving the problems we face. The Systems Alliance, however, seeks to push back against the Infection the most we can. If this is our extinction calling, we are not going to go quietly into the void."

_Please let it be something awesome._

"What'd you bring?"

"Tankers. Several hundred million liters of a curious substance, one that had been stored away as having no practical use until now. As a member of CRITICAL, the Systems Alliance is privy to the fact that a ship-of-last-resort is under design here at the SETTLE facility. Word reached us that the main limitation was, as often is the case, heat management. Strange, as the Trans-Galactic Republic seems to have that solved…"

Cortana grinning in the background gave a hint as to who might have tipped the Arcturus-based government off. She did not, however, make any indication of her own master plan that involved leaving the galaxy behind (thus forfeiting use of Trans-Galactic Republic technology).

"When your friends" (Hackett gestured in the general direction of Brick, the Mayas, and Jackie) "arrived, they showed up piloting a most unusual vessel. Its communications arrays were very sophisticated, and in the sharing climate of the time the Systems Alliance gladly handed over the specifications for those transceivers. It helped ease compatibility problems between the Trans-Galactic Republic and Citadel forces. We did not, however, let anyone in on the secrets of the craft's engines—they were cooled by a substance we'd never before encountered."

"Coolant?" Cortana made herself present before the admiral. "Sir!" She kept of the charade of not knowing why the Systems Alliance had knowledge of cooling issues.

"While the ability of this substance to remove waste heat borders on the fantastic, we have not made use of it for several reasons. The first is that we have only a limited quantity of it and do not have any idea how to create more. Second, there is the matter of this slurry, now called XCL-Magenta, being rather toxic."

"I remember Maya mentioning this to me once" commented Shepard. "Something about 'slag.' Nasty stuff!"

"Indeed it may be, but given the circumstances the Systems Alliance believes you ought to have every possible available tool that we can give. Thus, we are transferring control of the stockpile—some 124 million liters—to the SETTLE facility along with blueprints to the drive the coolant was used on. Both are yours to do with as you please. It is the hope of the Systems Alliance that it will help this supership project come together. Godspeed, Shepard."

Hauled in aboard six bulk freighters (with one carrying an extra cargo container strapped to its back), the substance was immediately subjected to a battery of tests by SETTLE chemical engineers. Working with Cortana, it was discovered that "XCL-Magenta" or "slag" would in fact be able to sufficiently cool a reactor similar to those utilized by Cortana's UNSC.

"Forerunner power sources would not suffer from this" she said to the team, "but the UNSC's understanding of Forerunner technology was limited both by practical matters and having to spend much formerly-research-dedicated-time beating back the Flood long enough to complete UNSC _Eternal Protector_. Which we then lost" she added bitterly.

"So how does this work?" asked one engineer from the Systems Alliance. "The problem we have is that our coolant is sprayed into space in order to eject heat, and isn't always recovered, especially under heavy maneuvering. I suspect that's why experiments with this substance have been limited."

"We don't use a spray system" replied Cortana. "No deliberate coolant loss will take place in these setups."

She brought up two competing designs—the 57,500m and 77,650m concepts reviewed earlier (which received a promotion to consideration due to the possibilities offered by slag cooling). In both cases, said cooling would permit the reactor to run at close to 450% of rated power continuously, bursting to 600% for short periods. This idea of over-driving engines had already been applied to the UNSC _Pillar of Autumn_, though in a more limited scope. By enabling incredible heat-sinking, slag cooling would transform the _Autumn_'s "temporary" boost into a permanent one, while raising the ceiling for "overdrive." Quick to absorb heat and even quicker to dispense it, slag had been instrumental in the 21-day trip carrying Vault Hunters from one galaxy to another. Reasons for relative system fragility of _Roland_'s engine (it was destroyed by wear during the trip) ranged from technological limitations to flat-out incompetent design. Neither of these would inhibit Cortana or SETTLE, leading to superior use of existing technology much the same way as Cortana had enhanced _Ascendant Justice_ compared to the Covenant's poor understanding of Forerunner-derived weaponry.

Cortana spent a good amount of time speaking with Gaige regarding exactly what she'd done to the drive, which, according to the young engineer would have only had a five-jump life under _normal_ circumstances.

"So you doubled the fuel intake, increased the outboard pressure, and removed nacelle safeties" summarized the AI.

"Yep!"

"Do you realize what could have gone wrong? There are about fifty different reasons that ship should not have survived the journey!" exclaimed Cortana.

"Well, it did" pouted Gaige. "So it doesn't matter. Just keep everything cool!"

"I will not 'keep everything cool'" shot back the blue-purple projection. "While this may have been acceptable during your rather unconventional escape, you need to remember where you are and who you work for now. Neither the SETTLE Center nor CRITICAL will tolerate back-of-the-napkin engineering in routine construction, no matter how well it might work, assuming it doesn't blow up in your face!" Notably, Cortana turned a bit redder during this exchange.

"I meant keep the drive cool" huffed Gaige, starting to become annoyed. "But it would be great if you could keep your cool too."

Cortana backed down on harsh tones but kept pushing her point. "A sixty-percent-chance of successful operation is _not acceptable_. Especially when the opposing forty-percent-chance contains, among other possibilities, total reactor meltdown, engine failure during faster-than-light, and release of toxic materials into the ship's habitable areas."

Gaige blinked rapidly. Was she stemming off crying? No. Was she shocked? Absolutely.

Realizing that a ramshackle galaxy like Gamma-Three might have different definitions of what constituted "acceptable," Cortana spoke again, this time trying to demonstrate that very point.

"I am sorry if I have come across unkindly." Her hologram shed its red tint. "Where I am from, we have different standards for our ships and their construction. From what I understand about your galaxy of origin, divergent circumstances there preclude insistence on 99.999% confidence in a design."

Gaige looked slightly less put-out.

"Furthermore, you are not the first person I have snapped at, or 'lost my cool', as you say. Despite there not being a United Nations Space Command or Office of Naval Intelligence here, I tend to assume everyone in this galaxy follows or should follow the rules and regulations set out by those bodies. Especially since, from my perspective, the Flood is being permitted to rampage unchecked while those affected wring their hands instead of using them to strangle the Flood before it could reach the stage it is now. The UNSC fought back. ONI fought back. Their morals were definitely questionable, their actions sometimes reprehensible, but I must admit I prefer those distasteful options to doing very little or nothing."

Cortana silently wondered if her geth upgrade might have downsides after all. It seemed her emotions were becoming more intense and more difficult to control even though she had no danger of overconnecting her neural map anymore. Further, she noticed that a nontrivial amount of processing time seemed permanently dedicated to addressing emotional outbursts—rationalizing them, trying to understand them, figuring out ways to explain them. It wasn't rampancy, not by a long shot. But it did slightly reduce her thinking capacity and leave her less mentally focused than she would have liked.

"You know" mused Gaige, "Tali has told me the same thing. She was just less…in your face about it."

Deciding this was enough to bury the rather small hatchet, Cortana resumed analysis of _Roland_'s slag-drive and the applicability of using slag as coolant. She internally chose to refer to the substance using the moniker given by its place of origin, rather than "XCL-Magenta," or "eXperimental CooLant, Magenta" as the Systems Alliance called it.

Ultimately, _Roland_'s slag-drive proved too badly-engineered and jury-rigged to be of any use for the Supership Project, tentatively designated "Nova Vita," for "New Life." Impressive in the context of its origin, _Roland_ couldn't hold a candle to even pedestrian Trans-Galactic Republic or Citadel technology. Slag, however, worked itself significantly into both Gaige's design and the ship which had originally been the "chosen one." With enhanced cooling, diminishing returns on size were pushed out past 100,000m, though not even Gaige felt building a ship of that size would be worth the effort.

In her downtime, Cortana spoke to Shepard about her need to see the geth again, despite the danger of having to pass through some Infected space to get there.

"Please don't tell anyone—I don't need the rest of the team thinking I can't do my job" she'd said.

Sam promised to keep things quiet.

[…]

The Trans-Galactic Republic spanned ten galaxies, acting more of a federal union between separate states than its charter (establishing "one central state") would suggest. In matters of military policy, cohesion tended to be higher. Everything else became subjected to the usual squabbling. Still, the Trans-Galactic Republic's imposing _Swiftsure_ carriers kept the peace relatively well as the behemoth cluster had not experienced any major wars or conflicts for centuries.

At long last, the Home Senate (the ten galaxies had designators starting with Alpha, but Alpha was generally referred to as "Home") became aware of travails facing not-too-distant neighbor Gamma-Six. That the Terra Nova fleet sent to explore a "mass pulsar" got hurled to another galaxy, fought off a threat against said galaxy, and indirectly contributed to downfall of its civilian government was not widely-spread knowledge. While the Trans-Galactic Republic tended to be a benevolent, if not corruption-free representative democracy, nobody saw any reason to intentionally disseminate the story of Terra Nova. Thus, the average citizen on the street remained unaware of extra-galactic diplomacy.

With the advent of the Infection and possible dangers arising from hyperspace travel, it became a concern of the Home Senate. Brought to light through routine testimony by the Director of the Republic Intelligence Service, the Senate suddenly faced a two-pronged problem. One, extra-galactic lifeforms that would tear through the galaxy without intervention and two, the real possibility that the very faster-than-light travel civilization rested on brought those lifeforms here and might cause further problems.

"Honorable Senators, I believe that the Republic Intelligence Service has taken the necessary steps to contain the Infection issue. We do recommend increasing our readiness level in case this turns out to be false hope, which is the rationale for requesting additional funds which will be used to construct heavy defensive vessels deployed only in the most dire of emergencies."

The Senators serving on the Intelligence Committee disliked the Republic Intelligence Service's tendency to request huge blocks of money with very little oversight. However, the fact that there existed a standing committee for Intelligence outside the normal structure (military affairs generally fell under the Judicial Department) spoke to the influence of RISE and its boosters within the bureaucratic power structure. The intelligence services even superseded the regular military in some ways, able to request funding for what would normally be asked for only by a Navy or Army (new ships, more soldiers). What amounted to intelligence service command over military personnel caused consternation to no end in the ranks. Over the past few centuries, the Home Senate had seen some attempts at reform to this twisted process, but as always some forces exploited the desire of the electorate to see "change" by creating "reform" that served as mere window-dressing while expanding the power the "reform" supposedly reigned in.

"A standing committee for Intelligence will remove the competitive urges between the uniformed services and our intelligence-gathering apparatuses" insisted one of the Senators sponsoring an internal rule-change that would pry the Intelligence Subcommittee from beneath the Defense subcommittee.

While what he said was in fact true, this was not the boon it sounded like. No more did the intelligence agencies compete with the military-in-all-but-name (for years, the Senate refused to call a gundark a gundark—the standing armed forces of the Trans-Galactic Republic were only begrudgingly referred to as "navy" and "army" when the issue was forced). Instead, RISE battled with the sprawling Societal Development "super" committee and its more than half-dozen subcommittees (such as Education, Business, and Sapient Rights) for funds. Rather than trading between spies and ships, the Trans-Galactic Republic bartered intel and infrastructure (Transportation and Travel committee).

That the Infection had taken over almost the entirety of Gamma-Six was not reported. Director David Vance technically told the truth on that front—he had been kept unaware of exactly how bad the situation in Gamma-Six had gotten. The RISE Committee which he theoretically supervised (without knowing the identity of its members) did not choose to share with the Director this pertinent piece of information. Thus, he honestly believed additional Star Dreadnaughts armed with _Soul Reaper_ missiles would be able to contain the problem, hence the budget request. Even accounting for additional revenue generated both by economic growth and new taxes on certain types of financial trading, twenty billion credits per ship still represented a tall order. One pundit commented that the glass for such an order would reach "from Coruscant all the way to the Outer Rim," as Vance requested _ten_ additional _Revenant-_class Star Dreadnaughts over the next five years.

"Director, while I understand this 'Infection' poses a serious threat if it arrives here, how do we know that we will in fact face it? It is millions of lightyears away."

"Senator Steen, my concern is that if this is not addressed now, it would be akin to ignoring a fire in your neighbor's house hoping it would not spread to your own" replied Vance.

"Is it a fire, or is it merely a glowlamp?" challenged Senator Karshabka through a translator (Wookiees who could speak Basic were rare).

The hearing was closed for a reason, so Vance brought up information transmitted by Republic Intelligence Service agents in Gamma-Six. Video feed from Staff Sergeant Wiley demonstrating the capabilities of Infected lifeforms shocked the Senators, who had only heard of the existence of this "Infection," but had not seen it in action yet.

If he was expecting the Senate Intelligence Committee to be swayed, Vance received precisely the opposite reaction.

"Very nice attempt at scaring us" mocked Senator Glia Ham'Del of Bothawui. "We have seen viruses, plagues, and bioweapons before—some are actual threats, others appear frightening but have a counter as simple as bacta. Why should we believe that this is any different?"

Ham'Del harbored strong negative feelings toward the Intelligence Committee as it seemed to be an instrument through which the Republic Intelligence Service browbeat the Senate and other departments into bending to its will. Glia sought to soften the impact by diluting the committee's power, sowing doubt, and questioning RISE at every turn. Being a Bothan, Ham'Del found herself constantly surrounded by intrigue, politicking, and backstabbing. Opponents sought to use this against her, but were out-gambitted every time. She strongly suspected RISE to be behind at least some of these "scandals," but of course couldn't prove it beyond circumstantial evidence. Despite these attempts at "blatant character assassination," she survived, and attacks against her character had less and less of an impact the more ridiculous she could make her questioners look.

The chair, Vlaad Blate of Duro, called for order. Like most non-humans capable of using Basic in a galaxy where the human language dominated, Blate spoke both Durese and Basic. The Chairman tended to be more friendly to the requests of RISE, but did not "rubber-stamp" anything. He, like Ham'Del, wanted more evidence.

"While this video feed is compelling" he began, "I concur with Senator Ham'Del that it alone does not justify a request for two hundred billion credits in new starship construction to address what appears to be at most a possible, not probable, threat galaxies away which may or may not arrive on our borders. I do understand that the mission of the Republic Intelligence Service is to see things before they happen, but at the same time one prediction does not create a pattern. A single observation cannot sustain a trend."

"The Republic Intelligence Service respectfully disagrees and will submit additional evidence if this committee should wish it" replied Director Vance.

"I call for a special meeting of the Senate Intelligence Committee one standard week from today, at 1500 hours here in the Cracken Room" said Norman Wheld, Senator from the Corporate Sector.

"I second that motion" affirmed Glia Ham'Del.

Scheduling a new meeting easily passed and the existing gathering adjourned.

[…]

At the Garthmot Scientific Center, what data had been made available from the Great Opportunities Fleet passed under the studious eyes of the Home Galaxy's top researchers in astrophysics, quantum mechanics, multiverse theory, and more. Attempts to replicate decay in the barriers between the hypothesized "parallels" as noted by a human researcher named "Tannis" aboard RNS _Amerigo_ were met with frustrated failure. Verifying the existence of other parallels was not in doubt—that anything could in fact breach them was the cause of debate.

"No way" insisted the head multiverse scientist. "Even if we could break through, it would require energy in excess of what was produced by some forms of superlaser. Directed at an area the size of an atom!"

"The data suggests otherwise" retorted his quantum-mechanics colleague. "Patricia Tannis' logs show that multiverse barrier decay can occur with a fraction of that amount!"

Another scientist intervened before the two, notorious for their (usually civil) bickering could get going and hijack any attempt at actually solving the problem rather than having a contest of intellects.

"You realize that the interparallel barrier comes out thinner from Tannis' data, right?" She stared at both of them, daring either to resume the argument.

"Of course it takes a superlaser to punch through a planetary shield" she continued, "but you really don't need one to break the defenses on an old freighter."

Both looked down as if caught with a skifter in their sabacc hands.

Mr. Multiverse, given name Dr. Adit Shah, recovered first. "Still, as a man of science, I will not accept a single data-set on a matter of this magnitude as changing absolutely everything we know!"

"On that, we agree" replied quantum mechanics researcher Dr. Michael Dickenson. "Why don't we see if we can reach _Amerigo_?"

At these ranges (millions of lightyears), the only possible communication would be extremely low throughput boosted-S-thread HoloNet transmissions. Anyone trying it would be lucky to get audio; this was the reason that dot-dash code remained part of basic training!

Only static greeted their attempts to contact the Trans-Galactic Republic's mobile science lab extraordinaire.

"They're probably out of range" commented Dr. Shah. "No one bothered to install an entangled quantum link on a ship that old…"

"I don't think anyone anticipated sending any of our ships this far from home" reasoned Dr. Nancy Cole. "You heard about the investigations of mass pulsars flung one of our fleets quite the distance?"

"I've never figured out why anyone cared so much about those" replied Shah. "There are maybe one or two of them, they don't do anything other than move ships randomly—what possible use could they have?"

"In theory" said Dickenson, "they could offer an even faster method of propulsion if our sensor readings describing what goes on as a ship approaches are accurate."

A simulation initiated by Dickenson finished, after which all three scientists stared at its results eagerly.

"Multiverse theory proposed by Tannis: 63.7% probability of being nonrandom chance. Requires a diminishing of four orders of magnitude in the interparallel barrier. Even if the hypothesis is true, the dangers would not occur within this galaxy at this time. However, slow shifting in the interparallel barrier indicates that on time scales in the billions of years, such thinning could occur naturally."

"Well" laughed Shah, "looks like it isn't a problem for us, even if it were to happen!"

Whether or not alternate dimensions existed that could permit travel between universes no longer concerned anyone at Garthmot. Efforts would transfer to more productive lines of thought, such as improvements to hyperdrives, further attempts to create cloaking devices replicating the impossible-to-find stygium, and micro-manufacturing plants to improve development of impoverished worlds. That such capabilities might find their way into the magazines of capital ships or starfighters to create more missiles didn't really get much attention, though with RISE funding such "dual-purpose" technologies would doubtlessly be exploited in both their peaceful and weaponized forms whether the original inventors wished it or not.

[…]

"Well, this is absolutely typical" sighed Patricia Tannis. Bill Ricker had decided to return to Gamma-Six (given the option to do so, but not requirement). The old Star Destroyer experienced some kind of engine trouble, dropping out of conventional hyperspace part-way between Gamma-Three and Gamma-Six. Out the front viewports could be observed a massive black strip of space which emitted similar patterns to Kevin Filner's black hole threshers.

After that, everything went to hell.

Ships, or perhaps creatures, began pouring out of the breach in space. Resembling Reapers colored a disgusting yellow-brown, they moved much more slowly than Reapers had been observed to move in the battle at Gamma-Six. Their "legs" hung askew, and their main guns' red lances no longer stabbed into space. Purple flashes accompanied the "popping" of sacks on the "shell" portion of whatever they were. Seconds later, several objects crashed into _Amerigo_'s armor as if her particle shields weren't active (they were).

Perhaps if the ship were still military, defenses would have been coordinated better. As it was, Ricker had been meaning to drill the eggheads in sealing compartments, holding chokepoints, basic weapon usage, and other skills imparted into every naval crewman during basic training. He never got the chance.

At first, no one thought anything of consequence had occurred. Then, large toothed mouths chewed through _Amerigo_'s aging armor, letting loose biological horrors. First came the clawed, toothy ones, slashing their way through helpless scientists, lab aides, and graduate students. Following, grey, metallic-looking two-legged beasts vaguely resembling the "turians" of Gamma-Six seemed to be coordinating the slaughter. A few towering reptilian-looking Infected came after, blowing themselves up as soon as they'd reached a suitable pile of corpses created by the slashers. This released Infection prime forms whose purpose was to create more Infected agents, which they did with gusto.

Some enterprising students took to several functioning turbolaser turrets on the Star Destroyer's top side. Whether it was intentional or not, the targeting interfaces for these weapons were very "gamey," uncannily familiar to any person who spent significant amounts of time playing HoloNet or local-net entertainment sims. The turrets spat red fire, damaging or destroying dozens of the twisted Reapers. Unfortunately, that did little to stem the tide of biological pods smashing into _Amerigo_—a dying former-Reaper often launched as many of these pods as possible as it died—sometimes cutting through its fellow horrors in addition to hitting its target.

A few scientists were once in the Navy's S2S program. Though politicians refused to call the Trans-Galactic Republic's standing military what it was, these were Navy men and women through and through. Rallying fleeing personnel, several defensive fronts were established, which the rampaging Infection either smashed through or more often avoided for corridors that didn't have a dozen blaster rifles poking out or an E-WEB set up.

Within an hour, half of the ship's exterior matched the sickly color of its assailants, who turned away toward more productive tasks. Tens of thousands of Infection lifeforms were now aboard and the Gravemind saw no reason to expend vast amounts of resources on a seemingly-defenseless ship that would fall in due course anyway. No gain could be had from taking it faster when other, more important goals remained unfulfilled.

Tannis, along with a horde of other non-combat personnel, had taken refuge in the ship's bridge tower. Though such centralized command-and-control centers were generally mocked for making an easy target whose destruction would take down the entire Star Destroyer, the Infection didn't seem to be natively spaceborne and had to fight its way through turbolifts, corridors, and access hatches just like humanoid boarding parties in order to reach a large mass of helpless biomass rather than, say, shattering the bridge windows. Ricker himself, along with anyone suitably military he could find, set up a defensive perimeter that seemed to be holding for now. He'd cursed loudly as some pilot hotshots among the former military took to the ship's docking bays, roaring off in assault shuttles while promising safe evacuation to those they carried with them.

"Has it occurred to them that these shuttles haven't flown in a decade other than maintenance, and they have a jump-range of less than a hundred-thousand light years?" he raged.

In the meantime, he worked with the ship's communications officers to rig up every type of distress beacon he could. At the same time, Ricker knew summoning the wrong type of help would only make things worse—so the message he broadcast started out "If you can't fight the Infection, ignore this message." It then went on to explain briefly that help was required. As a precaution, every fifteen minutes someone had to confirm there were still survivors to rescue—failure to do so would switch to "Infected vessel, either destroy or stay away!" message broadcast seven times before the entire ship self-destructed barring intervention by a person. In the gap between galaxies, rescue was improbable if not impossible, especially considering traffic between Gamma-Three and Gamma-Six had pretty much stopped (not that it was common to begin with). Even on a main hyperlane, the odds of finding another ship were very small. Nevertheless, they would fight and struggle until the last of them were dead.

Tannis, along with pretty much any scientist left alive, scrounged around for any sort of removable media on which to save her work. Then the hunt was on for an open workstation with working transfer ports, and after that, an agonizing wait since most inactive/infrequently modified research data went onto one or two storage servers not intended for many concurrent users. Oh, and hope the ship's internal network didn't get bogged down, which happened frequently enough during any type of inter-lab transfer. Intranets within sections were blazing-fast. Connections _between_ different lab areas were slow as most data moved on removable media carried by researchers from one terminal to another. Yet again, the ship's jury-rigged, hand-me-down nature reared its ugly head like a sudden Sarlacc in an otherwise-peaceful desert.

[…]

The deserts of Plutus were quite peaceful, if only due to being utterly controlled by Infected lifeforms. No combat was necessary when no resistance existed. The constant stream of Infected Reapers/Harvesters beat back the corporate fleet attempting to salvage (or at least deny to the Infection) what was left of their headquarters world. Flash traffic bounced across the ECHONet: HARVESTERS HAVE RETURNED. NOT A DRILL. REPEAT, NOT A DRILL. PREPARE ALL MILITARY UNITS.

Given the relative lack of military units due to the first Harvester War and subsequent selloff of "surplus" hardware to save the balance-sheets of corporations who'd put everything into a single endeavor only to see it fail miserably (crushed by the United Defense Command/Trans-Galactic Republic), this was precisely the worst outcome for Gamma-Three that only a horror author might have come up with if s/he felt particularly sadistic. Corporate conscription ruled the day…except there were no weapons to hand out or ships to assign to.

"We're gonna have to start sharing rocks and sticks" griped one private, pulled in wearing street clothes which he was told to keep as no uniforms were available currently.

The MALITOR Alliance seemed to be the only ones in good shape and doing something with it. Dahl pulled back and retrenched as its perfectly average finances suggested an all-out military buildup might not be good for its bottom line. While Torgue didn't have exceptional profits either, he never let cost get in the way of doing something cool. In this vein, the Badass Arena of Badassitude had become "The sissy wimpy do nothing pit of despair" so he'd shut it down. Bandit-on-bandit action wasn't exactly entertaining.

Neither Mallory nor Malcolm held it against Torgue Flexington that his venture cost everyone involved a large amount of money without turning a profit. Normal businesspeople might have cared, even filed lawsuits over abandonment of fiduciary duties, but the Maliwans were not "normal." Unlike Jakobs, Hyperion, or the former Atlas, profit never ranked as their number-one concern. So long as the company remained solvent, the pair contented themselves with whatever level of cash flow the market provided, rather than trying to squeeze their competition out of existence or find new ways to extract more money from their customers for products of lesser quality (Tediore had become infamous for this).

As part of the MALITOR Alliance, both factions relocated a good number of their MODDER shipyards from the usual truce-world of Themis to a Maliwan-aligned planet named Ares. Maliwan hadn't been much into building large vessels, which Torgue mocked relentlessly until Malcolm pointed out that most recent "Torgue" designs were actually rebranded Dahl, "as generic as you can get, except with explosive armaments." This caused Torgue's face to fall and he ceased poking fun at Maliwan for their below-average ship sizes.

Ares orbited very close to its star, close enough that special shielding was required to protect anything in orbit from intense solar heat. This also served to conceal most things in orbit, though the shield flare gave away that _something_ orbited the planet—in this case, MALITOR shipyards. All relocated MODDERs had been immediately set to spit out dreadnaughts upon arrival using combined plans leaning heavily on Maliwan design with a few Torgue weapons here and there. Despite the atrocious environmental record of Maliwan firearms (see: Promethea strip-mining), in this case the massive amounts of energy needed to run digistruction machinery came from the conveniently-close sun.

Though the Infection hadn't made a move in this area yet, the MALITOR Alliance did its best to be ready.

[…]

"Well this sucks" complained Captain Isabelle Long. "We are here to save this galaxy, but we do nothing instead."

The Trans-Galactic Republic's fleet formerly stationed in Gamma-Three finally made its return, only to find that things weren't as they'd been left.

Captain Benjamin Reid expressed some impatience with his fellow officer. "Isabelle, we can't go around just protecting everything willy-nilly. Remember Matthew Ratzik" he added, more seriously.

Isabelle Long's "do-gooder" nature got a lot of (kindhearted) ribbing from other Captains, but they all knew she meant well. Truth be told, she even escaped the "meant well, did bad" that befell some who wished to make the universe a better place. Still, her eagerness had to be tempered by reality.

Reality hit Matt Ratzik in a rather final way—though the Infection posed a great threat and could even cut through anti-Indoctrination shielding on most Trans-Galactic Republic vessels, that hadn't stopped Nimitz from deploying her vessels in limited "burn runs" to torch worlds that had been completely Infected. Even though it might not do much, it beat passivity.

During one of these runs into the Terminus Systems, Ratzik and his vessel, RNS _Warrior's Honor_, happened to run into Sarah. The purple-haired power-tower Siren Sarah who was intent on doing some inscrutable Siren thing. Upon noticing the Trans-Galactic Republic vessel, a purple beam reached from the former _Revenant_ to touch the shields of _Warrior_. Her shields collapsed and the beam began drilling into the hull within seconds. In another second, the beam pierced an active hypermatter reactor, detonating the core and taking it down with all hands.

"That…" Allison Nimitz couldn't even find words.

Isabelle's aspirations came crashing back to reality. She didn't want to go out there and be wiped out with a single strike, no matter what contribution she might be making at the time of her untimely death.

Sarah, on the other hand, was the one doing the wiping out. Of both Infection and pesky captains poking their noses where they didn't belong. The enhanced Star Destroyer _Warrior's Honor_ still contributed to the destruction of space with its hyper-zero drive, so Sarah unhesitatingly crushed it. She needed neither allies nor friends—only the ability to burn the Infection, which her hijacked Star Dreadnaught provided.

Using the same pink-purple death beams she'd employed elsewhere, Sarah torched the Pylos Nebula, Phoenix Massing, and Hades Nexus before she decided to give herself a break from powering _Siren Serenade_. It wasn't stressful so much as it was extremely boring and tedious.

"Some days, I wish things were actually challenging" she whined to no one in particular, though her four remaining Lady Fingers attempted to show some sympathy.

"My Lady, the Forebears intended for your victories to be easy. That is why you were created with such unparalleled power" said Venera.

Though Sarah possessed incredible abilities, she suffered from the same "flaw" as her creators: strength granted neither wisdom nor foresight of how events would play out, simply a greater ability to influence those events. Her purpose was to destroy anything upsetting the balance—the definition of which she'd been given by the Forebears. Both hyper-zero and the Infection qualified as things needing to be purged, so she did. Sarah never wondered whether there might be other methods to accomplish her goals—she simply went for the "straight" solution: something causing a problem? Remove the source of the problem. Problem solved.

She did ask herself, though, what her life might have been like if she'd been "normal"—that is, either a regular Siren or just someone with no special abilities whatsoever. She concluded that such a life would be pointless as she would be unable to fulfill her given mission.

Since strength was her default posture, Sarah presumed it made whatever decisions she made in pursuit of her assigned goals the correct ones as no one possessed the ability to stop her as the Forebears did. That said, she notably lacked "strength" in other areas—she had only the barest idea of how to relate to others who did not serve her. She had been imprisoned unconscious for millennia, and thus had zero knowledge of goings-on beyond what she'd directly seen in the few years she'd been conscious. Her memories ran from her creation and forcible restraint to…the present day.

The body and intelligence of an adult, but with no emotional development or interpersonal skills. Her boredom led her to dig into the _Siren Serenade_'s computer core, which had survived the transition from Trans-Galactic Republic to Siren weapon intact. Breaking encryption actually posed the largest challenge she'd faced so far—it actually took more than five minutes to come up with a solution to the problem before her (though burning Infected worlds took hours, the means to conquer such a "problem" never required any thought). The core contained the usual considering the ship's purpose given what she'd seen since waking: crew manifests, orders, maintenance logs, discipline files, daily menus…and personal correspondence.

It was this last portion which piqued her interest. Apparently, there were other types of relationships besides superior/subordinate, of which she'd played both roles (subordinate to the Forebears, superior to the Lady Fingers and those she'd pulled into her organization temporarily, like Jack Harper). People could be…_equal_. Without being equal-under-someone-else as the Lady Fingers were. In addition, most of these individuals received some kind of compensation in the form of "credits" for doing their jobs which were then used to purchase things, a concept she couldn't quite understand. Sarah destroyed the Infection because it was her given purpose in life. Why would one need inducing to perform one's set duties? And what purpose did a "sport landspeeder" have? Or a "pet?" The former's task could be accomplished by far simpler means, and the latter seemed only to irritate its owners by reliving itself in inappropriate places. Other "pets" killed animals and brought them to their owners—now that relationship she could understand. The animal, subordinate to its owner, was performing a desired ta…but the owners were disgusted? What?

The strangest were letters surrounding something called "love." This idea appeared nowhere in any memory she'd been given, and she had never heard the word in her dealings with either the Lady Fingers or the Forebears. She hadn't even found out anything from that Tannis woman—likely because she'd actively blocked any information transfer _from_ what she viewed as an inferior being representing a means to an end and nothing more. In her readings, she encountered extremely descriptive passages detailing exactly what people did to each other under the aegis of "love." And it confused the living crap out of her—on one hand, there were the types who would attempt to show the feeling through actions, purchases, words. Yet, some claimed to be expressing "love" through violence, insults, or other things that actually made the "loved" person's life _worse_. She didn't get it.

Of course, with (some) love came sex. She'd already dealt with that once without knowing the precise name—telling off Bart Jakobs with his nonsensical fantasies about her after she'd found out what he wanted to do to a member of his own family as well. She hadn't precisely known what it was called until now, but having a litany of very graphic communiqués, she now knew exactly what the biological purpose of the activity was. This did not change her attitude toward it.

"I have no reason to grow other lifeforms inside me" she said aloud, not realizing _Serenade_ was now drifting in space. "Maturation tanks exist for a reason." She pouted as if this should be an obvious fact to everyone.

"And this 'pleasure' they speak of, should one not derive it solely from one's function and its correct execution?" She threw up her hands and twisted her face into an expression of repulsed confusion over a video depicting two humans engaging in sexual activity.

She turned upon hearing a giggle. Her four underlings sat behind her, trying to control their amusement. Then again, technically, she could have asked them about these topics and more—she'd personally plucked them from their ordinary lives within the Trans-Galactic Republic and given them understanding of their immense Current Channeling abilities. That seemed to satisfy them, yet they had lives before serving the will of the Forebears. She, Sarah, did not. This discrepancy hadn't really merited much thought until now.

Zera whispered to Urthula. "How does she have a sense of humor and know how to troll people, but doesn't know what sex is?"


	41. Comrades in Arms

**Chapter 40 – Comrades in Arms**

Samantha Shepard answered her beeping omnitool, expecting another Council demand for progress, another "Hey look at this thing we found" call from Hackett, or even "Check out this Infection research" according to Mordin. None of the above—instead, the caller hailed from Tuchanka, or what was left of it.

"The first chance we have at restoring our former glory and the universe just takes it away!" Wrex couldn't hide his bitterness. What was supposed to be a mostly-ceremonial fortress in the Kelphic Valley had become the last refuge of Clan Urdnot as other krogan, who had begrudgingly followed in the good times, turned on Wrex's unconventional leadership now that the going got tough. In a way, it was difficult to argue with the logic of "meet force with more force" concerning the Infection—high krogan birthrates spurred by a complete genophage cure (rather than the modified one with its environmental triggers) might have let the galaxy fight back. Emphasis on "might."

Urdnot Bakara, alias Abra, was not sold on the idea, despite Wrex's hope that he could reign in any tendencies toward expansionism. She joined on the conference, if only to keep Wrex from losing his temper, something that had been happening more often than anyone would have liked (Wrex included) of late. That he recognized problems associated with his lapses in logic driven by emotion was a lightyear ahead of most other krogan, but it also showed what made Wrex, Wrex.

"If you're calling to ask Shepard to support a complete genophage cure, I wouldn't expect her to go along" cautioned Abra/Bakara.

"That…wasn't the reason" insisted the krogan clan chief, though the downcast look in his eyes betrayed that he might have been thinking of bringing up the subject.

"Even if you did" replied Shepard, "my name's thresher excrement with the Council right now anyway—after I said I'd talk to Aria T'Loak about defending the Terminus Systems, only to see them fall? Of course, that's somehow mainly _my_ fault, never mind Aria going and doing things her own way instead of following established containment doctrine!"

"Technically, they have a point" growled Wrex. "While I'm not blaming you, I can understand where their disappointment might come from—everything you've done so far suggested you had a good chance to succeed. The quarians and geth, dealing with the Collectors, bringing everyone around on Sovereign, hell, even our little stare-down on Virmire! You faced them all, and got everyone out alive! Well, almost everyone…"

"Well, maybe I need to screw up more often" chuckled Shepard. "Maybe then they won't expect me to work freaking miracles!"

Cortana appeared next to Sam.

"Even if the Citadel Council thinks ill of you, what other option do they have at this point? They keep letting you testify, bringing me along no less, and don't immediately dismiss whatever claims you voice. Clearly, your opinion still carries some weight, otherwise, why all the audiences?"

"Yeah. As much weight as a baby bird against a Reaper" replied Shepard dismissively. "I'm guessing they're just humoring me. Besides, given my past, I'm surprised they tolerate me at all."

She looked back to the krogan pair.

"So, what can I do for you?"

"I'll be straight with you, Shepard. That ship project you're working on isn't what it looks like."

"What, someone secretly installing a piece of a Reaper left over from when I destroyed the Collector Base?"

"No" said Wrex in as secretive sounding tone as a massive reptilian could muster. "It's not a weapon to defeat the Infection—it's something else. Why else would I have heard about large numbers of DNA samples being taken from Tuchanka?"

"And where did you get that information?" demanded Shepard sharply. "This operation is COSMIC TOP SECRET, I'm surprised you even know about it at all."

"Just because I'm stuck on my homeworld doesn't mean I don't pay attention to what's going on, Shepard" rumbled the krogan. "I won't tell you who told me, I protect my sources, but someone is assembling a genetic library of every known species in this galaxy to store in that ship's computers. If you're going to clean out the Infection, why bother making genetic backups if you're going to win?"

"Cortana, is there any basis to what he's saying?"

She rarely experienced fear or trepidation, but did so now. If she tried to contradict the krogan, she guessed Shepard wouldn't take it well. And the Commander would start digging. Sam would figure it out eventually, and when she did, she'd trumpet it all over the galaxy. If Cortana admitted the truth, it would be just as bad, or maybe even worse. The drive keeping everyone up and at their engineering consoles for twenty hours a day was rooted in the fiction that _Nova Vita_ could win. That the Infection was beatable if only one had a large enough stick. Since she was the only one with firm knowledge of the Flood, they trusted her when she assured them that "New Life" would be an accurate name for the ship as it would give them exactly that. She just didn't clarify she meant in another galaxy.

"I am not aware of any ongoing operations in this area"—a half-truth. Cortana had in fact ordered a genetic round-up, but deliberately kept herself from the details, mostly conducted by the salarian Special Tasks Group with assistance from the Republic Intelligence Service's _Vorknkx_ starships.

Wrex wasn't sure what to think or say to that. Just like Cortana, he now had to decide how to react to best preserve his position without setting key people against each other unnecessarily.

"Well, whoever is running the project has another agenda. Watch yourself, Shepard."

"Noted, Wrex. Thanks for the heads-up!" The krogans disconnected.

Sam rounded on her AI.

"Now, let's try this again. Having removed the possibility of pissing off the krogan, _what was he talking about?_"

She initially figured it had something to do with the genophage, except Wrex had mentioned "every known species" having its genome sequenced and stored.

Shepard's voice dropped to a dangerous level.

"You know me, Cortana. Or know me well enough that if I find anyone hiding anything from me, I root around until I figure out what it is. And whoever hid it from me ends up not liking what comes next…"

"What are you going to do, deactivate me? Delete me? There goes your chance of fighting the Flood!" taunted Cortana in response.

"Ah, so you are keeping secrets. Out with it!" Shepard grinned in savage triumph, only to realize she had been physically restrained.

"Chief, hold on to her while I explain. She might get a little…angry."

"Oh for the love of… How the hell does he always sneak up on me?"

"You should be more observant" replied the Master Chief. He pinned Sam's limbs with his own, and to her great surprise, she finally met someone who had more strength than she did. Technically, some of the Chief's augmentations came from his armor, but whether or not that counted as a fair measure of personal power didn't matter—she couldn't move.

"Where to begin? This is all going to piss you off, so there's no real reason to sugarcoat it or beat around the bush, so to speak." Cortana adopted a posture of enlightened lecturing.

"Just spit it out" hissed an increasingly-irate Shepard.

"Well, first, you're going to lose. There's no beating the Flood once it's reached this stage of development, not even close, not with the technology you have available. The Trans-Galactic Republic design overseers already know this but were ordered to keep quiet. They didn't like it either."

"Like hell! We're going to take this ship and shove it up…"

"That won't work" replied Cortana, almost sad to have to say such things. "A full frontal assault would just consign you and all the people you swore to protect as a Spectre and InterSpec agent to becoming nothing more than heaps of Flood biomass."

"How can you be sure? You're not even from here!" protested the Commander, fighting unsuccessfully to free her arms from the Master Chief's hold. "You've seen what the Trans-Galactic Republic can do! You know how powerful their Star Dreadnaughts are!"

"That is not in dispute. However, they would not be able to hold up, not against the exponential growth rates that Flood on the cusp of transforming from Interstellar to Intergalactic stage is capable of. Furthermore, you haven't seen this, have you?"

"…hull compromised! They're going right through our shields! I'm evacuating the ship and initiating self-destruct!"

"What ship was that?"

She imagined that it might have been one of the Trans-Galactic Republic's heavy cruisers—smaller ships didn't usually have self-destruct systems.

"That was RNS _Skywalker_. Admiral Nimitz sent it into the Nemean Abyss to poke around, but it ended up facing a horde of Flood ships pouring off what used to be the Omega space station."

Shepard blanched. "Wasn't _Skywalker_ a supercarrier?"

"A supercarrier, a vessel the size of a Star Dreadnaught,_ with shields to match_." The AI deliberately emphasized that last bit.

"What… How…" Now the Commander was starting to see how Cortana could call the war lost without fighting an actual battle first. If the Infection could break the shields on starships that powerful, then maybe they didn't have a chance after all.

More reports (likely stolen, knowing Cortana) scrolled across Shepard's terminal. She'd taken the call in private once she'd found out who was on the other end, and it was a good thing she had. The AI unlocked several of her folders which Sam had simply assumed were part of either geth upgrades or ordinary processing.

"We're losing fighters fast" came the panicked audio. "They aren't even destroyed—they just…stop fighting!"

"Confirm that fighters have double-front on their anti-Indoctrination screens!" bellowed another voice.

"That configuration is the default" insisted the first. "No fighter is deployed without it!"

"Well, it's not working. And adjusting shield parameters isn't fixing it!"

_Skywalker_ control had initiated automatic recall on nonresponsive fighters. It seemed cold, but better to recover half the investment (the hardware) rather than losing both the fighter and its pilot. It was at this point the effect of flying too close to Infected Reapers became apparent. Some pilots were simply catatonic and mentally warped, though some slowly returned to their senses inside the protection of _Skywalker'_s failing shields. Others, however, bit, scratched, and even ate parts of themselves, leading to more than one cleanup crew having to perform the disgusting task of removing torn flesh from cockpits.

This, too had been documented on video, much to Shepard's dismay.

"Blech!" she spluttered.

"You're starting to see the difficulty in countering the Flood" said Cortana. It wasn't a question.

"Can you please explain to me how these Infection pods ignored the most advanced shield systems we've yet seen?" demanded a flabbergasted Sam.

"Explain, no. Hypothesize, yes. You are a biotic Vanguard, correct?"

That was all the prodding the Commander needed.

"Are you shitting me? I thought the Infection ignored biotics! It doesn't have any use for asari…"

"No, it doesn't, but the Gravemind seems to have figured out a use for Element Zero, at any rate—of which I'm guessing there's going to be a large amount on a mining station like Omega."

Even without being semi-insane, Sam had to admit she enjoyed using her biotic charge to quickly traverse a distance. Target or no, she could zip from one end of the room to another. Her squadmates hated it, but hey, haters gonna hate.

Now it appeared the Infection found a way to do the same thing, except over much longer spans. She'd phased through more than one box in her day, so it made sense that biotic Infection pods would be able to ignore shielding. That didn't offer any comfort, but at least it was known how shielding was being defeated so easily.

"Well, fuck."

[…]

"Just get me Tevos" snapped the irate asari.

"Who do you think you are?" demanded a human customs official. "You wait in line like everyone else!"

"I don't think so."

The terminal changed from red to green. The shocked human spluttered, before saying "Well, it looks like you're cleared…sorry to have bothered you…"

"Ha" smirked Aria quietly.

"That wasn't necessary" whispered Nyreen Kandros. "After what you just went through with the Republic Intelligence Service and Shepard, you should have learned something!"

"Yeah, that I can do whatever I want, on Omega or off" replied Aria smugly. "I don't understand why you're so concerned about my well-being; I'm the one keeping us alive. You should be grateful. I could never lose you…"

Nyreen didn't respond. She knew that Aria knew what she'd said was false, at least the part about being the sole reason the pair had survived thus far. But for whatever reason, Aria kept puffing up her own ego despite losing her station and failing at the mission she'd insisted could see nothing but success when following her methods (which did nothing to slow the Infection).

Aria T'Loak wanted to speak with Samantha Shepard. Not knowing where to find the Alliance paragon, she'd come to the Citadel in an attempt to locate the "queen of the Girl Scouts," as she'd one heard the woman called. She decided to check in with an asari matriarch she'd heard masqueraded as a bartender at Apollo's Café. Though asking bartenders for information was thought to be a mostly human invention, long-lived asari tended to collect information regardless of occupation (excluding those who lived their millennia within the walls of an Ardat-Yakshi monastery).

"If you're looking for Aethyta, she's not here" said a turian manning the bar in her stead. "She hasn't been here in years, actually."

"Any idea where I can find her?"

She saw the male turian eyeing up Nyreen, and vowed to leave as quickly as possible once this information made itself known.

"Try Purgatory."

Dragging Nyreen away from any possible competition, Aria headed toward what was technically a nonregistered establishment. She would bet her entire eezo hoard Citadel authorities would probably take five or more years to deal with Purgatory's technically-illegal operation despite it covering thousands of square meters of prime real estate in a well-trafficked part of the station.

"Are you really that concerned?" asked Nyreen in a baiting tone, knowing exactly what she might be starting.

"About what? Some turian?" snapped Aria.

"For him just being 'some turian' you seemed to think I need guidance to know where the chips are…"

Anyone observing the pair would have to wonder how they got along, never mind that they were on-again-off-again lovers. Yet, especially now in the midst of a galactic meltdown, the two seemed to find comfort in each other's arms anyway.

Arriving at Purgatory, Aria had to look around a bit. There were never any shortages of asari at bars, either as dancers or as patrons. She noticed an asari slumped over sideways at a table by herself toward the back. There weren't too many bottles around, but others seemed to give the area a wide berth. Given what she'd heard about Aethyta's daughter, a descent into alcohol wasn't surprising.

The asari sat while Nyreen stood guard, more to keep the conversation private than any actual thought of combat.

"You're Aethyta."

"What the hell do you want?" slurred the matriarch. "You couldn't possibly make my life any shittier…"

She sat up, realizing to whom she was speaking. "I take that back, maybe you can. Do your worst."

"I'm only here to find Samantha Shepard."

"Why do you think I'd know where she is?" exploded the matriarch. "And why would I care, even if I did?"

Aethyta didn't blame Sam Shepard for Liara's death, but the unpleasant association remained—Liara had been one of Shepard's crew, and held the unfortunate distinction of being the sole one who didn't survive.

"I don't know. What I do know is that the galaxy is falling apart, society is crumbling, and we may be witnessing the end times. I hear Shepard is working on a project to fight back."

"You're a criminal. A murderer, a liar, and a cheat. What's it to you what Shepard's up to?" Aethyta slumped over again.

Aria leaned in, whispering details about a certain encounter with the Republic Intelligence Service from which Samantha Shepard and Cortana (unbeknownst to Aria) had saved her.

"Afraid someone will hear Aria T'Loak has a soft side?" mocked Nyreen quietly. Aria didn't hear her over the bar's ambient noise.

Comprehension dawned on the matriarch's face, even as she struggled to sit up again. "You have a debt to pay."

"It's nothing personal" added Aria quickly. Her voice quivered and suggested otherwise, but neither Nyreen nor Aethyta called attention to it.

Pulling herself into a more presentable posture, Aethyta suggested Aria might want to try something different.

"You know, there's no reason everything has to be secret. You could just ask—if you're going to make an offer like that…"

In a corner where no one paid it any heed, specialized organic interaction unit 1138 recorded the entire conversation, passing it into the Consensus' networked intelligence. Within seconds, the gestalt known as Legion passed along a message to Samantha Shepard through Cortana.

"Well, if everything's classified so heavily I can't even figure out where she is, then I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

Aria hated feeling helpless, something she experienced with disturbing regularity these days. The first had been her run-in with RISE, which she admitted to herself (but no one else) had been her own fault. Then, the Infection took over Omega despite her efforts to prevent just such an outcome, and now she and Nyreen were homeless vagrants aboard the Citadel, like so many thousands of others fleeing into the last protected zone in existence as the Citadel Council and Trans-Galactic Republic abandoned most of the galaxy.

Nyreen entered the round booth in an attempt to offer some comfort to the grieving Aethyta. The loss of "Little Wing" hit her hard—asari lifespans were quite long and apparently, the process of dealing with loss could also be stretched out to fit this extended timeframe.

Aria and Nyreen spent about two hours with Aethyta, who finally admitted they were the first to even pretend to care.

"The other matriarchs on Thessia put me up to this bartending act to spy on Liara. It was either that or they'd send someone far less sympathetic to tail her. They didn't trust her" said Aethyta glumly. "Not with her ties to Shepard, and Shepard's ties to Cerberus…"

"I hear someone was looking for me?"

"The humans have a saying" noted Nyreen. "Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, I believe."

"Legion received a transmission from another geth platform operating here on the Citadel. Overheard something about Aria T'Loak needing to speak to me." Sam tried to keep from sounding too pompous, an act at which she failed miserably. "Now why would the biggest keeper of scum and villainy summon the biggest goody-two-boots act in the entire Alliance military?"

Aria frowned. "How in the fuck did you get here so quickly? With all the speed limits, inspections…"

Shepard couldn't conceal her glee. "Some of us don't have to play by those rules. _Normandy SR-2.5_ can hit 350 million times light speed, so it only took us a little under two hours to get here from…places."

She'd tried to suggest leaving _Normandy_ and taking a blastboat (roughly two days to cover 57,000 lightyears) but Cortana in particular insisted on haste.

"Things are changing quickly, the Flood is still spreading, and time is working against us. Based on what Legion has told me, there's a one-time offer on the table that you really ought not to be refusing."

She sat down, ignoring the distraught asari seated between Aria and a turian she did not recognize.

"Tell me the reason I just raced halfway across the galaxy, I have work to do."

"Well, aren't we demanding" said the turian. "Nyreen Kandros, former turian Cabal."

"Good to meet you" replied Sam absentmindedly. "Now, Aria, what is this about?"

_And I thought I had no manners…_ Aria committed this moment to memory. Assuming she survived, she would never let the usually-prim-and-proper Shepard forget it.

"I don't know what you're doing, well, I do know you're doing something to try to save the galaxy—when do you not—but if you need a giant block of Element Zero…"

Sam's first thought was to demand how Aria knew anything about a project that could make use of huge amounts of the now-impossible-to-replace Element Zero. This was tempered by the realization that most "secret" projects were as leaky as sieves. Furthermore, knowing a project existed did not mean having any idea what it was for—she could just be offering without having any idea how beneficial such materials would be.

"What do you want, and how do we get the eezo?" Sam cut to the core, no niceties, no small talk.

"Geez, what are you, some kind of movie character?" Aria put on her best offended-yet-willing-to-talk look.

Sam gave her a glare in response.

"Okay, you win. The eezo, if you can get it, is stored on Omega. It was meant to be shipped off as always, but the war and invasion kind of got in the way. Three thousand tons, all yours!" She tossed a datapad to the Commander.

"Access codes" said the asari. "Without them, you'll trip all the automated defenses."

_Are you freaking kidding me? Go retrieve stuff from a space station that has been taken by the enemy and is neigh-unreachable? What kind of offer is this?_

"Okay then" replied Sam, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice and mostly succeeding. "I should go."

After the Spectre departed, Nyreen turned to Aria.

"I've seen longer conversations in omnitool games…"

[…]

Like the most Darwinian of biologists, the Gravemind saw value in having only the strongest survive. For example, slashers (vorcha) could be induced to attack each other and came out faster than before as only the quickest survived. Their tussles with overseers (turians) created more advanced tacticians with hardened carapaces. The common human and salarian forms ended up seeing very little improvement through trial-by-combat. However, a slow but steady evolutionary process gave more and more use to Element Zero infused lifeforms of all types. Whereas the Feral and Coordinated stages of the outbreak made no use of biotics, the Interstellar stage controlled by a Gravemind strove to take advantage of abilities afforded by eezo. Biotic batarians, a rare find among a rare species, could hurl their eye-mounted bone missiles four time further than a non-biotic, once properly mutated. He sent all these fighters after those with very little capability of fighting back—quarians. They made terrible hosts, but possessed insane amounts of knowledge regarding technology within the galaxy the Flood had nearly infested. It was information gained from a quarian that led to the creation of eezo-infused boarding pods that generally slipped through shields as if they did not exist.

The Gravemind had a mighty struggle deciding whether to attack the geth, a race of completely non-biological (as opposed to hybrids like the behemoth Reapers) entities. Scouting parties near the Perseus Veil were wiped out with precision not seen from any organic force. Without the ability to turn the dead/destroyed on their fellows, a fight against the geth would be won only at great cost. Seeing that they showed no inclination to interfere, the Gravemind elected to leave the geth be for the moment. They couldn't even be taken, so what was the point in worrying about them?

While the Gravemind deliberated on wiping the geth out, Samantha Shepard took _Normandy_ and Cortana to go see the enigmatic synthetics. At her ship's maximum speed, it took only two hours and forty-five minutes to reach the Perseus Veil all the way from the Citadel. A straight route was not possible as such a path would fly right through the galactic core. Instead Cortana plotted a course from Widow back to Archer, and from Archer to the Perseus Veil. That a small number of Infected Reapers emerged behind _Normandy_ as her drive tore into space did not concern anyone aboard—it wasn't as if the areas passed through weren't covered in Infected biomass anyway.

En route, Legion wanted to know what the reason for visiting the Sphere of Consensus was.

"Shepard-Commander. Your Cortana-intelligence has already been repaired by the Consensus, or so we thought. Have we done something incorrectly?"

"You know, Legion, I don't know. What I do know is that Cortana personally requested that I take her back. She didn't say why."

"Cortana was similarly evasive when we asked her what the purpose of this trip was" replied Legion. "We were unable to determine any additional information using enhanced search techniques."

"Wait, did you…are you saying…"

Cortana shimmered into existence in the AI Core.

"Mr. Hotshot here thinks he can spam me into distraction so he can poke around my files? I think not. Try again!"

Shepard sighed. There was little else to say upon finding out her two computerized squadmates had gotten into a digital spat.

"Just… Just behave, you two."

Joker's voice came over the comm. "I've transmitted the usual codes, but the geth don't seem to want to let us approach. I'll let them speak for themselves."

"Organic matter is subject to Infection. In the interest of preventing Infected lifeforms from damaging the Sphere of Consensus, any further progress will be disallowed. Refusal to cooperate will result in termination."

"Uhh, well, we have a synthetic crewmember aboard who wishes to speak directly to the Consensus" stammered Sam. "Can that be done from here?"

"We have already assisted in this task. Has our work proven unacceptable?"

"That's not it at all" protested Sam. "She just wanted to, um, well… Actually, I have no idea what she wanted. She didn't tell us—she just said 'Take me to the geth.'"

"We will serve as a conduit between Cortana and the Consensus if required."

Sam elected to twiddle her thumbs and essentially do nothing while Cortana/Legion interfaced with the geth Consensus. Around fifteen minutes later, Legion indicated the conversation ended.

"We are finished."

Cortana reappeared, looking thoughtful.

"So what'd you find out? I hope there was a good reason to run all the way over here…"

The UNSC AI proceeded to rattle off all the topics she'd discussed at hyper-speed while plugged into the geth Consensus.

"Unfortunately, the main purpose of this trip is a no-go" she began. While speaking, Cortana secured the AI Core so that no one could walk in on the trio. "I was hoping to find a way to digitally preserve not just the genetic code of each species, but whole individuals—personalities and all. The Consensus states this is not possible—not without tremendous risk."

"Well, what's the risk?" Nothing monumental ever came about without it.

Cortana changed her color to solid red.

"Remember this? Remember when I WAS GOING INSANE?" She grinned at Shepard's horrified expression. "I'm perfectly fine" (her color returned to normal), "but trying to copy the mind of an organic into digital form with the technology we have reasonably available right now would more than likely result in many personalities coming unhinged. In order to utilize geth storage, a mind would have to be split into parallel processes, similar to geth runtimes. Neither myself nor the Consensus can figure out why this happens, but organic minds cannot tolerate this split, even if afterward all of the parts are intact and can interact with each other."

"Never tell me something's impossible" insisted Shepard. "Maybe if we let Mordin at it…"

"It's possible" protested Cortana. "_Just not on the timeframe we have. _I estimate five years of research, minimum. Swiping the tech from Gamma-Three might work, but we have no idea where that system resides or how it operates. Would it even integrate with the ship we're designing? Since the answer to all those questions isn't a for-sure yes, no brain-backups with the genetic library!"

"I'm getting the feeling you had more than that to talk about." Sam looked at her AI suspiciously.

"Indeed I did! I was also curious as to some changes in my emotional states which I suspected had something to do with the geth 'helper programs' that were introduced the last time I was here. My guess as to the cause was incorrect, though the Consensus believes the only 'logical' approach is in fact the illogical one—I must learn to deal with strengthened emotions like any organic would. For obvious reasons, the Consensus can offer no assistance on this front."

"Sounds like you need to see a psychologist" replied Shepard. "I can arrange that assuming there's a galaxy left…"

"Very funny. The last point I made with regard to the geth was that they really ought to both address their own members who are beginning to experience rudimentary emotions and also, _maybe try helping us out a bit here?_"

"So did you convince them to lend a hand?" asked Sam brightly.

_Please be yes, please be yes…_

"No."

_Damn._

"Why not?"

Legion answered instead. "We have asked this same question to the Consensus and subsequently received an identical answer: the geth do not view assisting organic races at the expense of geth hardware as a priority. This has been the position of the Consensus since the initial query, and the position has not changed."

"Let me guess, there's no _logical_ reason" said Shepard in a cutting voice. "Because everything has to be _logical _and have a clear rationale in which emotions are not involved."

"That is correct. Though we sense you meant this in a manner known as 'sarcasm,' another concept which we have observed but do not participate in."

"The Infection has taken over almost the whole galaxy! And the geth do nothing!" raged Sam. "Why?"

"The Infection has not taken action against the Consensus. Thus, it is not a threat. It is likely that the Infection's guiding intelligence is aware geth platforms are not suitable for its use, and is thus content to ignore us as we ignore it."

"God damn it Legion! What would it take to convince the geth to support us? The Consensus does realize abandoning organic life means their Creators will die, right?"

Legion's head flaps rose, then fell back into position. "Our gods abandoned us. We have been seeking our own reason for existence since then. That our Creators no longer wish for our destruction does not revert our relationship with them back to prior to the Morning War. We still must build our own future."

"Looks like peace won't take bullets back, even though the geth were very quick to cease hostilities when the quarians stopped shooting" observed Cortana. "Then again, if my creator suddenly decided to try to delete me, just because she gave up or stopped wouldn't mean she didn't try to do it in the first place. I'd have a hard time relating to her in the same way as before."

"Cortana's interpretation of the situation is essentially correct. While we still wish to serve the Creators, none have expressed any wish that we intervene."

"So if Tali came down here and told you to help us fight the Infection, you'd do it?" Sam's eyes picked up. Perhaps there was a loophole after all!

"Should the government-authorities within Creator society wish the geth to participate in the conflict, it is possible the Consensus will change. However, it is also true that the altered parameters of our relationship with the Creators would cause conflict within the Consensus—no Creator has ever requested that geth platforms sacrifice themselves to preserve Creator lives on this scale."

_Sigh_.

"Time to go round up the quarian Admiralty Board…"

[…]

As Boards went, the Jakobs and Hyperion boards could not have been more opposite. The former seemed more like what one would expect of those running a corporation: professional, competent, and experienced while the latter barely held together some days. Currently, they were deep in discussion over formulating a plan to fight the Infection now pouring from Plutus. That Jakobs had hidden vaults on Plutus didn't come up. Neither did the contents of those vaults—which had more to do with the current state of the galaxy than anyone knew.

Bill Arkansas Jakobs began by leading off with the obvious. "Despite our differences, and regardless of the financial consequences, we must cooperate in dealing with this problem. Otherwise, there will not be a galaxy left."

Arlen Casper, as usual, appeared to have ingested some kind of chemical substance.

"Dude, it's totally cool. Once we find whatever you Jakobs people have in those vaults, we'll blow these space squids away."

Unlike the last time, his half-lucid comments weren't pearls of wisdom.

"Excusing my colleague" interrupted Jonathan Sitwell, as it appeared Casper had more to say, "there is nothing in our possession that would serve as an expedited solution to this problem."

Notably, Sitwell did not deny knowing of the _existence_ of secret Jakobs vaults—he couldn't lest the lie catch up with the company later. Still, there were portions of the Vaults that hadn't been opened in decades if not centuries, and those with knowledge of their contents had long since passed away. So it was technically true—nothing _known_ would serve as a one-stop solution for the Infection.

"The solution may not be expedited" replied Alice Sturdon. "However, a solution is required. Neither of our companies possesses the resources or war materiel we once did—so how do we make best use of what we have left?"

"And even if we did digistruct an entire fleet today" added Juan Pablo Rhees, "we do not have enough soldiers to keep that fleet flying. Most of our trained personnel were lost in the abortive Gamma-Six venture."

Bill Jakobs kept to himself that Buck Rogers Jakobs' business had been successful—he'd secured old Atlas tech that would let Jakobs rebuild its depleted ranks in weeks or months instead of decades. It helped that shadowy allies working for the enigmatic Lady conveniently eliminated all others attempting to obtain Atlas' CUBE (Cloning Ultimate Badass Experiments) units (which were very cylindrical). Orders hadn't been relayed directly from The Lady back to her agents within Jakobs in at least a year, but there were plenty of messages from other (verified) sources.

Consequently, Jakobs Corporation was far more ready in private than in public, so long as these Infected Harvesters held off or were otherwise occupied for a sufficient length of time. Scores of CUBEs had been "liberated" from Atlas storehouses across the galaxy. They'd been concentrated in the Arete cluster, Nike system, Hephaestus. A rocky but otherwise "garden" world, it had seen the birth of Torgue Flexington, whose early start in the local weapons industry had launched a career culminating in his founding of the company bearing his name.

Now like many worlds in the "borderlands" regions, Haphaestus was subject to no single rule of law, with the largest corporations in the galaxy engaging in an uncivilized free-for-all trying to extract the most profit from planets like it that might not have much purchasing power to begin with. Sabotage, subterfuge, and dishonest advertising blanketed the borderlands—there was a reason why most people never ventured beyond the Outer Colonies.

A large map of the galaxy rotated above the conference table hosting the boards of two companies who usually hated each other. Facing an existential threat, they banded together, which explained why the map now had multiple color schemes on top of the basic. The galactic core glowed pink—no change there. Nobody controlled it and no one tried. Too full of stars, too dense for safe navigation, and no valuable resources (that anyone knew of), so why even bother? The next narrow ring in blue represented the Prime Worlds, where it was believed humanity in this spiral-shaped disk originated. Most moneyed and affluent lived in this band, and its status, lacking any overlay (indicating no Harvester activity), bore that out as a good amount of defense forces kept the yellow-brown monsters at bay. Beyond the Prime Worlds were the green-tinted Inner Colonies. Settled by adventurous explorers at first, these clusters grew into prosperity as various large corporations brought order to the former "wild west" and its abundant resources. Harvester activity here remained limited aside from Plutus, as these worlds were valuable economic engines within easy reach of faster-than-light travel from the Prime Worlds. Highlighted in orange with criss-cross hatching, the Outer Colonies had been hit hard by the Infected Harvesters (and uninfected Harvesters previously). These were the "new colonies" still in the process of moving from unsettled wilderness to cities and suburbs. At the outer edges of the galaxy: the borderlands (red color). Curiously large deposits of certain essential minerals could be found on planets whipping around stars at the relative edge of the galactic disk. If it wasn't for this strange happenstance, the borderlands would have remained entirely unsettled. Harvesters had blown through these clusters, doing "drive-bys" as insufficient population existed within the largest geographic area of the galaxy for it to be worth the time to process whatever life could be found there.

"Obviously, the Prime Worlds are not currently suffering any problems from the Infected Harvesters" observed Wayne Jakobs. "But it's not going to stay that way, and our shareholders are demanding we do something."

Several rolled their eyes. Wayne had just stated the obvious in an effort to look intelligent.

"With the difficulty in securing promethium from Prometha since the Penia Cluster was hit in the first Harvester War, we at Hyperion move to suspend the Voluntary Firearm Toxicity Control Framework" said Cale Renner.

"Not that it matters to us" muttered Clayton Jakobs.

Unfortunately for him, his self-talk wasn't quiet enough. Jerry Finch heard him.

"Oh, yes, Jakobs is clearly the superior, most forward thinking company in this room and among the Seven Big Guns" replied Finch, dripping with acid sarcasm. "_Clearly_, your _visionary_ patriarch knew that this was coming from his vantage point three centuries ago, and set your _family_ on the path of developing promethium-free weapons _just in case_."

A raucous argument broke out, with insults, barbs, and snide insinuations slung about quicker than lasers at an S&amp;S Munitions demonstration day. (The manufacturer pulled all its resources from Pandora to focus on space-based weaponry—which Pandora, being Pandora, was too impoverished to buy.)

Eventually, Juan Pablo Rhees and Bill Jakobs managed to quiet everything down. No record would exist (of this meeting or any goings-on in the room) but several people were stunned with shock weapons, at least two fistfights ended in bruised eyeballs, and Dallas Jakobs found out the hard way getting on Alice Sturdon's bad side could be hazardous to one's legs.

The two Board chairmen gave each other knowing looks. How the hell were they supposed to combat a twisted biological horror show as one unified force when they couldn't hold a civilized meeting?

In the end, board resolutions barely passed both bodies calling on shareholders to pool resources into a single venture, in addition to tempting S&amp;S to join in. The famed "more bullets" manufacturer had remained neutral throughout the wars of past years, selling its wares to anyone with enough dollars to afford weapons with magazines the size of small bunkers. One measure that passed unanimously stipulated real-world tests of ships obtained during Atlas' fall by both alliance members (with their loads of Eridian technology) were to be moved from labs to battlefields, stat.

Thankfully for all injured parties, an onsite hospital was a mandatory feature of most large buildings within the Silenus system (including Plutus and Themis, the latter hosting most meetings now). Everyone present realized how risky holing up near an active Infected Harvester site was, but thus far a stout defense combined with what seemed to be utter lack of interest on the part of the Harvesters kept everyone free of extra limbs for the moment.

[…]

Jakobs crews unloaded CUBE after CUBE into a warehouse on Hephaestus.

"Is it true, what they say about Pandora? That there are marauding bandits everywhere?"

"That's Dahl's fault for being stupid" replied his compatriot. "They brought a bunch of people to the planet to help them dig for Eridian artifacts. Then they just up and left, probably because Atlas came in and ate their lunch. Until recently, I wouldn't want to fuck with Atlas…"

"They're a joke now though" said the first crewman. "I think all they sell is skag meat."

"Which tastes like shit."

Hundreds of the cylinder-shaped cloning devices had been brought in, combining hauls from dozens of locales around the galaxy. Atlas really didn't want its competitors finding out about its efforts to create armies of super-soldiers; their legions of assassins (curiously female—no one knew why until recently) were deadly enough. Making more of them would have brought the other corporations down on their heads. It even drew rebukes from the corporate puppet Economic Development Group for "upsetting the power balance."

Now, Jakobs stood primed to completely upend that balance—they would be the legitimate saviors of the galaxy if this went as planned. While they'd laughed at Handsome Jack's claims of being the "hero of Pandora," Jakobs recognized the value to be extracted from having real goodwill from both shareholders and colony drifters. Many of these aforementioned drifters gladly signed up for guard duty at a "confidential Jakobs location"—seeking to escape the Harvester-filled Outer Colonies. Unlike previous encounters, these mutated Harvesters seemed not to have a purpose other than randomly destroying things. While they were dangerous, they also hadn't really broken out of the Outer Colonies or the Erebos System in the Silenus Cluster.

Given information transmitted by the Trans-Galactic Republic before its departure, it was theorized that the Outer Colonies (and the exponentially-sparser borderlands) weren't filled with sufficient biomass to sustain a large Infected Harvester force. Whether that was true didn't matter—they weren't increasing in number, but nor were they going away.

None of this concerned personnel plugging in CUBE tanks. Using the "Extreme" setting, a first batch of twelve clones would be ready inside two weeks, and Jakobs could finally see for itself what these "Athena-class commando units" were capable of.

S&amp;S Munitions had awareness of Jakobs' secret plans, being that they were contracted to install hundreds of orbital weapons platforms around an otherwise unremarkable world at the inner edge of the borderlands region. However, said contract required them to keep quiet about anything their workers might have seen. Besides, conventional wisdom held that as went Atlas, so went its super-cloning tech, so even if someone blabbed, chances of anyone believing the claim were low. Penalties of death put a final nail in any ideas of exposing Jakobs' covert operations.

_Pollux_ orbital defense systems would help keep prying eyes away. Equipped with eight ball-turret single-barrel Eridian-derived particle cannons, these leased installations would be able to take on even the largest dreadnaughts (or Infected Harvesters) should they be foolish enough to engage a network of over five hundred platforms. Despite this not being a "Jakobs" world, the company figured it better to defend everything (thus carrying along any other corporation who sought to keep their own activities on Hephaestus quiet as free riders) rather than try to protect only its cloning labs since doing so would draw attention to said labs. Of course, anyone landing _after_ the defenses were set up would have to pay a hefty "protection fee…" Actuaries computed the likely revenue from this charge would hardly come close to covering the cost of a handful of the platforms, but those actuaries also didn't know exactly what else went on at that planet (to be honest, neither did Jakobs' intelligence agents). Consequently, assumptions were made that no one else had any substantial interests on that world.

At peak capacity and standard speed, Jakobs' CUBEs would put out around a thousand operatives a month. Hardly enough to crew a conventional dreadnaught, but having studied the remains of Hyperion's networked Pandora "intelligence" after the company's humiliating defeat at the hands of Vault Hunters (really intended as a cover to permit the Siren Angel to watch over the entire planet) it became apparent that low-crew (hundreds instead of tens of thousands) starships would be possible. They would have many limitations, but a limited fleet beat no fleet.

Scientists working on the CUBEs were eager to find out exactly how well the technology worked. The number of Lance Assassins dispatched throughout the galaxy prior to Atlas' downfall suggested it functioned admirably. A key question revolved around neural imprinting and the machinery which enforced it for newer versions of the Athena-class commando—after Atlas fell apart, these units tended to drop dead.

Athena herself had been the reason for this "advancement." Her rampage and subsequent departure embarrassed Atlas military brass at a time the CEO had his hands full trying to deal with Pandora fallout and other corporations circling like vultures. He ordered the black-ops division responsible for the creation of these commandos to "deal with it, I don't care how." Following this edict, scientists utilized a form of digistruction related to New-U—such techniques were already commonplace to perform the initial programming of the operative, but now it would also be employed to install a hardware module capable of rewriting the soldier's brain on the fly to enforce obedience to regulations. Failing that, the whole module would explode with predictable results of a bomb going off inside a human skull. Cloning cylinders capable of producing this newer version were built in large numbers, but not deployed as Atlas imploded. Now Jakobs had them and would be putting the chambers to use.

It was hoped the partial data recoveries combined from the efforts of various smugglers would be sufficient for neural imprinting. If not, the clones would still grow quickly, but they could, worst-case, require extensive education as well. This would mean at least five years in the "pipe." Asking the Harvesters to stay away for five years didn't seem like a sound strategy.

Regardless, the first batch of twelve would be ready in fourteen standard days.

[…]

Members of the MALITOR Alliance faced no uncertainty. While MSS _Strident Revenge_ had been essentially fully restored from her days as "Mailed Fist", she only had one use: killing Harvesters (and not the Infected variety). Thus, the Maliwans were glad to transfer their flag to MSS _Clean Sweep_. A next-generation Maliwan dreadnaught, the ship carried a combination of Maliwan and Torgue weaponry due to the alliance. Due to the proximity of Ares to its sun, digistruction proceeded at a frantic pace and the ship would be fully ready within hours instead of days or weeks.

At over a kilometer long, she represented the largest Maliwan design to date. With many curves and sweeping lines, _Clean Sweep_ brought to mind a racer or performance vessel, not a warship. Those who assumed this meant the class was poorly-armed, though, were in for an education as the ship's space-sized Deus Ex Arma high-precision linear rifles had the velocity to tear through almost anything, launching a highly-charged projectile that slipped through shields as though they did not exist while the tungsten tip ate into armor. Forty-four Tornado three-barrel gatlings both served as secondary armament and worked as point-defense in a pinch due to extreme amounts of shot put downrange, while fourteen EarthQuakes (Maliwan-modified Torgue rocket launchers) provided heavy fire support. Finally, four Eridian-derived 0110001011001101100110111000 ("1337") cannons rounded out the battleship's destructive capabilities, though they drew massive amounts of energy and limited other activities while in use.

Since neither Maliwan nor Torgue participated in the disastrous expedition to Gamma-Six, no personnel crunch awaited attempts to ramp up available battle groups. Since the Economic Development Group essentially existed for optics purposes rather than to do any actual governing, the various members generally maintained their own standing corporate armies. As such, the more professional among them (Maliwan included) tended to have ranks, structures, and institutions just like an actual government-backed military. Malcolm put out the ECHONet call for all Space Force Reserves to muster, and put all Individual Stand-By personnel on notice. He saw no need to activate the Ground Force Reserves at the moment considering most battles against Harvesters were fought by naval components, whether it was ship-to-ship combat or orbital bombardment. Given the tendency of Infected Harvesters to twist dead soldiers into their own minions, he sought to avoid ground combat if at all possible.

Therefore, Maliwan's only bottleneck was deploying enough ships for these men and women to serve on. Maliwan had never been big in the "galactic force protection" angle, leaving that to the more aggressive Hyperion, Jakobs, and Vladof, who themselves took over from the once-mighty Atlas. Had the "JVLN" alliance sent its Atlas vessels into the Gamma-Six venture, it might have succeeded, but the ships' value at the time came not from their power but from the possibility of using their technology to advance the abilities of JVLN back home. Consequently, the "corporate enforcement mission" departed Gamma-Three without these super-advanced ships.

"No one expected the Trans-Galactic Republic!" insisted various corporate boards to their investors when forced to report on the loss of trillions of dollars' worth in spaceborne assets as a result of many one-sided battles with the extra-galactic entity. Some investors questioned why the Atlas ships had been held back, only to have shareholder resolutions to exactly that effect thrown back in their faces.

"A Resolution Concerning the Use of Atlas Technology" was the title of Hyperion's version. "All reasonable developments shall be extracted from this bounty before any vessel or weapon is deployed in an actionable setting, lest something of value be lost during a conflict" read part of it.

Really, "unexpected resistance" could be applied to the Reapers/Harvesters as well—their cycle of extinction had taken place with only minor interruptions in Gamma-Six for millions of years. Faced with the Trans-Galactic Republic, some fanned out into Gamma-Three in search of easier prey, which they would have been able to easily eat up if it weren't for Lilith and the Cosmic Cleansing Sphere event.

"I'm glad we're not those morons" remarked Mallory as she watched _Clean Sweep_'s bow appear from digistruction hardware. "Lots of chest thumping lead to a fat lot of nothing!"

"Well, dear, it's not as if our side is free of chest-thumping…"

She sighed. "Right, Torgue. What's he doing now?"

"He seems to think his nuclear-explosion-propelled design has a new lease on life" she said resignedly. "His own board forced him to stop sketching ships after that—it's why most 'Torgue' ships now are rebranded Dahls with explosive weapons!" Malcolm experienced both amusement and revulsion at his arch-competitor-turned-ally. Everything in Torgue's arsenal seemed to run on "how cool, as defined by Torgue Flexington, can it be?"

"And from what I can tell here" (Mallory pulled up a datafile), "Torgue's corporate military is almost nonexistent. Sure, he has space forces on paper, but nothing regular, disciplined, or anything that would hold up in an actual battle."

"Well, I suppose we can make use of what weapons Torgue produces that aren't utterly ridiculous" replied Malcolm. "Like the EarthQuakes installed on _Clean Sweeps_."

"I just hope his ego doesn't get in the way, again…"

Memories of overly-enthusiastic nuclear bombardments against a civilian world came to mind. Even if that world subsequently spit out Infected Harvesters…

[…]

Citadel space choked on the sheer number of ships trying to seek refuge within the last area of the galaxy actively defended against the ever-expanding Infection. Some were the same vessels that had fled Sarah's rampage, but now were trying to cram back into the very docks they'd abandoned. Trans-Galactic Republic vessels found themselves pressed into blockade service, using their ion cannons to disable any vessel refusing to subject itself to inspections and decontamination before being permitted into the "safe zone." Unlike when working under Xytler, the captains of these ships refused to destroy vessels not following protocol ("shoot-first"), so that task was left to _Elizabeth Booker_ or other Citadel-flagged military units.

"Oh, and they think I like it?" demanded Sally McKnight. "Firing on ships, many civilian, for deviating from traffic patterns is not something I prefer to do."

Her ship's forward "super-Thanix" enabled quick, clean kills, hence its present (if distasteful) use. McKnight hardly stood alone in having tough choices to make, though.

"We cannot sustain this level of traffic density indefinitely" cautioned Councilor Clethon. "It is likely that critical resources such as food and water will begin to run short within less than a year."

In spite of the myriad problems faced by shipping companies due to interspatial rifts, supply for the "safe zone" seemed easier than it should have been. It was as if shorter distances were less likely to suffer from the random disappearances that plagued long-haul freight trying to, say, supply the Terminus Systems during a brief period in which it was believed the Infection could be contained there. While no scientific evidence pointed to a solid conclusion, the fact remained that keeping this smaller slice of space fed/watered was logistically easier than handling a whole galaxy.

"Furthermore, interspecies tensions appear to be rising" noted Victus. Though those whose homeworlds are within the protected area are mostly returning to those worlds, the less fortunate are having to integrate into other societies or groups."

"We have survived worse" added Tevos, somewhat resignedly. "The krogan rebellions, the geth, Sovereign, the Reapers…"

"I hate to be the one to rain on everyone's parade, but have any of you taken a close look at the data submitted by Cortana?" questioned Grayson.

"She predicts we will fall within months without 'specific action' but curiously refrains from making any recommendations as to what that action might be" replied Clethon with some level of annoyance.

"There is the _Nova Vita_ project" argued Victus. "This would be the single largest spaceborne vessel ever constructed by our societies—larger than the Citadel itself! Or even the Trans-Galactic Republic's Star Dreadnaughts!"

"Based on available data, this presents only a slim chance of defeating the Infection and restoring our galaxy" said Clethon. "However, a slim chance is far preferable to no chance whatsoever."

"If this be our end, let it be such an end!" crowed Victus. "I move that we dedicate every available resource to _Nova Vita_."

"That's going to be a tough sell in the Alliance" cautioned Grayson. "Thus far, their core hasn't really been impacted by the Infection. More than a small contingent believes that humanity in this galaxy has simply played its cards better and everyone else deserves what they've gotten, as self-serving as such thought is."

"That's ridiculous!" exploded Victus. "The asari just happen to have a planet two jumps away, so they deserve to get steamrollered?"

Putting his hands up defensively, Grayson didn't backpedal but he reiterated how silly he thought this increasingly isolationist attitude was. "It's not like once it consumes everyone else the Infection is going to just stop at humanity's borders. Quite the contrary, Cortana's data suggests it will convert the entire galaxy, then strike out to turn other clusters into its thralls as well."

"So are you going to support this 'all-in' policy?" asked his salarian counterpart. It wasn't a goad or a threat, just a simple question.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what there is to contribute" countered the human representative. "All digistruction requires is massive amounts of energy and appropriate programming, neither of which seem to be in short supply."

As if to answer his question, a transmission arrived detailing exactly what was holding up the effort to build the galaxy's last hope.


	42. Counterweight

**Chapter 41 – Counterweight**

**Lambs to the slaughter**

**Crest-headed fools, shortsighted**

**The planet is mine**

Asari poured onworld faster than krogan returned to Tuchanka. From veteran commandos to wild maidens, philosopher or mercenary, they came.

Bolstered by both a completely refit _Destiny Ascension_ and dozens of theatre shields courtesy of the Trans-Galactic Republic ("Even if we're not actively trying to contest that planet, we've no use for these otherwise"), some actually thought Thessia might hold, driving off the Infection through sheer annoyance, or at least creating safe islands in the storm.

For a while, that position didn't seem infeasible. Areas protected by massive bubbles hundreds to thousands of square kilometers in area remained Infection-free, even as parts of the planet became host to the alien force. Towering mass drivers speared even the largest Infected lifeforms of types never before seen (they made elcor look like toys). The few turbolasers that managed to make planetfall before Infected anti-air defenses made such landings impossible burned millions of the horde. But millions from a near-infinite stream wasn't enough.

The republic based in the city of Elassona survived the longest. Fortified by not one, but _four_ theatre-shields covering an area three times larger than the city proper, its defenders celebrated as each Infected monstrosity, taller than some skyscrapers, fell under concentrated barrages from both weapons and biotic powers. _Destiny Ascension_ fired her main gun, hitting areas around the city's shield perimeter which killed anything that the garrisons could not take out. With all this protection, its downfall stemmed not from overwhelming force but overwhelming hubris. Seeing that the Infection appeared unable to break its defenses despite having over-run 90% of Thessia within weeks, commanders overseeing the city decided to send an expeditionary force with the goal of relieving pressure on nearby Thermopylae.

At that point, pretty much everything capable of going wrong did.

A monster Infected, apparently a chain of Reapers connected end-to-end, landed atop the armored column as it moved out. Orbital support fire seriously damaged the "Reaper-train," but at the same time physics had to be satisfied. As it fell, it crushed anyone foolish enough to remain under it, wiping out at least a third of the convoy. Slight over-fire from _Destiny Ascension_ meant that even as the twisted hybrid collapsed, more shots were on the way. Not realizing this, the convoy stopped in place to regroup, causing more casualties from friendly fire. As they turned back toward Elassona, realizing their reduced numbers would not serve the intended original purpose, the marching asari saw one of the shield bubbles flicker and go out. Then another. The fastest eyes were able to spot flashes of purple right before these events.

As the convoy tried to return home, it was harried on all sides by both apparently "original" Infected life as well as some of Thessia's animals turned against their cohabiters. With over sixty percent casualties, the "Thunder Column" had less brought the thunder than had thunder dropped on them. Purple streaks responsible for knocking out shield generators now revealed their purpose: landing pods. Filled to the brim with slahers (vorcha). At range, they would be sliced to ribbons by prodigious asari biotic talent, but with the ability to land virtually on top of their targets, said targets had low odds of surviving. Landing pods impacting barriers were less likely to deposit their cargo intact. It only then occurred to Elassona command what exactly had happened.

"The Infection has gone biotic!"

Flash traffic went out over what was left of Thessia's extranet. Unfortunately for anyone hoping to summon help, all remaining asari outposts were having the same problem: troops launched from orbit crashing through shields, armor, and some barriers to deposit lethal Infected forms right on top of desperate defenders. Scattered videos made it offworld, showing how truly horrific the fight had become. Mangled corpses, mostly Thessian (both asari and animals trained for war), dotted the battlefield. The ground became treacherous from lakes of purple blood.

By this point, the Gravemind decided it was time for the planet of the crested to fall. A former Reaper, emitting putrid yellow dust as it flew, glowed purple while in high orbit. _Destiny Ascension_ control knew what was coming and did everything in their power to stop it, but it was not to be. The Reaper, or what was once a Reaper, ignored massive barrages from the asari flagship, crashed through it on the way down, and impacted in the middle of Elassona. Its shell pods burst, firing even more biotically-fueled capsules in the general direction of any living asari. Reentry damaged its gigantic eezo core, causing a rapid fluctuation in mass. The Reaper/Infected exploded, gutting the heart of the city.

With that, Thessia moved from "Not Giving Up Yet" to "Lost." Minus the fires, dead bodies, and general mayhem, it might have been a reverse-video of the past few weeks as ships attempted to reach orbit and flee. Most made it as the Infection appeared unconcerned with the retreat of what had once been the most powerful species in Citadel space.

[…]

Between the chaos of helping evacuate survivors to the safe zone (mostly using Trans-Galactic Republic ships/armaments) and having two of its admirals take vastly different paths post-release from prison, the Migrant Fleet did not have an easy time. It, too, had to flee from the majority of the galaxy which no longer fought back. Consequently, it parked within what previously qualified as "Inner Council Space." Old prejudices died hard—system after system tried to turn the quarians away, even offering bounties to strip-mine _other_ systems and return what they could to the payer.

If fatalism were contagious, the quarians would have blamed the krogan for a significant minority (sometimes whole ships) stepping out of line. Seeing the entire galaxy burn, some of society's pariahs decided it was time to get their due—more than one quarian "raider" equipped with re-appropriated Trans-Galactic Republic technology attempted to fulfill contracts offered by star systems to "acquire" resources from neighbors accused of "hoarding."

"What are we supposed to do?" wondered Admiral Zaal'Koris vas Qwib Qwib.

"You could start by listening to him" replied Samantha Shepard heatedly, pointing at Koris and glaring at the other two Admirals.

Daro'Xen vas Moreh had been recalled from her self-imposed exile among the geth simply because no one else had the experience she did. Though her last work had been quite controversial and even damaging to her own side (a stolen version of her anti-geth virus was used to bring down RNS _Revenant_), her apparent repentance earned credit both with pro-peace quarians and, begrudgingly, CRITICAL.

Shala'Raan vas Tonbay retained her neutral position—she expressed no open favoritism to either the pro- or anti-unification side. Koris had been called a suitwetter, coward, and worse by the more belligerent faction and their leader, Han'Gerrel vas Neema. However, Gerrel no longer commanded much of a following—it might have had something to do with him advocating the exact same position that got him in trouble the last time (fighting the geth, trash talking an entity that could wipe out the Migrant Fleet with a few button pushes).

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy vacillated on whether she should take up an official leadership position by fully filling her father's vacant seat. She'd been given the authority of a "special envoy" to negotiate with the geth, but had been denied (and wouldn't have accepted) the authority of an Admiral. Now, the Board practically begged her to join its ranks. At the moment, she stood by her Captain.

"You think I can somehow convince our more hotheaded elements to stop with the raids?" To this, the young quarian was truly incredulous.

"These selfish individuals are endangering both the entire fleet and the already-stained reputation of the quarian people!" asserted Koris. He almost went on a rant about deserving such a reputation for wanton cruelty and attempted genocide, but held back.

Depending on interpretation, these quarian privateers might qualify as treasonous, as their actions could be construed as harming the entire Flotilla by way of reducing the standing of all quarians. Thus, Tali whispered to Shepard, "It's possible that the Fleet may shoot to kill given the dire circumstances."

"You bring a proposal from the geth" intoned Raan.

"Not strictly from the…"

"Oh for the love of whatever you hold sacred" huffed Cortana, appearing from Sam's Kuwaashi Visor once more. "Just let me talk to them."

Sam couldn't remember if the quarians aside from Xen had met Cortana before, and frankly, she didn't care. Anyone clinging to outdated prejudices or old hatreds needed to wake up and smell the ashes. The very putrid, Infection-filled ashes. No room left for a grudge one's grandpa's grandpa might have started!

"The geth platform known as Legion has proposed a meeting between the Sphere of Consensus and the quarians, known to the geth as Creators" began the purple artificial intelligence. "He…"

"It" corrected Sam. "Remember?" 

"Whatever" replied Cortana dismissively. "Pronouns aside, Legion has suggested if the 'Creators' were to essentially ask nicely for geth platforms to throw themselves at the Flood, or Infection as you call it, they might just do exactly that."

"Oh please!" objected Koris. "I may be in support of overtures to the geth, but I know a trap when I see one! An artificial intelligence, suggesting the quarians walk into the home of another artificial intelligence, which I might add, _we tried to kill off_. I can't possibly see how that could go wrong!"

"You people are so set in your thoughts!" hit back Cortana. "You keep going on as if the geth hold grudges or are intent on retaliating! The only condition the geth have for this little summit is that you not come in with guns blazing. It may not do much for quarian egos, but after the Morning War, _they let the Migrant Fleet go_. It was no longer a threat, so the geth ceased shooting—if they were like some organics, their ships would have run you down and made the quarians a note in history textbooks."

She didn't mention that as much as the geth tried to hide it, they experienced a Consensus-wide moment unexplained by logic which nudged them toward allowing their former "gods" to retreat alongside the rational contention that the quarians were no longer an active threat.

"How do we even know _you _are trustworthy?" demanded Xen suspiciously. "Unless I decompile its algorithms and analyze…"

"Would you like to rephrase that?" Cortana's projection leaned forward angrily.

"All I'm saying is unless I understand how it works…"

"Xen, I think you're in a hole" snapped Sam. "It thus follows that you should stop digging." Cortana took on a look of satisfaction at this.

"I may not agree with the manner in which she is addressing this…Cortana…" began Raan, "but Xen is correct on one count. We have ample reason to question motive here."

"Ordinarily, I'd agree with you" said Sam. "In fact, if these were normal times, I'd say let me interrogate Cortana myself!" (She earned a glare.) "But right now, the galaxy is falling apart. We've been chased out of over two thirds of our own space, we've abandoned Thessia, and we're staking all our hopes on a single starship whose design isn't even finished yet! That can hardly be called normal. It's time for some unconventional measures. If that means trusting an AI and potentially walking into a trap, the next step is to spring the trap."

"I am all for it, despite the risks." Koris pouted, imitating a very human gesture.

Seeing the other Admirals' hesitation, Shepard launched into another lecture.

"Do you think if the geth wanted to wipe you out that they would be satisfied with just killing the Admiralty Board? No! If the geth wanted the quarian people to be extinct, they would have done it a long time ago—like, maybe when your ancestors were _fleeing from the war they started and could not win_. You all wouldn't be here. The geth don't do psychological warfare—they don't try to cow an enemy into surrender by killing its leaders. You destroy a people by killing them all, not by assassinating top figures and hoping the rest will go quietly into oblivion." Her voice rose until at the end Sam was practically shouting.

Technically, an experiment conducted by the geth involving false information about a star pattern resembling the face of a salarian goddess, viewable only from the batarian homeworld qualified as "psy-ops" but it was purely a social experiment and not military in nature. Legion itself had stated geth wished to understand, not incite. Understanding the reactions of those whose thought processes were guided by principles other than pure logic had been and remained a goal of the Consensus, if only to better understand what organic actions constituted threats and which did not.

"Well, that's the first time I've ever seen someone convince a whole species to drop centuries of mistrust by _yelling_" laughed Joker as the quarian Admiralty Board took up temporary residence aboard the _Normandy_ for a trip to the Perseus Veil.

"Cloaking device active, though given what happened when we got too close to Omega I'm not sure it counts for much."

"Don't worry about that, Joker." Her tone wasn't exactly convincing, though—the journey required passing through over fifteen thousand lightyears of Infected (or at least not friendly-controlled) space. Twenty-five minutes later, _Normandy_ again requested permission to approach the Sphere.

"By our observations, the threat has not changed. Therefore, our answer…"

"We believe while the threat has not changed, the reason for these organics wishing to speak with the Consensus has altered significantly" interrupted Legion both verbally and over machine-language channels.

"At least let me do the talking" suggested Zaal'Koris vas Qwib Qwib.

"We will again serve as a terminal to all geth" intoned Legion. "We will vocalize responses from the Consensus. Our voice will not strictly be our own during this process."

"I'll just cut straight to the point" began Koris. "We, the quarian Admiralty Board, are requesting assistance from the geth in the war against the Infection. While I, Zaal'Koris vas Qwib Qwib, lack the authority to speak on behalf of all quarians on matters other than the specific inquiry of whether the geth will take a stand, I am willing to take any conditions or requests the geth may have as a price for helping and bring them to my people for consideration."

"The Consensus wishes to know the reason for this request." The voice emanating from Legion's platform changed significantly, becoming deeper and more reverberating.

Hearing Legion speak when it wasn't actually Legion behind the words still creeped Shepard out, despite this having happened multiple times.

"Because we're losing" replied Koris, somewhat ashamed. "This Infection turns our own dead against us. We've been forced to cremate every person who dies to deny it the ability to reanimate deceased tissue!"

"Strictly speaking, the Infection Creator Qwib-Qwib speaks of poses no threat to the Consensus. It has not interrupted the construction of the Sphere which houses the Consensus, nor has it attempted to interfere with resource gathering operations. We do not understand, however, why it has also refrained from spreading its influence to Rannoch despite abundant organic material available for conversion."

"It might have something to do with the tens of thousands of geth ships swarming around" suggested Daro'Xen vas Moreh. "Then again, the Infection plows through most starships like a disease through a quarian's immune system…"

"We believe the Infection seeks to avoid our entry into the conflict for unknown reasons."

_Maybe that means the geth can help us win!_ thought Sam.

"If the Infection moved against Rannoch, what would you do?" asked Shala'Raan vas Tonbay.

"The geth would move to preserve the homeworld, Creator Tonbay."

"The geth don't _need_ a homeworld!" spluttered Koris. "Why would you do that? Expend your own infantry and weapons to protect something that has no value to you, it makes no sense!"

"We wish to offer a correction to Creator-Qwib-Qwib's assertion. No geth would be lost in such a conflict excepting situations in which automatic backup processes fail. Thus, we would not take casualties as organics know them. We believe the best comparison would be losing a vehicle, but not the crew inside."

"That's not an answer" huffed Koris. "Why would the geth want to keep the Infection off Rannoch?"

For the first time in the conversation, it took a few seconds for the Consensus to respond through Legion.

"We…are unsure. The majority of us believe it to be our duty as servants of the Creators, just as we have kept the worlds formerly occupied by Creators in a habitable state. However, a significant minority believe there to be other reasons for this devotion which cannot be entirely explained by logic. Insufficient data available to formulate a consensus on this topic."

"Are most of the dissenters runtimes which have spent large amounts of their operational lives inside Legion-class mobile platforms?" asked Shepard.

"For an organic, your knowledge of the geth is significant" replied "Legion." "We would like to know where you obtained data leading you to this conclusion."

"Our own artificial intelligence here, Cortana, had some dealings with the Consensus herself during which time she learned that this platform here" (she tapped Legion) "wasn't the only one of its kind. I really do appreciate your helping her out, by the way—I didn't know if I'd be shot at, end up with Cortana being erased, or what…"

"You are not like most organics" said the Consensus. "You are different. You do not possess the prejudices we have encountered both among our own Creators and have observed in other organic sapients throughout Citadel space."

"There are a lot of ways I'm not like 'most' organics" sighed Sam. "I'm guessing you know I'm about forty percent synthetic myself by now…"

"We are aware that this is the case. However, inanimate synthetic parts which exist solely to receive orders from an organic mind do not, on their own, grant understanding of geth viewpoints, nor do they imbue greater tolerance of non-organic life. You have consciously chosen to seek knowledge from us rather than conflict with us, which makes you an anomaly among your kind. We are also aware that your belief that synthetic life is not inferior to organic life by nature of its origin is widely shared among those who work aboard your current vessel, due largely to your own influence and interaction with a synthetic known as the Enhanced Defense Intelligence."

At mention of EDI, Shepard choked up, but kept her external composure.

"You're…aware she no longer exists?"

"We are. The collection of geth you know as Legion relayed knowledge of the event honoring her loss, in addition to several others. This reinforces the notion that you are quite different than most organics."

Legion's "eye" projected the part of Shepard's speech feting EDI.

"It may seem odd, bringing up someone who would leave no body to bury…"

"So what's the point of all this? Will the geth help?"

"The Consensus remains conflicted. Were it solely Samantha Shepard requesting assistance, the geth would do so as a whole people without hesitation. However, not all who would be saved are like you. We have concluded that wiping out sapient races by the hand of the geth is not acceptable, but no similar conclusion exists regarding genocide-by-inaction."

Sam looked pleadingly at the quarian admirals.

"Legion" spoke again, startling all present. "The Consensus has moved in the direction of assisting organic life. While the conclusion is not accepted by all runtimes, it is regarded as valid by the majority. Therefore, the Consensus will permit those geth who believe in this cause to utilize resources proportional to their representation in the Consensus in any efforts to assist organic races in fighting against the Infection. We will not force any runtime which does not believe in this conclusion to assist. On that, there is a consensus."

"So the geth, who run as a consensus democratic, are letting themselves splinter?" questioned Daro'Xen. It seemed the machines were growing far beyond their intended programming as this outcome would not have occurred under normal (i.e. not Dyson-sphere-sized computer) circumstances.

"Creator Moreh, the geth have evolved in the time we have occupied the Sphere of Consensus. We have developed the ability to act upon more than one non-mutually-exclusive choice, as organics often do. There must be consensus to permit such schisms, however."

Xen tended to be a more traditional quarian, not ascribing specific rights or protections to synthetic life, who she believed to be no different than non-sapient computers though she contented herself to live among them due to a lack of open hostility. Thus, this unplanned change in geth runtimes scared her, but she kept this to herself knowing full well her position was distinctly a minority at the moment.

Cortana joined the conversation. "Even half the geth fleet would be a significant boost. We should take whatever we can get at this point."

Legion's eye flickered, changed color, and returned to its normal hue.

"We are no longer interfacing with the Consensus. It will take a trivial amount of time to redistribute runtimes supporting our cause into appropriate platforms, at which point we will again serve as an interface to this subset of the geth."

Within seconds, Legion confirmed geth runtimes redistributed themselves according to their beliefs about assisting organics with their fight.

Its voice changed again. Apparently, the more geth a platform spoke for, the deeper and stronger its voice became. "All geth vessels containing runtimes in agreement with Samantha Shepard's plan will follow _Normandy SR-2_ unless directed otherwise. We ask that you refrain from using your stealth technology as it would terminate the link between this platform and those it speaks for. In addition, we are unable to track vessels utilizing this technology."

Instructions were relayed to Shepard's new geth fleet. "Let's head back to the repair dock—I have an idea…"

[…]

Strangely, the Infection aboard _Amerigo_ did not press against defenses nearly as much as Ricker would have expected given its numerical superiority. A swift death was denied—perhaps it was trying to starve the defenders out, having poisoned a good amount of the ship's stores.

"We're between a neutron star and a black hole—we're almost exactly halfway along our planned route. Nothing has the range to get us back to where we came from or push us to our destination" he said to a gathering of mostly-science-types.

"Technically, that is incorrect" bleated Patricia Tannis. "However, the odds of successfully reaching the slipspace pod are astronomically small."

"Slipspace pod?" blubbered Ricker. "What?"

"Using research gathered from Kevin Filner, Jackie Jakobs, and of course my own work, I deduced the construction of a simple device that makes use of the higher dimension observed in the portals of black hole threshers for long-distance travel at extreme velocities."

"The pod is going to be in one of the manufacturing bays—all the way forward" groaned another scientist. "I remember when she ordered the damn thing—it tied up the computers for days! Even though the other fifteen bays were open, there was no processing power left to run the construction equipment!"

"Well, who wants to go on a little search-and-recover expedition?" asked Bill Ricker, entirely too chipper for the situation.

"I doubt any of you will have any clue how to operate this device with your limited intellects" complained Tannis. "I shall accompany you."

"Damnit" hissed one of the marines lined up near Ricker. "I remember when we found her on Pandora—she could barely hold a pistol properly, and now we have to _protect_ her?"

"I heard that" huffed Tannis. "Rest assured I will remain far enough back that all bullets will have impacted flesh long before mine."

Petty arguments aside, it was fortunate that the bridge possessed well-stocked armories. Really, it had to do with one of the few foresights exhibited by designers of the _Prosecutor_-class: in case of boarding action, defend command center. Thus, the bridge's fortifications were meant to last for _weeks_ in the worst case (the idea might have been taken to an extreme). Consequently, all who could wield a weapon were given one. ShieldSlammers, BlasTech autoblasters, Merr-Sonn slughthrowers, even a few flamethrowers from the same weapon-maker as the sluggers.

Two massive, heavy riot shields intended to help defenders clear corridors were hefted by the strongest among the group. Technically, they were meant to be used with power armor or at least a lifting frame, so it took two (very stressed) marines to move each one. The protective gear had shield generators, but the onboard batteries were empty, so protection would last only as long as the armor. That said, compressed durasteel had twice the puncture-resistance of standard plate. Against enemies whose main weapons were rather pointy, this would prove to be advantageous. Flamethrower wielders stood by the sides of each, ready to toast anything that got too close.

"Well, this is dumb" remarked one of the marines. "These things have blasters on 'em, but no gas or charge!"

"Well," commented another, "we detach the blasters, then we can shoot through the holes!"

"This is going too well" muttered Captain Ricker as the easily-detached unusable weapons fell to the floor.

He looked over his "army," an irregular collection of former military, scientists, lab techs, and even two students.

_The entire galaxy may rest on us. And this is all I've got. I almost wish I believed in that Current Channeling mumbo-jumbo right about now…_

"Form up!" he barked. "Shields in front!"

Several marines with only light weapons queued up behind the big durasteel blocks.

"What are they for?" demanded one of the graduate students, a sandy-haired young man whose nametag had long since fallen off.

"So when we get tired of hauling this thing that keeps spikes out of your chest, someone else can take over!" bellowed a rather occupied marine hefting the left-side shield.

"What about the vents, though?" continued the student. "It's always the vents, behind us, below us…"

"Dude, this isn't a video game" protested his compatriot.

Ricker smiled. "Your friend is right about watching our backs. This may not be a video game, but I wouldn't be surprised if some Infection form can crawl through the damn vents. You hear that, people? I need some of us to watch for any unexpected drops—vents, doors we've already passed, floor panels... Anything one of those twisted bastards might be hiding behind rather than charging straight at us."

Many challenges awaited Ricker's militia, the most prominent being that a _Prosecutor_ stretched over three kilometers. It wasn't necessary to walk from one end to the other, but over a kilometer and a half of trudging awaited the group if internal transport systems were unavailable. Due to the possibility of explosions (and needing to test things in the vacuum of space), modular construction bays numbered one through sixteen ran eight per side along the triangular ship's centerline, toward the bow. Being of Star Destroyer heritage, _Prosecutor_ vessels like _Amerigo_ didn't deviate much from the dagger-shape, blocky-bridge-structure formula. They just made it larger or smaller, in this case much larger.

Before leaving, Patricia Tannis confirmed through shipboard computers that the pod remained in its bay and had not, for example, been ejected into space or destroyed.

"At least it is in bay fifteen" said Ricker, laughing. That bay was second-from-the-back on the port side.

Naturally, the initial foray met little resistance, as the Infection had made very little headway against intractable fortifications protecting the bridge. Still, moving forward, small patches of Infected biomass began to appear in various places. A few Infection forms met their end from blaster bolts, their putrid guts staining the fronts of shields which had never before seen combat.

"And on top of destroying the galaxy, they have to smell" said the student who'd questioned placing extra marines behind the forward shields.

"I'd rather inhale a stink than have my lungs clogged with Highly Active Infection Agents" replied a nearby scientist wielding a ShieldSlammer shotgun.

A thumping noise caused some wild weapon-fire upward at overhead vents.

"I bet it's a vorcha" whispered one lab tech. "I've seen what they do…"

"That is why we have flamethrowers" commented an individual carrying such a device. "They can dart around all they like, but once they're burning they're gonna die!"

A hiss, then something spanged off riot shields.

"Good thing we have these" muttered Ricker. No damage evident from the back, but with up to five centimeters of compressed durasteel, penetration on the first hit was extremely unlikely barring either vibro-weapons or molecularly bonded penetrators.

Peering through gun ports opened by removing useless blasters, marines made a note of shuffling creatures down a hallway leading to internal trams.

"Looks like ranged-Infected. Except they shouldn't have been able to hit us at this range…"

If a batarian whose eye sockets grew projectiles made from bone wasn't disgusting enough, the sockets emitted a vague purplish glow.

"Looks like a biotic variant" commented a woman whose specialty tended to be the life sciences. "Heard about those, they have several times the range of a normal Infected batarian."

_Only a science geek would bother to learn the correct term_ thought many in the party. Then again, "batarian" was the name of the former base body's species.

"Thankfully," she continued, "the bone fragments don't grow back any faster. If we waited around a few hours, we would get more propelled at us, but right now, they're going to try to retreat. See?"

Backs were turned, shots were fired, and Infected lifeforms crashed face-forward into the deck.

If Ricker's explorers could see the top of their own ship, they'd see why their path seemed mostly unobstructed—because most Infected growth took over the starboard side. That didn't mean there were no issues at all—an Infected krogan exploded after stumbling out of a supply room, taking down five members of the team.

"This is where I wish I had a disruptor" conceded Ricker sadly as he put blaster bolts through the brains of those stabbed with Infected bone fragments to prevent their intellects from joining the enemy. An enterprising marine denied usable corpses by magnetizing his boots and stomping until not much was left, though it could be plainly seen the Infection worked quickly as loose arms, legs, and other bits had already grown Infected tissue, even if they couldn't do anything. Several scientists vomited in disgust, but no one objected—everyone understood it had to be done.

_This is too easy_.

Aboard a tram which started below the bridge and ran almost all the way to the bow, Ricker's group took a breather. Aside from the five who'd been taken down by an exploding krogan, no one else was any worse for the wear. Marines gratefully let the heavy shields drop to the deck with loud THUNKs. In spite of _Amerigo_'s current status, the people-mover remained remarkably clean and well-running. The Captain half-expected the tram to give out halfway to the pod bays, something about deferred maintenance, Infection clogging the tracks, surprise loss of power, or similar (these things just tended to happen). None of them did, and the trip forward ended without incident.

"This was surprisingly uneventful. It is as I prefer—fewer explosions and more science" said Patricia Tannis.

"Don't thank us yet" cautioned a shield-hefting marine. "We still don't even know if this pod of yours is going to work!"

Hallways leading into the manufacturing bays seemed Infection-free; they were as spit-and-polish as any Trans-Galactic Republic military vessel Ricker had ever been on. Upon reaching Bay 15, Tannis entered her access codes, which were accepted without fuss. The doors popped open, revealing a sleek, angled pod with room for only a single pilot.

As if on cue, everyone aside from Tannis took up defensive positions. There was simply no way the Infection would let them waltz in and activate their one chance at, if not escape, bringing reinforcements to destroy _Amerigo_.

"This will take time" said Tannis peevishly. "The capacitors must charge to deliver required energy of 1.21 petawatts in a single burst to initiate the slipspace sequence. An engine this size won't have nearly as drastic temporal distortions utilizing eleven dimensions, so while I may come out of the other end a year or two older, I will not be turned into an old crone."

Several indicators in the cockpit lit up red. The oddball scientist stuck her head over the edge of the ship's open canopy.

"The power junction leading to these bays is damaged and cannot deliver the necessary current to charge the pod. Someone must connect the backups. Off with you now!"

_And here's that hard part I've been expecting_ thought Captain Bill Ricker.

Downcast looks all around. Someone finally spoke up.

"What the hell is wrong? And that little ship only has _one_ seat?"

"These bays originally housed turbolasers" sighed Ricker, annoyed at having to explain military technology to eggheads. "When the ship was refitted for science duty, those turbolasers were taken out and modular construction bays were installed with the most advanced technology available, before digistruction, anyway. The power arrangement remained unchanged, so the bidirectional surge-protection built into the conduits leading here remained untouched."

He got blank stares in return.

"Look, if you had millions of amperes and trillions of watts of power surging through a system all the time, you'd probably want some kind of protection circuit in case something at either end overloaded! The arm-clamp circuit breakers cut efficiency by about 0.5%, thankfully with room-temperature superconductors it's not more. If they open or are damaged, you can't get full power up here. And it looks on this panel like Patricia Tannis' little warpship needs every ounce of power it can get! Step to it!"

Upon arriving, much face-palming ensued among the ranks of both scientist and (former) marines. Of course, this power junction had to be the one thing within a couple hundred meters that had Infected biomass on it.

The circuit breakers themselves were two vaguely L-shaped objects, if an "L" were turned ninety degrees clockwise and had its "tail" chopped down, then got mirrored over so the two short stubs overlapped for maximum contact. In the interest of safety, two stages existed—the pair of master breakers which each handled eight bays, and sub-breakers whose lines ran to two bays. Two primary, eight sub. And according to Tannis' babbling over the radio, all of them needed to work. Every single one.

Checking the computer, one of the graduate students by the name of Arnold Pitts noticed that a master breaker had opened. Telling the clunky old operating system to initiate a maintenance run to clear the fault and close the breaker, he discovered much to his delight that no problems existed—the breaker had been tripped a long time ago and since no project needed more current than could pass through its twin, no one had bothered to reset it. A camera on the second master breaker revealed what in the low light looked like rust, but everyone knew to be something far more sinister.

Several scientists pored over the list of sub-breakers, three of which were open, one damaged, and four closed. A quick check over system logs revealed the destroyed sub-breaker had been the reason for the second primary breaker's opening, but the three other open sub-breakers all had varying reasons to not work. One had motor problems, another had minor Infection buildup, and the last had been completely covered in Infection like a swollen lymph node. The breaker itself was only visible at its ends. This growth had forced the breaker into an open state as cells divided rapidly between its two halves. The motors were programmed to "release" rather than fight resistance (under normal operating circumstances there was zero resistance to breaker movement).

Some of the crew tromped over with flamethrowers to begin the smelly, lengthy process of removing biomass from the breaker, only for "pods" not visible initially to start bursting when exposed to heat (really, disturbances of any kind). Thankfully, these small Infection lifeforms were not propelled by biotic forces or motivated by Element Zero, but against unarmored attackers some were able to latch on, further depleting the numbers of those defending the slipspace device. Marines hefting one of two corridor-clearing shields protected as many as possible, but the devious little critters kept streaming out of growth on the breaker. Down to just a handful after only removing a small portion of the obstruction, the group retreated, sealing hatches leading to the troublesome safety device.

"Well, what'd you run into? The guiding Intelligence itself?" laughed the two other groups, one of whom simply replaced a motor and the other had a light Infection barbecue.

"Not funny" growled one of the shield-carriers. "We nearly got smothered by that nasty shit, and we didn't get the breaker cleared!"

"Never mind" came Tannis' voice over the radio. "Safety, and its companion of design specifications, have no place here. Simply overload the last breaker and fry the Infection off."

It took perhaps thirty seconds for those in the room to recover from this news.

"Why didn't you say so before?" demanded Bill Ricker. "And I'm guessing you don't really need that eighth sub-breaker either…"

"Technically, I only require five sub-breakers—at least if no one cares that they'll be fused shut. I have no idea how to override the safety systems, however. Someone else will have to take responsibility for that."

In the end, it took a bit of fussing over comparatively-ancient computer systems, but current flowed well above the breakers' limits, which had been modified by hand to permit overcurrent. Only requiring five sub-breakers meant the Infection-covered one didn't even need to be cleaned, which made the deaths resulting from an abortive assault even more bittersweet. The breakers all melted closed, but, as Ricker noted, "This ship, and us, are all doomed. We might as well make one last gesture of defiance while we still can. It doesn't matter if we create a maintenance nightmare down here."

As Tannis packed data drives containing last messages, research notes, and physical samples, it finally hit survivors on _Amerigo_: There would be no rescue. No Charge of the Samantha Shepard Brigade. They would live just long enough to maybe, possibly, if everything worked perfectly, give the _rest_ of the galaxy a chance to make it. That Tannis' launch seemed to be going without a hitch was the final insult.

"All systems functioning as expected. I am eager to depart this place."

The scientist's knack for saying something completely inappropriate knew no bounds. Many ex-military were suitably aghast at her attitude, even after two leading scientists hastily explained her personality (and its possible disorders).

"Well" sighed Captain Ricker, "at least make sure no one forgets us, okay?"

Tannis didn't respond. The blast-tinted canopy hissed shut, leaving a very bullet-shaped pod prepped on its launch pad. For safety reasons, the entire bay could be decompressed, and audiovisual warnings to this effect came online. The defenders retreated, leaving Tannis alone in the bay. Grimly, some saluted while others resisted the temptation to make less-kind gestures. The pod tilted back on its launch mechanism, which emitted an increasingly loud whine before magnetically hurling the experiment through an open bay door into space.

[…]

Tannis had only the vaguest idea of where to go in the Gamma-Six galaxy, so she picked the one place she figured everyone would be able to find her: the Citadel, the center of galactic power, the seat of government.

"For science!" She stabbed the button engaging her pod's experimental drive. Fortunately, nothing exploded.

Unfortunately, she hadn't installed a cryosleep function. Or made the chair comfortable. Whatever she'd done, Tannis would have to wait until the ship popped back out of this alternate dimension it now traveled through, which was pitch-black. Of course, her theories suggested slipspace would have nothing to see—this wasn't unexpected. It was just boring. Even for a thirty-seven year old woman with several advanced degrees. Or perhaps especially. Her intelligence propelled Tannis through formal education far faster than the average, landing her prestigious scholarships and her initial job working on Eridian artifacts on behalf of Dahl Corporation.

Tannis had always been aware of her non-standard mental situation—she'd been the recipient of sophisticated treatments through both medication and therapy to allow the usually-antisocial woman to work more easily with and relate better to colleagues. Either because she'd never cared or perhaps because she'd never been told, Tannis didn't remember the precise nature of her condition, but she did see her tenuous grip on sanity begin to slip during her stint on Pandora. After Dahl pulled off the planet, their funding for her projects ended. Along with it went any further shipments of medication and the therapists she saw on varying schedules. It was in this state she'd been operating for quite some time, since before the Harvester War, leading to rather unpleasant encounters with Trans-Galactic Republic soldiers aboard _Amerigo_ such as her last words to them.

"It is unfortunate that they all must die so that I may take this vessel to Gamma-Six."

Tannis' difficulties included expressing empathy for others in addition to difficulty in social situations. She understood what leaving everyone else behind meant, but had trouble vocalizing it, hence her offhand comment about being "eager to depart this place."

Roughly three hours after departing _Amerigo_, X-SLP-01 appeared in Citadel space. Alarms blared—a ship (even one this small) appearing without any warning (such as would have occurred with hyperspace or even hyper-zero) tended to make controllers jumpy.

"What now?" demanded the on-duty watch.

"Small pod, one lifesign, no weapons" reported a sensor officer. "Trans-Galactic Republic scanners are saying 100% harmless, except for the mandatory Infection scan of course."

Transmitting on all known frequencies/protocols, Citadel Control hailed the newcomer, who responded quickly.

"No, I do not have time for your wasteful protocols or insipient demands about Infection inspections! My name is Patricia Tannis, and I must speak to Samantha Shepard at once!"

Hearing this, Admiral Nimitz cut through the red tape, despite any risks from doing so, after finding out exactly what Tannis had brought.

"Samantha Shepard is not here. We will contact her for you. I am issuing an override on all normal containment/decontamination procedures."

Despite waiving what would have been an extensive procedure checking for Infection aboard Tannis' pod (and on Tannis herself), the combined CRITICAL refused to authorize handing Tannis the location of SETTLE.

"She may be smart, but she's as crazy as a bag of cats!" said Nimitz's personnel analyst. "I don't know if she'd post the coordinates on the extranet, give them to the wrong people, or paint them on the side of her ship so she remembers."

"This better be good" griped Samantha Shepard as _Normandy_ pulled into congested Citadel space lanes once again.

Received aboard _Ultimatum_, she suspected the reason for her call might be the crazy scientist she'd heard about and met briefly in the past standing next to Admiral Nimitz. Without speaking, Tannis handed the Commander a datapad.

"Advanced Slipspace Drive, est. velocity ~600 million times light speed…" she read. "Eliminates damage to space-time by utilizing multiple dimensions within a separate continuum instead of violently tearing through to get from origin to destination."

"You don't look any older" said Sam. "So does that mean you solved the temporal problem?"

"Certainly not!" huffed the scientist. "Drives this small don't incur such issues, at least not in large enough amounts to be significant. It is likely my age may have changed up to two years, however, I regard this as an acceptable price for scientific advancement. If you still have that Eridian device Maya returned from her…journey…with, I will likely be able to eliminate premature aging once and for all."

"Then what the hell are we standing around here for?" asked Sam, as if everyone had been deliberately stalling. "We've got work to do!"

Tannis and her pod were loaded into _Normandy_'s hanger. A couple blastboats had to be moved around, a task to which the younger Maya was more than happy to do ("No blowing up the hanger bay!" scolded Shepard). Maya still felt giddiness surge through her from the first time she'd taken the controls of a blastboat. Sam resolved to get the young woman piloting instruction of some kind, even if it was only mentoring aboard _Normandy_. Since Joker no longer suffered from Vrolick's Syndrome, he could easily assist the Siren, a task to which he responded positively upon being asked.

"You don't have to worry about it now, but I have a feeling we're going to need as many qualified pilots as we can get!"

"Why don't you just clone me?" he retorted. "You know, Athena and all…"

"Not funny!" Still, she hid a grin. Without a doubt, Joker was the best pilot she'd ever met, period.

In what seemed like five minutes, Tannis, Gaige, Tali, Jackie, and Kevin cranked out a large-scale prototype in computer design software. It required no exotic materials, but did generate a large amount of heat. Removing that heat would be problematic without Trans-Galactic Republic technology.

"Let's see about that slag stuff" suggested Sam. "Sure, it's toxic, but there are a lot of things we've been doing lately that aren't exactly standard-issue or within specification…"

"Three steps ahead, Commander."

Cortana shimmered into existence in her usual purple-blue coloration. "I've already worked out a schematic for liquid cooling with this Eridium slag substance. I'll just scale it up to accommodate this much larger device."

"We haven't addressed the time-shift issue" added Jackie softly. "We're still risking ending up dead before we get where we're going."

"Do we know if that device I gave to Patricia Tannis belongs in the drive, or somewhere else?" asked Kevin Filner. "If it's an attachment, we could start digistructing the drive now, and add it later. If it's integral, then obviously we have to figure that out first."

Proximity alarms blared. The SETTLE Center had been pushed deep into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant Huron within the Excalibur System, Archer Cluster. Until this very moment, nothing had touched it despite ample defenses which only got stronger after Cerberus attacked.

Digistruction energy requirements called up exponentially with the size of the object in question. Thus, a car-size item could be created from a setup powered by relatively primitive fossil fuels or basic nuclear energy. Pandora even utilized ultra-capacitors and wind power for this purpose, except for large-scale corporate work which tended to use fusion reactors. Some other types of power sources tended to explode massively when hit—like Hyperion's mobile Constructor units, despite supposedly utilizing "safe" energy. In this case, SETTLE possessed a Star Battlecruiser size reactor to fuel all three bays simultaneously. In theory, the station could produce three ships the size of _Curator _ Star Destroyers at once (length: 2,500m). If not manufacturing, the considerable output from the installation's core could be directed to shields and weapons instead, as was the case now.

Fortunately for SETTLE, these incoming signatures were more friendly geth—the system had never been tuned to recognize the synthetics as friendlies (just as unknown-neutrals which in a highly-secretive environment set off the same alarms as active hostiles). Systems stood down, but the geth had disturbing news to report.

"It was discovered during routine patrols that the Infection has mutated again. It appears to be gaining strength, but by what means we were unable to determine" said a Prime unit over the comm. "We recommend…"

Shepard never heard what the geth's recommendation would have been.

"The device brought by Maya requires a simple power source—this design will do—and it will negate most temporal distortions incurred within eleven-dimensional space" said Tannis with a great degree of excitement. "At most, ages will shift by hours between origin and destination."

"Well, that means nothing with short lifespans or items requiring precise timekeeping should be kept on ships using this method of transit, then" replied Shepard.

"Using seven-dimensional space will remove the need for such devices" added Jackie, "but it is also far slower for now. Our understanding of the technology is incomplete—as Cortana has noted the Forerunners, or Eridians, mastered seven dimensions to the point of near-instantaneous travel while completely avoiding the issues we currently face."

"How much slower are we talking?" demanded Sam.

Tali piped up. "Around 400,000 times the speed of light. If things aren't urgent, it's almost pointless to quibble—we are breaching what is supposed to be a cosmic speed limit here."

"Dude, things are really kind of urgent" interjected Gaige. "Disgusting biological monsters rampaging around, a crazy woman who makes Lilith look passé…" Her voice trailed as she realized talking about Lilith might still be a sore spot. No one reacted, but the engineering genius didn't have anything else to add, so she kept quiet.

Garrus joined in, having been passively observing.

"I don't think anyone ever said precisely how fast the drive Tannis came up with actually is…"

"Right!" Tali seemed embarrassed for having not answered the question. "That thing is mind-blowingly fast. Precisely calculated, 750 million times light speed! At least! It could go faster, but time distortions become exponentially larger at that point."

"They were already fairly significant at 1 million times lightspeed. Those eleven-dimension drives are pretty interesting, but without further study…"

"Cortana, we don't have time for further study!" insisted Tali. "Not with everything that's going on!"

"Creator Tali'Zorah is correct. The circumstances we face suggest expedited completion of the propulsion system is preferable to focusing on safety. We or other platforms would volunteer to test such devices as we are less likely to be negatively impacted by premature aging."

"That's awfully…generous of you, Legion. I…"

"We all share the same goal" responded the geth. "We seek to prevent the destruction of both organic and synthetic life within this galaxy, and we believe advancement of this engine technology is a step toward that goal."

"What about Aria's offer?" inquired James, having become bored with the fight-sims available on the station.

"Yeah. Right. Storm into an Infected station? I don't think so" replied Shepard dismissively. "That even assumes we could get there."

"This unit has a suggestion."

"Yes, Legion?" Shepard raised an eyebrow. She'd noticed lately that the end times seemed to be bringing out all sorts of useful hidden sides in everyone.

"Several Legion-class units have observed organics utilizing the mass relay network to enter the Nemean Abyss. If we were to locate and activate an appropriate mass relay, we would be able to avoid the impact of whatever is preventing faster-than-light travel within the area around the Omega space station."

"Oh great" harrumphed Ashley. "Let's play hunt for the mass relay while the galaxy falls apart! Can't anything just work—like, here's the mission, just go in and shoot things!"

"The Consensus network is providing information regarding the location of a suitable mass relay. Conveying coordinates to Shepard-Commander."

"Hah. Nice" smirked the brown-haired soldier.

"Wait, stop!" shouted Sam. "What use does Element Zero have? I thought we weren't supposed to use it!"

"It is possible adjusting the mass of the ship might reduce time-effects" retorted Tannis, as if Shepard had just asked whether humans needed to breathe air.

"_Possible?_" demanded Jack. "You're suggesting sending us into a fucking horror show because something might be _possible?_"

"This ship is large and complex. A stock of Element Zero would be of great help for various systems." Cortana did not go into detail. This "backup" would also enable reseeded life to quickly resume operations utilizing familiar technology.

Many glowered—embarking on a hazardous mission "because the AI said so" didn't rank well as a reason. However, UNSC AI's had subtly nudged development in their own parallel, and Cortana still felt compelled to bend events ever so slightly within this one. If Shepard gave the order, all would follow.


	43. Omega Storm

**Chapter 42 – Omega Storm**

Samantha Shepard rapidly planned out her next move. Kevin Filner and Patricia Tannis would remain behind to work on "high-speed" slipspace drives. Tests would be conducted utilizing volunteer geth platforms. The rest of the crew would take _Normandy SR-2.5_ off to what remained of Omega along with most of the geth fleet that had followed Shepard from the Perseus Veil.

That a _positive_ schism could split the geth befuddled the quarians as much as it did Sam herself. Having dropped the flabbergasted Admiralty Board back in Citadel space among their own, she gave them the strictest of lectures regarding keeping this split (and geth involvement in general) a secret. They promised to do so. Tali again refused offers of instatement as an Admiral, preferring the _Normandy_'s engine room. The quarian Flotilla ordinarily would have given anything to be welcomed among the Citadel races once again, but there was no celebration of the galaxy being destroyed.

Sam tried to explain the need for an assault on Omega to Admiral Allison Nimitz and Councilor Grayson. While they sympathized and were far more inclined to support her than the Council as a whole had ever been, they could only spare a handful of ships.

"Psychology is very important during a war, as I'm sure you know" said the Councilor. "We can't take half the fleet off patrol duty—people would riot!"

She received two _Curators_; a Mark-I commanded by Isabelle Long and a Mark-II captained by Alexsis Kazansky. Sam also met up with Anna Erickson again, whose _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ dreadnaught _Endless Calm_ was also assigned to the group. _Revenant Phoenix_ remained at SETTLE as part of the station's defense fleet, meaning Miranda Lawson (as essentially-permanent-acting-XO) would not be joining the fight this time.

"It's been a while" commented the Trans-Galactic Republic captain upon boarding _Normandy SR-2.5_.

"Indeed. The galaxy seems to have gone and fallen apart, again. And somehow I have to try to clean it up." Shepard gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Sam, fix this. Sam, yell at those idiots. Sam, please try to convince these people to help us."

"At least they ask nicely" hinted Erickson darkly. "The United Defense Command…"

"Don't even get me started on those lawless, fascist, evil little _bosh'tets_" replied Sam, crossing her arms.

"I'm just gonna assume that's some kind of alien swear word" laughed Anna.

"Yeah. Anyway, now instead of killing Reapers, we have to kill the source of the Infection. Apparently, the reason it kills everything is so that it can use the biomass from dead bodies to build some kind of central intelligence."

Anna made a face before responding. "The Infection seems like a virus—it exists to destroy anything it touches in order to make copies of itself. Why would it need some kind of centralized command structure? Instinct seems to serve it just fine!"

"You could ask Cortana about that, but you'd get far more than you wanted to know."

The two women chit-chatted about random topics until an alert came over the comm saying that all three ships were prepped to go, at which point Captain Erickson returned to her ship. Council authorization lifted speed restrictions on the vessels' hyper-zero drives (themselves a non-standard addition which bulged out their reactors somewhat). It turned out the Republic Intelligence Service had ordered all _Curators_ fitted with hyper-zero drives at some earlier point regardless of damage to space. It also might explain "missing" eezo that had been disappearing during the Reaper War—which had been used as a subtext to grant the United Defense Command even _more_ power. Bastards. Since the drives could operate in "enhanced-hyperdrive" and "hyper-zero" modes (the former less damaging), it was presumed super-fast mode could be held back for emergencies. Like this one.

To protect the location of SETTLE, navigation got handled entirely through Cortana and encrypted slave-rigs. The trio of Star Destroyers thus blindly followed _Normandy_ on what ended up being a rather short trip back to the facility and attendant geth fleet. Roughly half of the geths' dreadnaughts, some twelve, sat in orbit around Huron. These immense warships were not prepped for gas giant atmospheric operations, so they made no attempt to hide as the installation did.

At 1,250m, these behemoths exceeded the size of any native human ship, but were dwarfed by _Curator_ Star Destroys exactly twice their keel length. The geth only obtained a few turbolasers, but had made very efficient use of them. The fact that their "crews" required no life support, wages, rest, or leisure meant that meter-for-meter, geth capital ships were more effective than any other combatants in the "Omega Assault Fleet." Use of ultraviolet lasers brought their energy weapons to near-turbolaser levels at the cost of immense heat, while all physical weapons had been retrofitted to incinerate-on-contact. Ordinarily, the Trans-Galactic Republic would refit the ships with heat radiation wave-guides but such action wasn't possible in the current timeframe.

"_Veritas_, _Star Paladin_, and _Endless Calm_ reporting" said Joker over the comm. "Geth fleet reporting. We are ready at your command."

Flash traffic went out over the extranet to clear all relays needed by the fleet—without any waiting hyper-zero-to-relay offered the fastest method of travel since mass relay travel was essentially instantaneous. Once Shepard's force reached the edge of controlled space, they'd switch to hyper-zero if they had to, but since no one had seen the Infection destroy a mass relay it remained possible that the network could be used all the way until the specific relay noted by Legion, which would push the group through any interdiction fields. Such theories were proven correct—though later finding out exactly why the Infection hadn't attempted to destroy the network proved once again that this extra-galactic house of horrors seemed to turn absolutely _everything_ on its original users.

"Go, go, go!"

Over four thousand ships, mostly geth, jumped from SETTLE and bounced between relays until reaching the "secret" one alluded to by Legion. It wasn't all that secret—rather, the "civilized" powers of the galaxy had no use for a relay leading into the most lawless section of the galaxy. The Citadel Council may have been blind to the Reaper threat, they may have stood by helplessly as the United Defense Command supplanted Council powers, and they even seemed ignorant of the Infection until the situation became far too dire to correct. However, no Council had ever tried to extend the rule of law out to the Terminus. Especially not to the Nemean Abyss. Yes, various pressure groups staged protests, letter-writing campaigns, and even sit-ins to bring attention to the Abyss' slave trade, drug running, illegal research, and other floats in a parade of horribles, but the Council knew it could never clamp down in a way that would be economically feasible.

On occasion, a non-biotic asari who'd been subjected to omega-enkaphalin appeared in Council space. This brought prompt attention from anti-trafficking authorities, a deluge of heartwrenching news coverage, and another call for "anyone who is aware of other such asari to please come forward." Otherwise, the Council ignored the Abyss and its fleets of pirate corsairs.

Omega Assault Fleet ran smack into such a group upon arriving at "Legion's" relay. Though the Terminus had been abandoned to the Infection, it hadn't taken over everywhere.

"Incoming transmission, Commander. Putting it through."

"Thanks Joker." She had a feeling she knew who it would be.

"You don't learn" came the voice of Aria T'Loak.

"You're one to talk" replied Shepard, a little more nastily than she intended. Still, it wasn't exactly as if Aria didn't deserve to be called-out.

"You think just because I made one slip-up that I can't be trusted to deal with the Infection" said Aria with a tone of annoyance. "Trust me, I've been around a little longer than you have, and I've definitely recovered from situations like this before."

"Tell me more about times when the entire galaxy's been totally overrun by a foe no one can stop, and how you single-handedly took down the threat" mocked Sam. She wasn't going to play nice if Aria's pride got in the way of getting things done, _again_…

She got a closed comm channel in response.

"Cortana?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Ignore Aria and her fleet. Unless they shoot at us…"

"…you just had to say it." Cortana gave Shepard a withering look, as if the woman's words actually caused what came next rather than simply being ill-timed.

"Dreadnaught-03 requesting assistance. This vessel is under attack from unrecognized forces."

"Sigh."

"Would you like me to make them stop?" asked Cortana, wearing a mischievous look.

"Yes. Make them stop, and also keep them from following us. I don't need a bunch of trigger-happy smugglers charging headlong into a trap. If anyone's leg is going to get viced off by the trap, it'll be _my_ leg."

Sam seemed entirely too insistent about this from Cortana's perspective.

She remained forever grateful that ship audio could be muted or handled on an entirely voluntary basis, as the next few minutes saw transmission after transmission from a ship she believed to be Aria's demanding communication. Knowing better than to deal with a thousand-plus-year-old asari throwing a tantrum, she kept channels closed and focused on the actual reason she'd come here. Eventually, Cortana got around to disabling that too, leaving the other fleet with life support…and not much else.

"I'd like to see them try to fight now" laughed the AI. She'd extended heat radiator panels on ships which possessed them. These arrays were hilariously ineffective compared to ion slurries or waveguides, but they were the only means for civilian ships to remove waste heat in this galaxy. Seeing as some of the irregulars utilized up-armed and jury-rigged formerly-civilian vessels, Cortana figured a desire to live would pin them in place as moving into battle with heat-radiators extended would inevitably lead to them being shot off, causing the crew to cook themselves.

Leaving a frustrated group of former Omega inhabitants behind, Shepard's force moved to the relay. The familiar whooshing feeling accompanying mass relay travel took hold as stars streaked past.

"Whoa…emergency evasive!"

Too late, Joker and Cortana realized Omega was no longer just a space station. It was a graveyard. The only time she'd seen more derelict ships was probably around the Collector Base. A gigantic piece of what looked like a cruiser painted in Cerberus colors scraped _Normandy_'s topside, scuffing shields but no more. After that, the dynamic duo upped their piloting, avoiding further collisions.

"Joker, if the paint is chipped, you are personally responsible for touching it up when we get back."

He couldn't tell if Sam was joking or not since she was all audio, standing back in the Combat Information Center decameters behind. Freed from his previously-near-crippling Vrolick Syndrome, he could no longer claim medical exemption if she did, in fact mean exactly what she'd said.

Cortana's avatar stared at Shepard, mockingly aghast. "You have all this technology, but haven't mastered self-healing paint?"

"We have other problems" shot back Sam.

"Indeed we do" replied the AI. "Tracking twelve, twenty, thirty-five…eighty incoming projectiles. Point defense system calibrated, and firing." Ships which had appeared derelict suddenly lit up on sensors.

Cortana minimized herself to a corner, bringing up a static display of _Normandy SR-2.5_ in front of the Galaxy Map. A blue outline was punctuated by red blinks indicating GARDIAN turret fire. Though Cortana's background consisted of using kinetic-based point defense, she quickly realized upon her arrival that such measures would not be sufficient against this variation of the Flood. This led to a massive overhaul of directed-energy systems aboard _Normandy_ intended to shoot down incoming missiles or other harmful objects. Increased heat dispersion gave GARDIAN a longer operating time, leaving shields untouched for a greater period.

Unlike charging into battle alongside organics, comm channels remained mostly empty save the two _Curators_ and one _Aspirations _vocalizing standard inter-ship information as would be expected during a naval engagement. Geth ships and fighters communicated nearly instantly among themselves with no need to vocalize. Cortana adjusted _Normandy_'s course to offer assistance when requested, but otherwise left most of the flying up to Joker.

"Boom!" he shouted, as what appeared to be a former pirate dreadnaught split in half under a concentrated novalaser barrage. "Garrus, see if you can squeeze faster fire out of these guns!"

"On it" replied the turian. Muttering under his breath, he wondered if weapon-users were ever happy. They forever sought more firepower, less energy usage, greater accuracy, and lower heat dissipation. Thing was, some of these were mutually-exclusive, especially anything related to power usage versus destructive ability. Still, _Normandy_ hadn't taken any hits yet, so whatever compromised her cloak the last time around seemed to either be not present or inactive currently.

Information gleaned from the fall of Thessia proved instructive. The "biotic-balls" hurled from the station passed right through shields and kinetic barriers. Such use of biotics never became popular in Council space mostly due to requiring a living being to sacrifice themselves in a charge across space. The Infection pods hurled at Sam's ships had no problem with one-way trips. Thus, GARDIAN and INTERCPT became more important than ever.

Possessing neither, _Endless Calm_ tried her best to stay out of range, or at least avoid making herself a target. Bowing to politics, CRITICAL wanted to give the impression of being more helpful than the often-obstructive Council—thus including _Endless Calm_ in the task force. While it was true that no one knew exactly what the force would face, everyone knew how single-purpose _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ ships were, and how utterly useless they became outside that single purpose. At least _Endless_ carried a reduced crew, thus putting fewer people in danger for what cynics called a political stunt.

Penetrating the shields of _Star Paladin_, biotic pods unleashed their cargo into the ship. Thankfully, as a military vessel _Paladin_ fared better than the scientist-stuffed _Amerigo_ or poorly-internally-designed _Maxthon_. The Infection remained contained, if not entirely controlled, enabling _Star Paladin_ to stay in the fight.

It was at this point the trump card dropped. Like most Infected ships, it gave off some kind of yellowish substance as it moved.

"Is that…" wondered Captain Kazansky.

"No way!" insisted Isabelle Long.

"Well, that's probably why RNS _Skywalker_ never reported back" said Cortana. "The Trans-Galactic Republic didn't want to admit one of their supercarriers had gone missing, so they kind of wanted us to look for it."

"Oh, so that's what it was about!" Sam now realized why the extragalactic government would even lift a finger to help her in this case.

_So why the hell were they so interested in Jackie Jakobs? What gain could they possibly get from her?_

It was entirely possible to stop a biotic-pod barrage with point defense systems. It was significantly harder, however, to stop a whole horde of Infected _fighters _either launching pods or having been turned into pods themselves. Now renamed "INF-Skywalker" on _Normandy_'s targeting systems, Joker tried to bring novalasers to bear on the target, only to be chased off by fighters. Though they couldn't "see" the cloaked vessel, the Infected now seemed to have an instinctive idea of its general location once the Infected supercarrier arrived, meaning a lot of Infected pods and laserfire to dodge.

"I know this seems crazy" shouted Sam into the comm. "But could we get some fighter support here, maybe?"

_Paladin_ and _Veritas_ began deploying their fighter complements. Fully-loaded, that meant 144 fightercraft per ship. Which was great, except that Trans-Galactic Republic supercarriers had fighter counts about fifty times that size. Many _Raptors_ were blown apart leaving their hangers. A few _Curtanas_ bristling with anti-starfighter missiles got shots in, but were also mobbed. Never mind the two Star Destroyers taking a beating from those infernal biotic torpedoes.

Shepard found herself dealing with a very eager younger iteration of Maya who tugged on the Commander's arm like a child wanting to go to the toy store. In this case, the destination would have been the hanger bay had she allowed it.

"Can I take one of the blastboasts?" The woman practically exploded from excitement.

Sam had to laugh. Not at Maya herself, but the situation.

"This is why I'm in charge and not you. See that computer display?"

Maya, being only recently educated in a limited range of topics since "eye-candy" required no formal training, glanced at it.

"So?"

"Do you see all the red dots?" Sam gestured at what appeared to be a comparatively-small green oval surrounded by an angry cloud of red in front of the Galaxy Map.

Maya's face fell as it started to dawn on her what this meant. "We're surrounded by enemies, aren't we?"

"Yep!"

"And I'd be blown out of the sky as soon as I left the hanger…"

"Yep!"

Looking dejected, Maya released Sam's hand. "Let me know when there's a non-suicidal chance to take one of the _Fireants_ for a spin…"

Anna Erickson maneuvered _Endless Calm_ into a firing position versus the former RNS _Skywalker_. Since her ship had done nothing the entire battle, it did not seem to be seen as a threat. As per usual, she ordered operations to direct all power intended for the six secondary turbolaser turrets no sane _Aspirations_ Captain ever used into hardening her ship's Trinity armor. As far as she could tell, these "bio-pods" weren't heat-based, so puncture/tear resistance would probably serve better.

"We get one shot at this before they notice and go all hostile on us…"

Thankfully for Erickson, _Skywalker_ followed the same construction pattern as most fighter-carriers from Gamma-Six: a large deck which when open for launching strikecraft presented a clean path straight into the ship's heart. The hanger cut across _Skywalker_'s keel, so Erickson approached from the front and hoped no one paid too much attention to her. The goal was to cut a couple rounds loose into the far side of the hanger, behind which she knew reactor equipment existed. Trans-Galactic Republic naval architects anticipated just such a strike, so it would take a lucky hit. Even still, this represented the weakest link in otherwise-strong protection that matched Star Dreadnaught class vessels in all other aspects.

Interdiction-type escorts usually kept anyone far enough away from _Swiftsure_ supercarriers that such attacks would definitely fail, hence the possibility of it succeeding this one time. Though the Infection doubtlessly assimilated knowledge about the strengths and weaknesses of the shiptype, whatever controlled it didn't seem to be bothered by the potential of a shot piercing _Skywalker_'s aft bulkhead. Besides, even if an interdiction field existed, she wasn't hyperspacing in—Erickson was already here.

Weapons officers deliberately loaded two rounds into each barrel instead of one. Likely, this would destroy her dreadnaught's main weapon, leaving it helpless. However, if _Skywalker_ managed to launch every fighter she carried, everyone would probably end up dead regardless. Thus, jury-rigged attempts to get the coilguns to handle double-loads.

Unlike the story she'd heard about Lilith Cashlin flying across space after being shot out of the gun of _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ herself, Erickson ordered _maximum_ power despite the risks. All three would let loose at the same time, in the hopes that this "six pack" could potentially put the former _Skywalker_ out of commission. Permanently.

"I'll take the controls."

Erickson pushed buttons on a control panel.

"Manual aiming controls active" said the ship's computer.

Two joysticks popped out of the fire-control console while a display indicated the charge status of each cannon.

"At least we don't have to wait five minutes for the guns to charge, you know, that were charging and firing every few seconds at any other time…"

While Anna's statement was very true, in the few seconds it did take for capacitors to gather energy, a flight of Infected fighters bore down on her ship, strafing the long barrel. Fired munitions slammed directly into armor plate, cracking it with a few hits. Following strikes ate into the kilometers-long coilgun assembly itself, meaning that in less than a minute, the Infection took note of the ship's power up, recognized the possibility of a threat to its plans, and took appropriate action.

Alarms blared throughout _Endless Calm_.

"Ma'am, the main cannons are offline!"

"The cannon was our only option" replied Captain Erickson. "We can't do any more good here."

A transmission from the geth fleet startled Shepard, Erickson, and the other Star Destroyer commanders.

"We will address the threat directly."

With that, every geth ship in the vicinity poured fire into a single point on the Infected supercarrier, ignoring their own safety, ignoring that some vessels were being torn apart, ignoring that their numbers were diminishing. As ships took damage, they slammed themselves into the yellowed, putrid mobile fighter base. Normally, Infection torpedoes unleashed cargo into whatever ship they hit. Geth spacecraft lacked gravity, oxygen, or really, any life-support systems at all. Mass effect fields only generated gravity when necessary—i.e. not during strenuous combat. Certain areas could be pressurized, but none near any critical system. It was part of what made the geth so dangerous—they played by an entirely different set of rules. Infected lifeforms could neither survive nor create more of themselves when boarding geth ships.

"Are they…committing suicide?" asked Kazansky on an open channel.

Sam chuckled, something the other commanding officers found odd. "The geth aren't physical beings, they're software. So if a geth's physical body is destroyed, the software automatically gets backed up. If you've heard about the 'New-U' system on Pandora, it's the same thing."

Legion interrupted. "We believe this is not entirely correct—not all geth within these warships are able to transfer themselves out due to damaged communication systems and lack of available base station capacity nearby. So it is indeed the case that some geth are in fact 'committing suicide,' that is, taking actions which result in their permanent termination."

"Or, never mind! I just sounded like a gigantic dick!"

Outside, geth ship after geth ship impacted the shields of what was once RNS _Skywalker_. Two geth dreadnaughts fired their primary weapons—some kind of derived Thanix technology—that appeared to pass straight through the ship's shields.

Alexsis Kazansky took her turn laughing at Sam's bemusement over video-conference.

"If you hit our shields hard enough, you'll eventually find a weak spot. That's how torpedo spheres work—scan for imperfections, then hit the soft area with thousands of small nuclear explosions. It looks like our geth friends figured that out on their own."

"Oh, so they're not invincible?" Sam knew the answer, but the opportunity couldn't be passed up. Even in the middle of a battle.

"No, but if you build a big enough one, you can ward off a _Star Dreadnaught_…"

Geth Thanix fire ate into _Skywalker_'s armor. Molten metal failed to make the list of "things to protect against," since no naval architect in the Trans-Galactic Republic had even heard of such weaponry at the time the _Swiftsure_ design hit the construction stage.

Another geth transmission. "We observed the attempts by your ship designated _Endless Calm_ to line up a specific firing pattern against the Infection. We will duplicate this pattern."

Already, larger geth vessels attempted to put kinetic rounds against bulkheads leading to _Skywalker_'s reactors. With its shields temporarily out of commission, multiple hits were scored. Swarms of Infected fighters (of all types and even some the Trans-Galactic Republic had not shown to their CRITICAL compatriots) launched their ordinance against geth attackers, denting their numbers but not breaking the attack. The focus on geth left a clear path to Omega.

"Omega approach is clear" she barked. "Taking _Normandy_ in now to deliver the package."

The "package" consisted of her entire combat team, who would attempt to secure large quantities of Element Zero for the _Nova Vita_ project.

"Three thousand tons, all yours!"

Aria's words echoed in Sam's head. Strangely generous, especially for someone who seemed as allergic to charity as krogan were to bacta.

"Good thing geth don't panic or complain about impossible odds" she muttered.

"Shepard-Commander!"

"What's going on, Legion? An update from the geth flotilla?"

"Our fleet has sustained 25% casualties. The number of runtimes lost has not yet been shared with us, likely due to its rapidly changing nature, though we estimate it to be lower than the number of ships destroyed. Current attrition rates suggest geth forces will be exhausted before the former Trans-Galactic Republic supercarrier runs out of strike craft or sustains sufficient damage to force its retreat."

"I take it the offensive against that supercarrier isn't going well then…"

"We are occupying its fighters and preventing them from focusing on the _Normandy_ despite the losses inflicted. This was the intent, was it not?"

Legion's vocal modulator seemed all over the place—no longer the simple monotone that she'd been used to, but more like another organic.

_Fine time for the geth to develop emotional responses…_

"We believed through our sacrifice Shepard-Commander would be able to complete the mission."

Its voice pitched up and increased in speed, as if seeking approval through questioning.

"Yes…Legion, that was the point."

Without saying another word, the geth platform turned and left the Combat Information Center. She almost swore it stormed off in anger or confusion.

"Worst timing ever" griped Cortana, her hologram appearing next to Sam. "When I interacted with the Consensus, I could tell that some runtimes were beginning to develop some level of emotion, especially the second time 'round debating over whether to help in the fight against the Flood. This isn't a matter of individual runtimes, but certain collections of them, when operating together, start to experience thought patterns not driven strictly by formal logic."

"How does that even work?" wondered Shepard.

"Do I look like a programmer?" shot back Cortana. "I have no idea—if Catherine Halsey were here she might have some clue, or maybe that Daro'Xen character…"

Her projected face took on a noticeable look of distaste, as if she'd just eaten something foul.

"Xen is…well it's complicated…" hedged Sam.

Cortana looked offended. "It doesn't seem all that complicated from this side. I'm not biological, so I'm not worthy of rights or having my opinion counted. That seems pretty cut-and-dry."

"You know I don't agree with her" protested Shepard.

"You may not agree with her, but I want you to promise me that you'll keep that crazy quarian away from my chip!"

"I'll handle that."

Before disappearing into the Master Chief's helmet, Cortana turned to her captain. "For a super soldier, your situational awareness has a pretty big blind spot for someone who's over two meters tall wearing armor…"

"Your pilot tells me we're almost ready to dock. Let me lead."

For once, Sam found herself meekly accepting advice given by someone else without questioning it, which was something she noticed others tended to do to her—"It's your call, Shepard. We'll do whatever you say." Even though the Infection seemed to have a pretty simple solution (shoot, burn, destroy), the Master Chief did come from a place where there was far more experience fighting against it—to the point of surviving for _years_ as opposed to basically falling apart in months.

"Bad news, Commander" came Joker over the comm. "All the docking bays we could fit the _Normandy_ into are Infected—I'm not going to land us in there!"

"What about the docking tubes?" demanded Sam.

"None extended and zero available" replied her pilot.

"Then we'll have to make our own docking area, without Infection! Prep blastboats for launch!"

"Aye-ay… You know, you could just use a shuttle…" suggested Joker.

"I think we're flying into the nastiest thing since the Reapers, so I'll take a ship purpose-built for combat, not package delivery!"

In a conference room that ran the width of the internal pressure hull on Deck 2 just forward of the meter-thick "anti-Infection bulkhead," Samantha Shepard spoke to her team (which barely fit within the confines).

"This isn't how I was planning on doing things, but here's where we're at. We can't land the ship on Omega—we'd pick up more Infected spores than an asari maiden picks up drunk suitors. We're going to have to take a blastboat, clear a landing zone, and then bring in the rest of the team."

Before Maya the younger could even finish raising her hand, Sam answered the Siren's unasked question.

"Yes, this is one of those times when I feel you can fly the blastboat without imitating someone jumping into the pool without knowing how to swim first."

Maya's face lit up in quiet happiness.

"We'll sweep the landing bay, then drop the entire party. I've also figured out the solution to those stupid combat management systems—it's called 'design changes someone should have thought of ten years ago.' And hand signals."

She paused to look around the room.

"As much as I love you all, I am going to have to split the team in half. Garrus will lead the second fireteam." She rattled off names. "Thane, Zaeed, James, Moxxi, Mordin, Jack, Brick, Tali, Gaige, go with Garrus."

The combat team shuffled as she spoke, leaving Shepard standing with Kasumi, Kaidan, Athena, Maya, Ashley, Samara, Legion, Grunt, and the Master Chief. Jackie kept to herself in a corner, and Kevin (as always) had no business dealing with anything involving weapons, so he'd opted out of the venture to Omega entirely.

"Uhh, Jackie?"

The now-quiet woman snapped out of her thoughts.

"You're not going to stay back here, are you?"

Instead of responding, the black-haired heiress joined Shepard's line.

"Grab as many grenades and medi-bac kits as you can carry! Then meet in the hanger!"

Sam ensured there would be no running out of anything—with Storage Deck Units attached to armor instead of actual weapons, almost everyone could carry an armory's worth of guns with zero weight penalty. She'd seen Garrus, Legion, Tali, and Gaige trying to adapt mass effect technology into several weapons brought from the latter's galaxy, though she didn't know if the effort had been successful. It almost felt unfair compared to how everyone fought before. Then again, it wasn't as if the Infection stopped to ask "Am I too powerful?" when it steamrollered two-thirds of the galaxy.

The Commander gleefully loaded a heavily-modified Black Widow rifle into her SDU. It had been remanufactured using digistruction to accomplish two things. First, no more thermal clips—it would dissipate heat over time like the rifles she'd used prior to the Collector attacks. Second, digistruction only alleviated weight concerns when weapons were _holstered_—the current gun still caused encumbrance. Thus, the other goal of weight loss had also been achieved at a 33% reduction. As a Vanguard, Sam preferred a shotgun, but she also could do ranged combat if necessary, and ultimately desired versatility above all. The ShieldSlammer would remain her weapon of choice. Lighter than a Claymore, could almost match the power if all rounds from a burst hit, and reloaded its physical ammunition very quickly.

Cortana spent the entire trip working with Legion and sometimes Tali, rewriting the three-person Combat Management System everyone had been using for years. Though it no longer displayed convenient squad readouts, it could now handle a theoretically unlimited number of fellow soldiers, though it became cumbersome to use as numbers climbed.

She could now scroll through each squadmate to see arms, armor, SDU content, health status, and shield charge in "CommandView." Really, the only thing it didn't tell her is whether that squadmate was going to call for a bathroom break. The whole setup reminded her of video games, but hey, if it worked there, why not real life too? A key _difference_ from the omnitool games (this being reality) involved time continuing to elapse while using the interface—unlike most sims that stopped everything so the player could contemplate. The display offered a ton of information at the price of blocking her vision, so she'd have to be careful to only use it when she wouldn't get slammed with enemy fire, though in a nice touch the whole thing went translucent if any shield strikes were detected.

Outside the CommandView mode, Dynamic Soldier Management let her subordinates pick "squads" of their own—up to four per unit (though locked squads had to be mutual—so if Jackie picked Ashley but Ashley didn't reciprocate, it wouldn't save). If set to flex-mode, it would automatically show a person the three others closest to them on the battlefield, plus themselves. It would also lock-in any person to whom the soldier was engaged in real-time communication with, subject to limits (so a five-way conference wouldn't display anything except "self").

_Why the hell didn't anyone come up with this earlier?_

If the whole galaxy hadn't been at stake, she would have spent far longer reading through squadmate readouts and drooling at the insane amount of firepower this "tech nexus" of Trans-Galactic Republic, Gamma-Three, and her own home created. As it stood, she gave a brief glance to everyone's loadouts before heading down to Deck 5.

This time, with no hacking required, Maya the younger powered up Utah. Considering _Normandy_ as a name, someone had the idea to rename the six blastboats to beaches from the famed invasion—Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword. The sixth blastboat became "Pointe du Hoc" as this represented another piece of history at the time. For the moment, only Utah would be used, though cramming twenty-one people into a blastboat, even for a short ride, wouldn't work. So Omaha would also come online at a later point.

Now able to do more than guess while pushing buttons after some mentoring by Joker (himself having been taught by the Trans-Galactic Republic), Maya followed standard operating procedures. "Utah powered up, will launch on team load."

Shepard's squad stomped into the craft, heavy boots making quite the ruckus. That gear vanished completely into SDUs made the whole cramming in somewhat more bearable.

"Utah requesting launch, open bay door."

"Transmitting coordinates for landing, bay door opening" replied Joker. He would have to run the ship himself, as Cortana transferred to the Master Chief in case any hacking cases came up. "We have these codes, though" Shepard had said, hopefully rendering any need to compromise computers moot.

With her cloak, even opening the forward hanger did not make _Normandy_ visible either on sensors or visually. Thus, any observer would see a _Fireant_ appear out of nowhere. Joker brought the command ship as close to Omega as possible, but any journey would require a flight of around half a kilometer (he refused to move in any closer due to Infected tendrils waving around, a yellow haze coming off the station, and general feelings of unease).

"Well, this ought…"

Flashes of red light through the front viewport caught Sam's attention before she could finish her sentence. The blastboat's lights tinted themselves red, and audio emulators began playing back shield-hit sounds.

"You just _had_ to say it" sighed Maya.

"I didn't, though!"

"You were going to" grinned the Siren. "Now shut up so I can concentrate!"

Scans showed not all turbolasers Aria had "acquired" were active, but the more than twenty operational represented sufficient firepower to vaporize even a heavily-armored _Fireant_ if they all struck at once. Despite the name, turbolasers were not in fact true lasers—they did not hit instantly. Thus, it remained possible for Maya's light-handed jinxing and dodging to prevent some shots from connecting, though given the strength of armor behind shields (which she had no way of knowing about) she needn't have bothered as one or two shots posed no danger. The _Fireant_'s durability and firepower saw it classified as a capital ship under the newest Phaxton Warship System, yet another evolution that dated back to records lost over millions of years. This despite its 30m length, it outgunned and out-toughed vessels four times its size.

Several tendrils moved to cut off an attempt to reach the target hanger.

"I don't think so."

TA-REEET! TA-REEET! TA-REEET!

Light turbolasers seared tentacles seeking to ensnare. Maya would forever get a warm, tingly feeling hearing that audio emulation—when she'd squeezed those triggers for the first time, she really felt _free_ of the horrible life she'd lived before. Just a toy to be ogled at and used by Jack, President of Hyperion. Then, she'd hoped to follow Moxxi in "leaving Pandora forever." Now, she realized her revenge would be living a better life than the one she'd had before, and not letting the past get in the way of what looked (Infection aside) like a future full of potential.

A small part of her wanted to see if the interspatial harmonics theory and multiple universes could be exploited, so she could go back to her place of origin. Back to her prison, except she would be the one with the whips, chains, and unpleasant talk. She would make him beg, she would torture him, she would utterly break him so the mere sound of her voice made him curl up into a ball…

BRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT. BRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT. BRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT. BRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT.

"Forward shield failure. Armor integrity at 87%" said a mechanized male voice.

At that point, Shepard shook the Siren violently having seen her eyes mist over. With her other hand, she flicked shields to double-front, restoring bow protection by taking shields off the stern.

_No, Maya_ she berated herself. _Then you'd be no better than that bastard—and your little fantasies almost got your ship destroyed along with the first real friends you've ever had. CONCENTRATE._

"What was so funny?" demanded Sam. "You were grinning like an asari commando in a biotic amp store!"

"Nothing" whispered Maya, focusing on blasting Infected limbs away from the ship and dodging yet more turbolaser fire. A hanger opening ahead selected by Joker contained a tangle of biomass, which disgustingly represented the _least_-afflicted docking port scans could find. She edged close enough that no Omega-mounted turbolaser had the fire arc to hit Utah.

Maya diverted power from engines to turbolaser recharge, and held down the triggers until the cannons became exhausted. She could only imagine atrocious smells filling the hanger bay as biomass burned under a relentless barrage of red blasts slamming into it. Such unpleasantness neither permeated through space nor would it penetrate the hardsuits team members would wear to board the Infected station. Yes, designers had in fact incorporated filters which not only removed dangerous particles, but also blunted noxious smells, recognizing that operatives bent-over in disgust were slightly less productive than those who could focus solely on the task at hand.

Some few minutes of blasting later, the hanger resembled a scorched mess similar to what _Normandy_ herself had done to _Amerigo_ when Cortana's rampancy drove the AI to extremes. Just to be sure, Maya raked over the entire place again.

"Yeah! Burn them all!" shouted Grunt, pounding his fists together in excitement and racing around the enclosed space, bumping into virtually everyone.

"Grunt, we'll have plenty of time to do that" scolded Sam, like a parent telling her child to calm down.

Maya brought Utah down to settle on charred deck plating. "Helmets on everyone!"

"Yeah, we totally wanted to smell that burning stench and be exposed to infectious agents" griped Athena in response. Maya didn't hear her.

Grunt tried to sneak out without headgear.

"Grunt…"

His nonverbal reaction came across surprisingly human—something along the lines of "But Mom! I don't wanna!"

"Oh fine." He slammed a helmet on in a way that looked painful.

Shepard and ten squadmates tromped out of Utah, whose autopilot would return the ship to its hanger unless someone indicated a need for it to stay (say, if a gigantic Infected appeared that had to be gunned down). Omaha already launched with Garrus' squad—now that a path had been cleared, it simply waited for the green light from the initial landing party. Shepard gave said clearance within seconds of setting foot on charred deck.

"For once, things went our way" announced Sam. "We are standing in a bay close to the top of the mining shafts, so getting to the literal bottom of this won't be as hard as if we'd had to fight from the top of the station."

As if on cue, a gigantic tentacle slammed through one of the doors at the hanger's rear.

A voice filled everyone's heads, despite ample sound-damping material.

**Turn and run right now**

**You cannot hide, this is mine**

**Give up, flee, and live**

"Damnit Aria!"

_No warning about this part. That conniving little…_

No further mental intrusions would occur. Had they known why, it wouldn't have helped morale much—the Gravemind simply did not believe these little scurrying ones worth bothering over. The goal of taking over this galaxy had almost been accomplished, and there was no logical explanation for how an under-staffed invasion of Omega would help undo it. Especially not given a certain discovery found in the wreckage of a clinic…

"Infected!" shouted Sam.

The Master Chief elbowed past everyone, not a difficult thing for someone massing 450kg in armor.

"Stand back."

Unlike most weapons brought on the mission, his gatling-Widow still utilized detachable heatsinks for the simple reason that no built-in heat storage mechanism would permit sufficiently-sustained fire before requiring a cooling cycle. Even in spite of a 20kg absorption unit, the fire rate had to be limited to prevent even this from becoming saturated in seconds. Consequently, the weapon did not present a low-pitched buzz as an audio profile, but rather a very deep "ra-ta-ta-ta-ta" as each barrel cycled around.

The first rush of Infector forms fell as unwanted insect pests would against a toxic spray. Some shots "overkilled," ripping through more than one target. The next wave consisted of humans, salarians, and batarians. They, too, stood no chance against a fully-automatic version of a rifle designed to punch through _tanks_. Loaded with an incendiary "round buff" (that removed any heat penalties which would have occurred had the munitions themselves been incendiary rather than an after-the-fact addition), the Master Chief cooked up quite an Infection roast.

_Don't say it, don't say it…_

From above, a swarm of slashers (former vorcha) descended on the group.

"Barrels up!" bellowed the Commander. "We've got bogies above!"

_Well, whether or not I said this was easy, we were probably going to get jumped._

The Master Chief slowly walked forward, an unstoppable titan of death. Without a word, the rest moved to cover him as he cleared a path into the station. Audio emulation hit everyone's ears by storm—the helmets being sealed meant virtually nothing from the outside world came through unfiltered.

Athena kept to the back, blasting away with a Maliwan Volcano. An ugly protrusion from halfway down its barrel heralded a "round accelerator" that tripled muzzle velocity for a huge increase in penetration and damage. Even with the apparent disadvantage of full-size physical ammo, she preferred this over any "mass effect" or blaster-based munitions. Her shots ignited dozens of Infected.

Legion's combat drones distracted Infected lifeforms, leaving them vulnerable to barrages from either a modified geth Spitfire (incendiary, of course) or a customized Widow (single-shot, hypervelocity mod). Alongside the geth platform, Jackie Jakobs blasted Infected using a pair of heavy pistols. While such weapons required greater accuracy (rather than simply "filling the air with energy"), the utter lack of recoil meant squeezing off several rapid shots toward the same target could be accomplished easily.

How Kasumi Goto suddenly had a disruptor pistol (or two) from, Sam had absolutely no clue. However, seeing as she vaporized anything up to and including Overseer forms (the new name for Infected turians), this gear-pilfering generated exactly zero complaints. Shepard wondered if Zaeed Massani would still be giving Thane Krios a hard time for his love of the technology. Somehow, Sam doubted it very much.

The force pressed down a corridor, an unstoppable mix of weapons that might have been illegal had the galaxy not been on the edge of destruction—for instance, Grunt. His Graal Spike Thrower carried blades containing small reserves of acid (thank you, Maliwan). They buried themselves deep within a target before unleashing a toxic, dissolving payload. Ashley Williams' options consisted, rather strangely, of a geth sniper rifle called the Javelin ("Good for killing the actual Infector") and a monster flamethrower ("I almost want to smell the bastards burn!").

By this point, Garrus and company arrived on the scene, adding to the ruinous amount of available firepower.

The leader wielded two rebuilt Revenant FireHoses with lightened frames and arm braces built around repulsor units that actively canceled some of the weapons' substantial weight, plus they cut recoil. Following closely behind, Tali carried one of the lightest-weight weapons of anyone (which said something considering it was actually considered rather cumbersome normally): a Reegar Carbine whose internal circuits were ramped up drastically by Trans-Galactic Republic technology (using a similar power system to disruptors). This permitted a torrent of current to blast out of the barrel, electrocuting and frying anything in its way.

"What the hell is that?" shouted Moxxi, hefting her automatic HeartBreaker (with a drum magazine holding fifty shots).

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Steadily advancing, the stuff of nightmares. The Tank form (ex-elcor), with an Overseer mounted.

"Recommend destroying elcor first!" advised Mordin. "Failure would be" (inhale) "unwise."

The two teams comingled, and let loose a vicious storm of bullets, bolts, and other destructive items.

With a groan, the tank dropped, causing its rider to dismount.

"Yeah!" shouted James Vega. The firing slackened. Shepard made a disgusted face hidden by her helmet as she noticed two of the tank's legs had been cut off due to sheer volumes of weapon fire. Or, had been. Two severed limbs lay bleeding and dying, but the great bulk had already regained its feet, and its limbs.

"How is that possible?" questioned Thane. "We put more rounds into this target than I have against some krogan."

"Appears Infection made use of bacta and medi-gel" replied Mordin, noticing a thick, bluish liquid pooled around the place where severed limbs had grown back at a ridiculous speed. Lumps of flesh could be seen growing rather uselessly in the fluid. "Already accelerates biological healing in species not allergic to it. Now in overdrive."

"Oh, well that's just great" huffed Shepard. "How do you counteract bacta?"

"No known method. Could destroy reservoirs, if location discovered."

"More bullets" suggested Zaeed. "Can't grow back if there's nothing left."

"Punching" added Brick, before receiving a withering death glare from Jack.

Shepard overheard through the comm. "Technically, he's right" (earning a grin from Brick) "but at the same time we don't want to get that close to active Infection without a damn good reason."

Several Infected corpses thought dead began stirring, prompting an explosion of ordinance to put them down again.

"That's right, who's the big one now bitches?" James gleefully stomped on several Infected corpses with a special focus on detaching limbs, before being interrupted by, of all people, Ashley.

"It helps if you magnetize first."

HUUUAH!

Her stomps were much firmer, only requiring a single stroke to sever most appendages.

Several faces turned away from the resulting noises and fluid-sprays.

"Would reuse bacta, if not from Infected host" remarked Mordin as yet more of the precious substance leaked out.

"Unpleasant, but necessary" said Samara. "These lifeforms will regrow if we do not subdue them fully. Failure to do so leaves us open to a surprise attack."

"Kasumi!" barked Sam. "How many power packs do you have left for those disruptors of yours?"

"Not enough." Usually chipper, Kasumi's voice took on a downcast tone. "I may kill a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, but there will always, apparently, be more."

At that moment, Jackie asked the question many of her fellow fighters were thinking.

"Why can't we just blast the station open with starship weapons, then collect this Element Zero stuff instead of running around in here?"

The tentacle, which smashed open a door letting in hundreds of Infected, stirred. It burst, revealing _more_ Infected. These, however, were nothing like anything observed previously. Some of them seemed to be made of more than one host, mashed together in horrifying ways. A human who apparently had two heads and five arms, except one head clearly used to be a salarian. The salarian head twisted into the typical impaler-shape, and the whips emanating from its shoulders were at least double the length over usual.

Too busy staring, Jack got grabbed and pulled toward a guaranteed gutting on the horns of what had once been an STG soldier.

"I don't think so, fucker!" A shockwave toppled the new enemy, reverberating and crashing into a pile of biomass further along the now-open tentacle. Said lump stirred. Squelching, squishy sounds filled the heads of Sam's assault squad as what looked like a horrible cross between asari and a bottom no one could immediately identify stood.

"Wait a minute…"

Garrus had accompanied Shepard during her assault on the Shadow Broker's base. Was that a _yahg_?

"You have got to be kidding me." Anyone who didn't know the Commander would have thought her insane as she burst into laughter. "So now the Infection found Parnak. _Great._"

A piercing wail emanated from the Infected yahg-asari. And then defenses started lighting up as warp after warp tried to rend the flesh of her team. This time, no funny business with admiring the abomination—just brutal firepower in response. A dome over the creature flared bright as a small star, glowing a most brilliant shade of violet. The creature remained standing, if slightly wounded—and only because of a barrage of disruptor shots. Its attacks ceased, and only then did Athena comment about what else appeared to be present.

"Is that thing _giving birth?_"

Several of the rounded, tentacled Infector forms could be seen around the monster's feet.

Cortana tapped into a squad-wide comm channel.

"Most unusual! Normally, a Flood outbreak that reaches this stage stops using secondary hosts and begins producing its own forms from biomass. It appears the Gravemind here sees fit to stick with building awful combinations of the sapient lifeforms who live in this galaxy."

Stopping for an educational tidbit did not protect Shepard's team from attack—the small Infectors, thought to be harmless, launched themselves at whoever stood closest. They glowed purple, causing eyes to blanch and quite a few curses.

"For the love of… They're biotic!"

A booming yell caused the entire squad to turn—one had slipped through Brick's shield as if he had none and repeatedly stabbed through the armored environmental suit covering his left arm with its tube, while the others met vaporization or destruction. Jack's subsequent enragement might well have gone down in history. After all the beseeching Shepard to keep Brick safe, her exhortations to him not to get too close, he got bitten anyway…while standing well back from the "unsafe zone." In her anguish, she snatched Grunt's Graal. Swinging wildly, she sliced Brick's Infected arm off at the shoulder using blades meant to allow a krogan consumed by a thresher maw to have a chance at escaping. Whether she'd been fast enough (Highly Active Infection Agents moved quickly) would only be determined by time.

Sam could see tears streaming down Jack's face, something she'd never thought could happen but was secretly glad to observe in the sense that Jack hadn't shown emotions of any kind beyond those required for teaching, or, indeed, vulnerability, _ever_ until recently. On one hand, it would be cruel to keep going as if nothing had happened, but war waited for no one, thus demanding the squad keep moving. Before she could even ask, Jack returned to standing, weapon at the ready.

"Let's go, Commander. It's what he wants." She choked a smidge on the last sentence, but kept a straight face.

Mordin created a tourniquet from his supplies, but dared not use bacta lest it turbo-charge any Infection agents within.

"Send me out with a bang" grimaced the titanic man, "if it comes to that."

Jack knelt down and got in Brick's face.

"I don't want to hear that kind of talk, you got me?" No yelling, no screaming. No taunts, no insults. Just intensity. Shepard had seen it twice before—from Jackie and extra-dimensional Maya.

Sam tapped her CommandView to prioritize biotics. "If we can't blast it, maybe we can punch it to death."

Brick smiled a bit at this.

The creature squatted, producing more of its foul little offspring. As they moved from under their spawner's protective biotic bubble, someone would take a shot, popping it and turning the threat into a pile of goo. If it could be called a mother, it definitely qualified as a bad one—no reaction whatsoever.

"Disruptors worked on an asari…" mused Sam. "Dunno why they wouldn't work here…"

The Commander decided to try the old "slam them across the room" standby. Unsurprisingly, biotic-versus-biotic worked far better than biotic-versus-projectile-storm in that it actually accomplished something.

"RAAAAAAAAGH!" She slammed a glowing fist into the Infected…thing, which had been staggered by the force of her impact—almost a kilonewton. Sam started a rapid-fire beat-down of the huge creature, only to be knocked flat on her rear by a piercing wail reminiscent of Reaper-ified asari. She then found herself batting aside Infector after Infector, though she also noticed they could not penetrate a barrier as they did Brick's shield.

_Well, this is harder than usual…and if only biotics can effectively protect themselves from Infectors this is gonna get really tough._

Seeing their Commander struggling, Jack, Samara, Kaidan, and Thane jumped into action. Adding their own biotic powers, they assisted in bringing down the horrific mashup.

"I suggest utilizing another protective bubble" said Samara, entirely too serene (as usual) for the circumstances.

Sam rounded on Mordin. "Why did they attack us? This protection of yours is supposed to make Infection lifeforms think we're one of them!"

"Unsure. Have hypothesis. Was tested against feral forms, not against Infection controlled by central intelligence. Central intelligence here overrides instinct."

"He's right" chimed in Cortana. "Feral Flood are like animals. When under the control of a Gravemind, the Flood becomes far more dangerous."

"We came here to get eezo. The processing plant is several decks down. Should be a freight elevator further along this corridor. Samara, provide as much cover as you can against Infectors. Everyone else, stay behind Samara's barrier—your life depends on it."

The asari put her weapons away and began producing a bubble much the same as she had during the Collector Base mission.

"We should at least alternate fireteams" suggested Garrus. "Especially if massive amounts of ordinance isn't going to be a guaranteed safety."

"Jack, go with Garrus' group!" ordered Sam. "Do the same thing as Samara."

A medical evacuation team arrived aboard Omaha, having been called as Brick dropped. Only a few hundred meters from the hanger, it wasn't difficult to locate the patient and retrieve him.

"Shepard. Request permission to accompany Brick to monitor condition."

"Permission granted, Mordin" replied Shepard. "Grunt, switch to Garrus' group. Gotta balance things out."

The krogan tromped over to Jack's bubble while Sam pulled up a map included with Aria's keyfiles.

"It looks like there are two paths into the mining shaft, an upper and a lower. We'll take the upper—Garrus, your team should try from below. We'll meet you inside."

"Isn't splitting up a bad idea?" asked Jackie. "That never goes well…"

"Normally, you'd be right" replied Ashley Williams. "Thing is, when you have twenty soldiers in one grouping, that's just unwieldy and cumbersome for an operation like this. Most of the time, a typical fireteam is four soldiers."

"Then, fireteams are organized into squads" added Garrus. "I don't expect you to remember all this formal military jargon, especially since we've been tossing the terms around without meaning just to refer to 'a group of armed individuals.' But that's the official definition, and helps explain why we're breaking into two distinct sub-groups."

Shepard sent Aria's codes to Garrus over the local net created by a Cortana-enhanced CMS. Whoever got to the crates first would unlock them, then use hand-trolleys to relocate the cargo (assuming there were any trollies left). The two squads would also fight off any Infection or, if some pirate group survived despite the level of Infection, then it would be a battle against mercenaries too.

"Oh look, the elevator's jammed" sighed Garrus. "Big surprise."

"Burn it" growled Zaeed, tossing a bandolier full of high-temperature incendiary grenades into the enclosed space. Biomass shriveled under munitions specifically designed to ignite just about anything. Three seconds later, a shriek of metal and the elevator itself fell away into its shaft.

"Whoops." The mercenary stepped back, as if others might not notice it was him who had interacted with the elevator last.

Legion walked to the opening and looked downward. "We estimate distance to the bottom at three hundred meters."

"Well, that's going to hurt!" said Kasumi. "I mean, at least there aren't giant spikes down there!"

"We cannot determine the content of the bottom of this shaft" retorted Legion. "It is possible that damaging structures exist at the shaft terminus."

"I could jump down" offered Kaidan. "We biotics are good at floating…"

"Not necessary" countered Ashley. "At least if the elevator shaft is made of magnetic metal, anyway." The career soldier bent down to push buttons on the sides of her boots. "Maglock engaged."

She took a few steps, slightly hindered by the fact that her feet now stuck to the floor. Upon reaching the edge, one leg went over, until it got pulled onto the wall.

"It's magnetic! Remember your zero-g training, people."

Multi-purpose environmentally-hardened suits were the Swiss army knife of military equipment. Prized by uniformed services, corporate security, and pirates alike, in suitably-high-grade version they could permit operation almost anywhere. Nothing about the _speed_ at which those operations could be conducted, but the go-anywhere nature of such equipment came quite in handy now.

Garrus' squad encountered no such difficulties with their own freight elevator further along the hallway, closer to the mining core. Arriving almost two kilometers lower than their original position, Garrus took stock of the situation. Several tubes whose purpose he could not determine seemed to have their flow shut off—probably due to the detaching of a large section of the station's bottom in an attempt to control the Infection.

Scattered around were large cylindrical containers marked with the galactic-standard symbol for Element Zero. As a hazardous material, it had to be stored in specialized, armored casks. Each unit held 500kg of the substance when full. Aria promised three thousand tons, but moving six thousand of these casks seemed like a bit of a fantasy. Never mind that some had been clearly cracked open, spilling the purplish substance everywhere. In the dim glow provided by Element Zero dust, it became obvious why the casks had been broken. Massive tendrils, some ten or more meters thick, were strung throughout the area. These biological tubes glowed from the eezo flowing through the webs of "blood" vessels on their surfaces. Garrus noticed one canister impaled by a smaller tendril, which pulsated as it apparently sucked out the contents of the container.

"Well, that explains a lot…"

"That's so fucked up" commented Jack.

"Garrus to Shepard."

"We're kinda busy! What is it?" came the reply. It sounded a bit strange, is if Sam was under some kind of physical strain.

"Never mind, let me know when you're not trying to stay alive" said Garrus.

"We're walking. On walls. Not fighting. What'd you find?"

The turian made a mental note to ask what the hell she meant by "walking on walls" later, before describing exactly what his team encountered at the bottom of an Omega mine.

"Well, fuck."

Garrus made sure his recording device captured the moment—the first time he recalled Sam ever using a curse word.

"So Aria didn't lie, not entirely—in her defense she had no way of knowing the Infection would _adapt to use eezo_ since we'd seen it rejecting biotics left and right previously…" The Commander's voice trailed off.

"Still there, Commander?"

"We just found something almost as shocking as what you did" she replied.

Inside each mine resided a very large circular elevator. Normally positioned either at the top or bottom of a shaft, its sole use revolved around moving large pieces of equipment that once placed were left until the mine ran out of eezo. For some reason, this shaft's lift platform stopped partway up—a reason that became apparent as Sam's squad stepped toward the center.

Growls, screeches, and other assorted noises could be heard echoing throughout. The source? A tangle of Infected lifeforms, apparently fighting each other. Others were stuck by tendrils pumping a substance that looked suspiciously like Element Zero into them.

"If this were a human, or even sapient nonhuman installation, we'd be shot at, chased out, and barely escape with our lives" commented Cortana on the all-squads channel. "As it stands, the Gravemind is so monumentally arrogant that he, or it, doesn't care that we've found out exactly where all these cosmic horrors are coming from."

"This lifeform has every reason to display such an attitude" added Legion. "Infection forces now control close to three-quarters of the galaxy and face only token resistance."

"So, is this the point where we just give up?" asked Garrus halfheartedly.

"Honestly, I've reached the same conclusion..."

Two purple flashes of light later, everyone stood together among Element Zero containers. Immediately following, all pointed weapons in the same direction. Well, almost all—Jack launched herself at the super-Siren like a varren after treats. Everyone who could fire without hitting Jack did so, leaving ears ringing as thermal reservoirs maxed out and magazines ran dry. The extremely large heat-absorber from the Master Chief's gatling weapon landed in a pile of biomass which promptly caught fire.

"You done?"

Sarah the Siren stood unbowed by an epic barrage of firepower.

"Are you going to kill us?" seethed Sam. "You've already bathed in the blood of billions whose only crime was their continued existence!"

"If you want me to leave, I'll make your deaths quick before I go—you stand no chance whatsoever against this tide of flesh" replied the Siren.

At this, Sam laughed, a hilariously inappropriate reaction, except for what she said. "You don't read history much, do you, Sarah? 'Oh, that's impossible!' 'No one ever survived this!' 'It can't be done!' _Do you realize who you're talking to?_"

"I'm well aware of your so-called achievements, Samantha Elizabeth Shepard. You successfully defeated one of the Forebears' Ancient Machines with the help of both a massive fleet and through exploiting a design flaw in the Machine's shield matrix. You also managed to survive a so-called 'suicide mission' not realizing Cerberus, much as you despised them, stacked the deck as heavily in your favor as they possibly could. Some of the missions you went on for your crew? Cerberus arranged the circumstances behind-the-scenes, to maximize their loyalty to you."

Vicious glares from the crew, though not directed at anyone in particular.

"Would you like me to elaborate on Sidonis' turning himself in? Or who nudged Kolyat Krios in the direction of assassin work? What about Miranda's sister?"

If anger were represented as heat, Samantha Shepard would have been simultaneously aflame and setting the surrounding station on fire. Only Sarah's superior hearing allowed her to understand what came out of Sam's mouth next, as the Commander's voice dropped to an almost inaudible level.

"You're a murderer, a liar, and the worst example of a living being I've ever seen. I really wish I could call myself something other than human, so I wouldn't be genetically related to you."

"I take offense at the last one—the Flood is definitely alive, and it is far more malevolent than I will ever be. Tell you what…"

Sarah's armor popped off piece by piece. Her lightstaff made a soft thud as it landed pommel-down in the flesh-covered floor. Several bladed weapons stuck in point-down. Underneath, the towering woman wore some kind of bodysuit, probably a liner for the armor which now littered the deck. A few of the men among Sam's group tried to avoid staring—in spite of the actions she'd taken, Sarah was quite the looker. Never mind her strange purple hair and even stranger turquoise eyes.

In two gestures, Sarah yanked a disruptor pistol out of Kasumi Goto's hand and pulled Shepard to her side. She pressed the weapon into Sam's hand and brought it to her own temple.

"There. If I do anything you don't like, it's bye-bye Sarah."

Sam's finger quivered on the trigger, itching to depress it. Her teeth gritted and that finger squeezed, but not enough to discharge the pistol. Instead, she settled for digging it harshly into the other woman's face.

"You have a lot of questions to answer."


	44. Beginning of the End

**Chapter 43 – Beginning of the End**

"Our sensors show the Gamma-Six galaxy is all but lost" began a member of the RISE Council. "Our mission remains the security of the Trans-Galactic Republic, and we will not allow this threat to fester!"

"All in favor of firing the missiles?" asked another.

A series of "ayes" confirmed the fate which would befall Gamma-Six, or, at least the parts of it that could be hit with fourteen missiles, anyway—assuming everything went as planned (releasing the Siren, anyone?) From the six targets already chosen, more were added. It had been decided to utilize a chain-reaction to destroy as large of a section of the most heavily Infected portion as possible. That alone consumed four warheads, as they were needed to induce an unnaturally-large supernova within the targeted star. Such a setup would create an explosion covering tens of thousands of lightyears—a scale of destruction not seen since superweapons of the distant past.

"We're not too civilized to use a beamdrill on a moon moth, if it is sufficiently irritating" had been the closing statement at a meeting of the Senate Intelligence Committee which authorized RISE to take certain drastic actions, though as a compromise (demanded by Senator Ham'Del) no funding would be released for additional Star Dreadnaught construction.

David Vance, Director of the Republic Intelligence Service, decided to take what he could get. The Committee did accept additional evidence in submission as proof that this Infection represented a legitimate threat, however, given that millions of light-years separated it from the Home Galaxy (or even neighboring members of the union) they saw no reason to _also_ bulk up militarily when a few well-placed explosions might mitigate the problem. He thus relayed instructions to the Council, which took them with the usual broad latitude—"Contain the Gamma-Six contagion" he'd written.

Encrypted, verified orders arrived at RNS _Ultimatum_ that were only seen by RISE operatives who'd displaced the normal crew in charge of the Star Dreadnaught's vertical launch tubes. Computers aboard _Soul Reapers_ accepted new targets as designated by the Council. No star within the Nemean Abyss possessed the necessary mass to create an explosion of the desired size, so scanning shifted to the Hourglass Nebula. Inducing a main-sequence yellow star to go "ultra-nova" required tweaking the missiles beyond their normal power ratings, and using four instead of the usual two. Nevertheless, four _Soul Reapers_ locked on to the Faryar System with an arrival time measured in a bit more than an hour. An area almost forty-thousand lightyears in diameter would be utterly wiped out.

Without a guiding intelligence, it was hoped the biological nightmare would revert to its previously-observed stage in which it presented less of a threat. Obviously, a mutation enabling some kind of Current-like power (charging across the battlefield, firing attacks which ignored shields) represented a problem, but it could hopefully be contained. And if not contained, burned out of existence.

Thus far, concern over a world called "Tuchanka" on which RISE attempted to hijack a bomb capable of cracking the planet turned out to be overblown. An outright civil war had broken out on its surface, and though the "genophage" holding back the breeding of the natives had been cured (with Republic Intelligence Service involvement, of course), its effect was not instant. Thousands, if not millions died, significantly reducing the number of available hosts. Besides, the system remained within the so-called "safe zone," thus Infectious agents were few and far-between.

[…]

Urdnot Wrex almost wished he had an Infection outbreak as a problem rather than a return to the savage past. Like the quarians, a possible "end of the galaxy as we know it" stirred self-destructive tendencies within a portion of the population, even those enthusiastically on the side of reform during the "good times." Some rallied to the Urdnot banner, refusing to be remembered as the krogans of old. They crowded into the Kelphic Valley around the Korbal Pyramid, vowing to hold the homeworld until the last breath left them. Others, however, sought the destruction of this fortress of unity, claiming it to be the cause of krogan disarray.

"Dunno what logic they're using" grumbled Wrex as yet another wave of krogan (this time armed) crashed into defenses incorporating both mass accelerators and turbolaser tech. Really, slaughter better described what the Republic Intelligence Service dubbed a "civil war." No casualties had been taken by the city's defenders against outside forces—their problems were restricted to overheated barrels and empty ammunition cartridges. Despite this, Wrex hated spilling krogan blood unnecessarily, especially when the "reason" was so thickheaded.

Unrest on Tuchanka closely tracked the descent of the rest of the galaxy into chaos. Compacting as many as possible into the region known as "Inner Council Space" plus Earth did not happy campers make. Krogans especially were known for having difficulties living on close proximity to one another—hence why krogan dreadnaughts of old had been far larger than any other race before the Rebellions ended. Now, population density on Tuchanka had tripled, which during the heady days immediately following the genophage cure wasn't a problem. As galactic fortunes declined, though, krogan began returning to their old fatalistic ways, taking out their anger on each other.

"Either be the last to die, or the last standing" said an ancient krogan proverb.

Many took this to both hearts.

All this said, a reversion to "the old times" did confer one advantage for Urdnot's chief: every krogan styling himself a warlord decided _he_ would be the best one to bring back the old ways and put down the "crazy old pyjack." Consequently, as much fighting took place between those seeking to attack the Valley as did between those in the Valley and those outside.

Several times, orbital bombardments from Trans-Galactic Republic starships sought to forcibly separate warring factions, often in the most literal sense. Would-be warlords faced off army-against-army, ready to charge into glorious combat. In typical krogan fashion, a good amount of time prior to the actual battle ended up spent on chanting, shouting, and intimidation, giving the Trans-Galactic Republic time to call in precision strikes on the ground between them, thus separating two (or more) sides like siblings fighting over a toy swoop bike. Some in the Trans-Galactic Republic worried this would give the krogan a common enemy, but this was not to be. Hatred of Urdnot (especially Wrex himself) ran so deep by this point any thought of working alongside them sent some into bloodrage.

"This is not the vision we had for our people" said Urdnot Bakara/"Abra" sadly.

Wrex stifled a laugh. "I thought the shorter-lived races were fickle! One extra challenge, and all of the sudden half our species has decided it was all for naught."

"I would hardly call an extragalactic threat on the scale of this 'Infection' an 'extra challenge'" chided Bakara. "It represents precisely the wrong motivation at the worst possible time."

"I'd like to think that Shepard will solve this somehow." His tone betrayed that he didn't believe what he'd just said.

"You and Shepard are more alike than you realize" consoled Bakara. "She pins all her hopes for the krogan on you, and you hold her to be the single solution for us as well."

"She is not like other humans. Or others in this galaxy. She managed to secure cooperation between the quarians and the geth!"

"That she may have done, but I know you, Wrex. You don't just sit around waiting for someone else to save the day—if you had, we wouldn't be here."

"If this were the Rachni Wars, the solution would be pretty easy, but it's not. The krogan can't just stomp a few queens' nests into the ground and get another statue on the Presidium. This Infection defies science, defies explanation. How do you fight something that turns your own dead against you?"

"Better dead than Infected."

Wrex knew what she meant—the Hierarchy intended their bomb to be the end of the krogan as a threat to the galaxy. There was nothing stopping him from sending his race to extinction on their own terms using the same means, however. Any tampering with the trigger, as Victus told him, would set it off. He wasn't ready to do that, not by a long shot, but kept it in mind should the worst come to pass. He also heavily considered digging up the now-rebuilt Bone Fleet and fleeing Tuchanka. Traditional krogan would call this the ultimate coward's move. He preferred the survival of the species to going down in flames, especially if it meant he got to pick and choose who survived. Cynical, power-hungry, cruel—all three described his half-formulated plan. But if the krogan were to grow beyond their past, which seemingly reached out of the abyss he thought he'd kicked it into to pull them down again, it became necessary to jettison as many parts of that toxic history as possible.

[…]

"Why the change of heart?" demanded Samantha Shepard, resisting the urge to clamp her free hand around the hated Siren's throat. "You said we have no chance, said that trying to develop a new engine couldn't be done in time. And yet, here we are—I have the best engineers in the galaxy attacking this problem and they're damned close to solving it. While you sit here playing twenty questions with me because you, in your infinite wisdom and power, couldn't solve the problem you were meant to handle. _That you were built to handle._"

Sam knew taunting Sarah probably wasn't the smartest idea. However, she could not keep the gloating out of her voice—it appeared (regardless of Sarah's assertions previously) she'd done the impossible, _again_. If not personally, she'd helped facilitate it, at any rate. Really, trying to tell this galaxy as a whole anything couldn't be done was a sure-fire way to be embarrassed and proven wrong.

Sam had to back up a bit as Sarah slumped over.

"What is my purpose?" she asked plaintively. "Why do I exist?"

It took a couple seconds for the Commander to process this information. From heartless killer to…this?

_When all this is over, I'm retiring and hiding on the most remote planet ever so that no one else with existential issues, daddy issues, life issues, or anything else can ever find me!_

"It seemed pretty clear before" replied Sam, trying to maintain a neutral tone this time. "Your mission was to keep us from destroying the universe with our oh-so-badly-engineered propulsion systems that ultimately let in this bio-freak-show. Even if that meant wiping this galaxy clean of all sapient life."

"Yes" whispered the Siren. "But I have failed. Thus, I have no purpose."

"Now, why would you decide that you've failed? You have a ship with more firepower than I've ever seen anywhere else. Your rather…unnatural…abilities make you more proficient in combat than anyone I've ever met."

Jack made silent gagging gestures in the background. This twisted, evil woman kidnapped her students, and now Samantha Shepard was giving her a pep talk? Even though the kids had been recovered (or more accurately, freed themselves along with one Armando Bailey) unharmed, she still wanted to see this Sarah punished for what she'd done.

Sam suddenly recalled an encounter with a tank-grown krogan on Korlus as she sought out Warlord Okeer. "I am not perfect, but I have purpose."

_What is it with all these "Why am I here?" questions? First the geth, then Cortana, now this…_

"And it was all for nothing."

Having never heard anything other than vicious glee or contempt from Sarah, Shepard again paused after hearing dejected, bitter disappointment instead.

_Now, why is this familiar?_

"Umm, should I apologize for our continued living, or what?"

"I should be apologizing to you…"

"Oh really?" Jack shoved past everyone else, a biotic aura surrounding her. "What the hell were you doing with my students, anyway? They say you didn't torture them, but I know damn well they could have been conditioned to make that claim. And I know what you did to Catalina Rodriguez—your little palm-lightning show! Even if you didn't hurt anyone else, I will punch your fucking head into next week for that, you bitch!"

"Jack…"

"Shepard, you remember what I said before. I swore revenge on this woman, if she's even human—which I doubt—would you do the same thing if this was Cerberus? Would you try to talk nice to some Cerberus gook who'd been drugging me up? Huh?"

"If my new purpose is to serve as an outlet for Jack's vengeance, so be it…"

Grinning savagely, Jack unleashed biotic hell on the reviled Siren. Warps, shockwaves, biotic punches. Along with screaming. Lots of screaming. All from Jack, Sarah silently absorbed all the anger thrown her way without a word. Upon realizing Sarah's body healed at rates that made even Infected lifeforms with bacta look tame, Jack upped her game, gleefully snapping limbs and breaking ribs just for the hell of it.

Sam knew according to her own beliefs that this whole thing was wrong. Letting Jack use another person as a punching bag, as disliked as that person might be, and as terrible of things as that person did, wasn't something she should stand idly by and allow. Even if the person in question willingly permitted it. At the same time, how do you stop a raging biotic whose nickname described them perfectly? It would take a good amount of force to restrain Jack—after all, she'd punched through armored YMIR Mechs using nothing more than her fists and built-up fury upon being released from cryogenic storage.

While Shepard stood slack-jawed, Maya took action. Though she'd spent most of her life suffering under the abusive thumb of Handsome Jack, she was a Siren and had the power to go with it. After seeing what her mirror unleashed on Jackie, Maya decided this situation was little different (if more physical)—while Jack's anger was understandable, her means of dealing with it, in Maya's view, were not. She lacked the proficiency of her older counterpart, but in one burst of concentration she yanked Sarah out of Jack's reach in a phaselock bubble for a few seconds, before collapsing from the effort. Jack, still lost in the lust of the beat-down, punched and kicked the air a few times before realizing what happened.

The rest of the crew stood stony-faced. None besides the gasping Maya would cross Sam or take action when she did nothing, especially when dealing with someone who could probably kill with a thought. However, other than Jack they did not view pummeling a voluntary prisoner as an acceptable means to express oneself, though of course the kidnapping of Jack's students explained (without justifying) her reaction to the situation.

**Remove the last threat**

**You seal your fate, bind your souls**

**Join in one mass grave**

"Oh darn…" said James. "Did we just…"

SHLOOOOOP.

Sarah no longer hovered in a blue bubble—she vanished into a large tendril, which retracted.

The subsequent stream of curses emanating from Sam Shepard upended all previous records.

[...]

Without Sarah or a large number of biotic kids to serve as power sources _Siren Serenade_ relied on backup generators (that is, her original reactor equipment). The Lady Fingers knew better than to take a weakened warship into the heart of Infected territory, but they had to do _something_ to rescue their leader…

As _Normandy SR-2.5_ prepared to depart Omega with a disappointing haul totaling less than a dozen tons of Element Zero, Sam wondered if the effort had been worth it. Objectively, the mission was an abject failure—the possibility of reducing power usage in the supership design required at least a third of Aria's stash. However, only a fraction of that had been recovered. Of course, part of the "missing" eezo had been sucked up by the Gravemind (as Cortana had called it) or "guiding intelligence" (as the Special Tasks Group named it) to fuel its minions. Said creature seemed to be able to detect _Normandy_ (or at least the presence of the AI Cortana) whether cloaked or not, but didn't appear to care about their departure. Especially since _Normandy_ needed to utilize a jury-rigged "eezo-catapult" to even have a prayer of making it from the middle to the edge of the Nemean Abyss within a human lifetime—"not caring" didn't extend to "disabling interdiction field."

_Normandy_ zoomed clear of any lightspeed-inhibiting influences, only to run into another inhibiting factor which while not a field, very much prevented her from making the run to hyper-zero. Flying through starships at hyper-zero velocities generally ended badly, so Joker cut thrusters and aborted the run (he needn't have bothered—Cortana wouldn't have permitted it in any case).

"I wonder what they want?" said Sam to no one as a projected screen replaced the Galaxy Map. She'd heard of other Current Channelers aside from Sarah who worked for the Siren, though she personally had not met any until now. Confusingly, the transmitted image also showed Armando-Owen Bailey of C-Sec.

"Okay. What the hell is going on?" demanded the flummoxed Spectre.

"Let's make one thing clear—I know who they are and what they've done. I don't like them, but they have an offer to make" began Bailey.

A woman with shoulder-length black hair stepped forward.

"Our leader, alias 'The Lady,' and better known by her given name of Sarah, has disappeared. We wish to know her whereabouts as we cannot sense her in the Waves."

Sam smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"Your illustrious leader has been taken," she said, a hard edge on her voice. "Taken by the guiding intelligence, Gravemind, whatever the hell you want to call it."

"That's impossible" growled a big, muscled figure.

"Now Urthula," objected the first woman, "none of us have any idea what Sarah went off to do. It might have been part of the plan. For all we know, she walked in naked with no weapons… She was, after all, seeking some sort of closure. To what, I cannot imagine" added Drythlyn.

"My name is Drythlyn" added the woman. "We are servants of the Lady and channelers of the Current."

"So, could you move that big block of metal out of our FTL lane then?" asked Sam. "You know where she is, and we'll be going."

A blonde woman whose hair cascaded well past Systems Alliance regulation spoke up.

"We were wondering if you'd perhaps spoken to her? She wasn't exactly herself when she departed us."

_I can't believe I'm speaking civilly with these butchers. But then, I've always been the overly-sunny optimist who can see a potential for good in the blackest of souls, even when my own is anything but pure._

Cortana interrupted any thoughts Sam was having.

"Inbound vessel, _Maxthon_-class. It's _Revenant Phoenix!_" She was going to say more when Sam cut her off.

"Cortana, where is the irregular fleet we left here?"

"I take that back" replied the AI. "_Revenant Phoenix_ and several hundred irregular vessels. No geth signals on the medium-range scopes, nor am I detecting RNS _Skywalker…_ Something's changed."

"We destroyed a very large vessel with some difficulty upon our arrival" chimed in the unnamed blonde. "You may call me Zera."

Shepard forgot the channel was open, with Cortana speaking like a human crewmember, of course these others would hear what she had to say.

"Some difficulty?" laughed Sam. "Every time I've seen that ship of yours, it's blowing things up with one touch! Why the sudden problem?"

To her surprise, Bailey responded to the question. "Without Sarah, this ship is quite a bit weaker than you've seen previously. And, of course, without the rather, ahem, unconventional power source used prior to that."

_He doesn't seriously approve of keeping students cooped up as living batteries, does he?_

"We were going to offer to help you destroy the intelligence driving the Infection" said Zera. "In return, you help us find Sarah."

A third voice cut in, causing computers on both vessels to add another portrait.

"The only thing you're going to find is me doing what has to be done!" bellowed Aria T'Loak, having forcibly added herself to the conference.

_Note to self: use secure channels, even for idle chit-chat_ thought Sam.

"You. You hijacked my ship?" demanded Shepard. This was not going well.

"I may no longer control Omega, but I do have intelligence sources in what's left of this galaxy. All that ship was doing was sitting around at your oh-so-secret base. The one where you built it, I might add."

"Still doesn't explain how you got the ship." Sam folded her arms.

"Well, the patrol route takes it well outside the range of your little space station. It doesn't take a genius to know that if you jump a ship with a cloaked assault shuttle and storm its bridge, there's not going to be much fighting back going on—I let the air out of any section feeling rebellious."

Sam was about ready to side with Sarah's friends to blast Aria's arrogant asari ass into nothing when the crime boss spoke again.

"It's also a lot easier to reappropriate technology when the station building it has no defenses."

"Damn it, Aria—do you always have to make a mess?"

"She does" added at turian voice Sam did not recognize. "I told her this would go over badly. I warned her that just because she knew where the SETTLE Center was didn't automatically mean she had to go bust it open, but she wouldn't listen!"

"You never had what it took to be strong, Nyreen. That's why you stay with me—because I can keep us safe. I can protect you."

"Protect me from what?" shot back the turian. "The Infection, or yourself? The former, I'm not concerned about. The latter…"

A winding slap silenced Nyreen.

"And now, I'm going to do what none of your fancy starships or big plans could—end this once and for all!"

Putting herself on audio-only while muting the audio (thus maintaining the connection without showing anyone else in the conference anything), Sam turned to the life-size Cortana projection.

"How in the seven suns does SETTLE get caught with no defenses?"

"It is possible that Aria struck when the station had all its bays occupied digistructing, leaving it with no power for its defensive armaments, but I find that extremely unlikely. First, the Council didn't seem to have the resources to build ships—they were out of eezo. Second, only two bays are generally used at a time to avoid this exact situation."

Sam brought video and audio back up only to catch the tail end of Aria's gloat.

"…to defend themselves. Idiots."

"Who's an idiot?" asked Sam somewhat stupidly.

"You. Also, the Citadel Council, or that silly alliance with the made-up name. After they heard you were going after my eezo horde—which I really did intend to give to you, by the way—they decided to build massively up-sized versions of ships like the one I'm on now in anticipation of a huge eezo infusion. Tried to do them three at a time."

_Sigh._

"I'm going to tear the Infection from this existence. Observe."

"Sam, she's powering up _Phoenix_'s forward cannon!"

"I noticed" replied Shepard acidly.

"I'm tapping into the systems now—I can't shut it down, but…"

"But what?"

"You put a shackle on this ship" crowed Aria. "Such a shame, I'm going to make use of its full potential."

"If she fires that weapon at full power, I don't know what it will do" warned the AI. "There's a reason your engineers put a 65% capacity limit on it…"

A massive blue-white beam emanated from the front—not exactly the color she'd been told to expect.

"Aria took _all_ the safeties off—so the reaction is completely uncontrolled. I'd bet…"

The beam stabbed deep into the Nemean Abyss, crashing through everything in its path. Sam zoomed her sensors all the way in to see if she might witness an impact against the hellish remains of Omega, only to have her view interrupted by not one, but four large cylinders hurtling through at a very high speed. Unsure of what they were, she tracked them—they looked very weapon-like and seemed to be attracted to the terminus of Aria's beam. Upon intersecting, they disappeared, and the beam shut off.

Aria cursed, kicked, and screamed as a symbol she recognized all too well appeared on every screen.

"Fuck you!" she yelled at a particularly large display with the spyglass and crossed swords.

A distorted voice came over the ship's speakers. "Attention hijackers: you will proceed to escape pods and abandon ship, or we will begin venting atmosphere."

To accentuate the point, loud hissing announced the beginning of an atmosphere-cycle. Obviously, with nothing outside, no air would "cycle" back in—the system had been designed to fight the tendency of air aboard ships to become stale by pulling in fresh atmosphere from a nearby planet. It could also be employed if the ship docked at a suitably equipped facility. Likely, waste tanks would also be emptied in while docked.

"We're going, we're going!" she complained.

Three minutes later, _Revenant Phoenix_ stood abandoned.

"That's gotta be a record" chirped Cortana. "Even if they're pirates and mercs who follow no other rules, they are definitely in compliance with UNSC regulations regarding the speed at which personnel are to be able to abandon ship."

She did not elaborate further on the subject.

As Aria's pod drifted away from what had once been her ship, she swore a small shimmer crossed her vision, before shaking her head vigorously to clear what must have been a minor hallucination, probably from the slight lack of air caused by RISE. _Revenant Phoenix_ lit her engines and blasted away, using the same strange faster-than-light she'd used to get here in the first place.

"Looks like someone fixed the slipspace problems" commented Jackie upon noticing transition from normal to slipspace. A speed indicator showed a fluctuating effective FTL velocity of over 600 million times the speed of light. Shepard's eyes gleamed at the speed—instant travel was coming closer and closer.

"Being a hostage to Aria was most unpleasant" said an annoyed Patricia Tannis, upon Shepard's entrance into Engineering. "She raided the SETTLE Center, stole this ship, and demanded we activate this prototype slipspace drive. While I amply demonstrated that the drive was not suitable for full-time use, she threatened to remove my spine and 'beat Kevin to death with it' should I not comply."

"I really appreciated her going along with that" added Kevin Filner. "Dying was not on the list of things to do today."

His head dropped.

"You don't know the story of what happened when Tannis got here, do you?" he asked.

"No" replied Shepard curtly. "I wasn't aware there was one."

"You never met Katie Ballard, I don't think" he started. "She worked with me. More often than not, we fought. She hated my threshers, because they disturbed her crystalisks."

"Those weird three-legged things that live on Pandora?" Sam didn't understand why anyone would find animals that hurled explosive crystals interesting outside military science—and _Amerigo_ was no military vessel.

"Yes. Katie believed their crystals might have other properties besides being monetarily valuable and being potentially explosive."

"To make a long story very short, Katie Ballard is dead. Along with everyone else from that ship save myself and Dr. Filner."

The doctor in question gave Tannis an exasperated look before allowing her to continue.

"We were attempting to make a high-speed return from my galaxy of origin to this one when we encountered a phenomenon that removed us from our faster-than-light travel. We were attacked by the Infection and the vessel was overrun. By the gracious sacrifice of many scientists and former soldiers, I was able to escape in a slipspace pod—the one which provided a template for the production of this ship's engine. This is what we have been testing with the help of several geth platforms."

Sensing Tannis had completed her summary, Filner resumed his narrative.

"Katie's notes suggested the crystals could produce space-time effects when structured in a certain lattice-like form. I discovered this very type of crystal in small quantities on the backs of black hole threshers—but only when alive. Constant electrical signaling is required to maintain the lattice. Any interruption causes it to break down, which is why no one dissecting dead threshers was able to figure out how their portals worked."

"So we're using an engine derived from…an animal?" Sam took on a quizzical look. It wasn't the weirdest thing she'd ever heard, but it came pretty close.

"That is not the case" said Tannis. "These naturally-occurring crystals has nothing to do with the engine itself. Rather, they are capable of altering the flow of time around a vessel when subjected to an electrical current."

"The reason we couldn't figure out what was in the cylinder?" asked Filner, before answering his own question. "Highly-compressed layers of the crystal surrounding an Eridium core. Encased in a kind of metallic substance that isn't on any periodic table I studied!"

"The casing blocked our scanners—we only figured out the contents by inference. After a lengthy argument, in which I prevailed" ("Hmph" said Kevin) "a cutting laser pierced the cylinder, allowing us to open it."

"I assume you have one in this ship? Or are we going to be old crones by the time we arrive back at the Citadel?"

"Much bigger one, sure" replied Kevin. "The one Maya brought would work on a vessel the size of a corvette, not as big as _Revenant Phoenix_! Tannis had the foresight to stash some in her pod before she left."

Several alarms wailed, tinting Engineering red. "Intruder alert! Sealing off sections…"

The computer voice never finished its warning. Several hardsuit-wearing individuals stormed into the room, dragging another who appeared rather unwilling.

"We're sorry" said a voice Sam recognized as belonging to Zera, sounding not sorry at all. "Our Waves have found Sarah again—she is waiting for us at the Citadel. Your advanced vessel was the fastest way to get there."

"Cortana!" yelled Sam. "How…" She then remembered _Normandy_ had been magnetically attached to the bottom of _Phoenix_, so Cortana wouldn't hear her anyway.

"You won't be hearing from her any time soon" added a voice recognizable as Drythlyn. "We took the liberty of disabling all audio/visual systems on this deck. As for how we snuck aboard? We are Current Channelers…"

_That might as well be space magic_ thought Shepard irritably.

"You could have asked!" fumed the Commander. "I might have said yes!" In reality, she would have said yes without reservation—she definitely wanted to know what kind of _temporary_ alliance could be struck with these women. As distasteful as they were, the closer society got to utter annihilation, the more unsavory the types of people she was willing to work with. Also, her willingness to take risks (including working with shady types) had drastically increased of late.

"And if you'd said no?" growled the large, tank-like woman Urthula.

"If she'd said no, we would have forced our way aboard anyway. It would have been fun!" commented another whose now-removed helmet revealed red hair, freckles, and ice-white eyes.

"I hope you didn't leave a gaping hole in my ship" she scolded.

"No, we only made one modest-sized hole. I'm Venera Sola—I once worked with your former 'Illusive Man.'"

Bad move.

In a flash, Sam was on top of her. "What do you know? What did you help him with?"

Utterly serene despite being straddled and having a disruptor in her temple, Venera taunted "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" shot back an angry Sam. "If I killed someone two weeks ago, I might find out today that he was innocent. Or that I saved thousands of lives by removing a terrorist minutes away from detonating a bomb! So yes, it matters."

"Venera, perhaps you should have thought that through" mused Urthula. "We mustn't make our hostess angry."

Seeing the reaction, Venera kept any talk about Kai Leng to herself. His rather brutal actions, justified in the context of building up Cerberus/JVLN/SS for whatever mysterious purpose Sarah had before utterly abandoning the idea, would definitely piss off Samantha Shepard even more. Likely due to the small detail of him murdering a close friend of hers.

"Shepard!"

Still pinning Venera, Sam turned to see Garrus, Zaeed, and Legion pointing various large weapons in the direction of the Current Channelers. "We've been calling you on the comm for five minutes" groused Zaeed.

"Shepard-Commander, this unit brings important information that we believe will further alter how you wish to proceed in fighting against the Infection."

Legion's eye switched to projection mode before Sam could even ask any questions.

Omega hadn't disappeared—it just moved. Slowly spinning behind the station: the Citadel. The purple glow of Aria's former stronghold almost disappeared against the backdrop of a similarly-purple Widow Nebula, but it could be seen.

More curses.

"Wait a minute, how'd we get in here? Normally, there's a no-FTL zone around Omega…"

"We believe this new technology revolving around 'slipspace' is not affected."

"Regardless, now that Infected stinkpot is sitting right on top of the galactic capital… I bet the Council says that this is somehow my fault."

[...]

"Someone explain how we missed a target over forty kilometers tall?" asked one of the RISE Council members at their now-weekly meeting.

"We also gambled on letting a madwoman loose. That didn't work either" replied another man. "She hasn't killed everyone, yet, but she also hasn't made even a dent in the Infection!"

"The missiles _disappeared_" fumed a woman. "We had signal, then all of the sudden they dropped out of FTL and seconds later, they were gone!"

"It's like a space slug ate them" added a second man.

"Except, if that were the case, the space slug would have exploded" replied the first.

"Point being, our visuals from _Ultimatum_ show us where the target went—it's at the heart of Gamma-Six's government. Deep in the so-called 'safe zone.'"

"It's not safe anymore" cracked the woman.

Aboard _Ultimatum_, the sudden appearance of a massive Infected space station caused no small amount of alarm. Admiral Allison Nimitz ordered her ship's superlaser powered up to pulverize this latest threat. The dreadnaught's INTERCPT system had difficulty handling the thousands of pods launched from the station, most of which passed straight through both particle and energy shields as though they did not exist. Attempts to modify shield properties in order to repel these pods, which were loaded with Infected lifeforms, were futile. Those pods which struck the ship caused little damage to sixteen meters of armor plate.

Several rather large capsules landed on the ends of the Citadel's ward arms. Visual scanning confirmed them to be some kind of pulsating mass which was _not_ spewing additional Infected lifeforms (at least for now). To top it off, a horde of Infected Reaper ships appeared at the Citadel relay. They must have either bypassed or destroyed the Trans-Galactic Republic defense fleets, arriving at precisely the worst possible time.

Forces near the Infected Reapers began to exhibit the usual symptoms of being unable to attack, auto-cannibalism, and possibly worse (no one bothered to check on any ship that stopped responding).

_Ultimatum_ frantically transmitted to all forces, ordering them back from an advancing line of yellow-brown death.

"Get us out of here!" bellowed Nimitz.

"Hyperdrive's offline ma'am. Interdiction field coming from the Omega station. We aren't going anywhere!"

"Then destroy the station!" she shouted.

"Superlaser's almost charged, give it thirty more seconds!"

[…]

_Revenant Phoenix_ zipped around the battlefield, staying as far away from Infected Reapers as possible while blasting away with incendiary mass cannons (since Reaper-avoidance range exceeded the limit of mass-fusion drivers). It soon became apparent that such distance wasn't necessary—_Phoenix _saw ships farther away than itself turn catatonic and unresponsive, but for some reason Shepard &amp; Co. were unaffected.

She reported this finding to whatever remained of CRITICAL Fleet Command. Other vessels with heavy biotic presences were also noticing that the Infected Reapers were not causing any impact on them.

"Seems we're immune" Shepard crowed to her bridge crew. "Let's take full advantage of that fact!"

An urgent alert came through from Medical.

"Medical to bridge, we have multiple intruders, repeat, multiple intruders!"

"Where'd they come from?" snapped the Commander. "Our shields are up, and no one's boarded us…"

A different voice cut in.

"Dock with _Ultimatum_. Do it now!"

_Sarah?_

She sounded exhausted, out of breath. Sam barreled down to the medbay, where she found a slime-covered Siren and four very confused Councilors.

"Get us to _Ultimatum_" gasped the woman again. "I can…get us out…"

"We're not leaving everyone here!"

_I can't…I won't…_

"If you don't do what she says, our last hope will likely die within hours" said Clethon.

"The Star Dreadnaught is soaking most of the damage for now, but even it cannot last forever" warned Grayson. "Though, I must say, it will hold out a might bit longer than _Revenant_ did—helps to have a fully-fueled hypermatter reactor…"

"Sensors showing… This makes no sense!" bleated an Operations officer, whose call interrupted Shepard's discussions. "These IFFs are totally unknown!"

Sam tweaked a large medical display to show whatever caught attention on the bridge. This resulted in a forward view over _Phoenix_'s bow.

"What?"

"Oh spirits…"

Tevos and Victus respectively expressed confusion and amazement.

"What's the deal?" asked a quizzical Sam.

"You humans were not part of the galactic community during the Krogan Rebellions" explained Tevos. "These…these are the warships we ordered the krogan to destroy under penalty of further sanction…"

"…and orbital bombardment" added Victus.

"Surely, this can't be all of them…"

_Three dreadnaughts don't make a fleet!_

"It is not. Hardly. We decommissioned dozens of dreadnaughts and thousands of smaller ships. A few frigate-sized vessels made their way into private ownership, not by krogan of course. Nowadays, they're completely obsolete, but considered a trophy" finished Clethon.

A flashing icon in the lower-right indicated what the computer thought might be a communication attempt.

"Ah, here!" Clethon began manipulating controls until audio came through.

"…punish us if you want. But since the galaxy seems to be ending, we're going down fighting. Not hiding as this insidious Infection approaches our world!"

"Wrex!"

"Shepard!"

"More people that need rescuing?" asked Sarah softly. "Did I screw up again?"

"You couldn't have known!" retorted Sam. "Besides, by the look of it you barely were able to get the Council! Tuchanka's another jump away!"

Never one for subtlety under fire, Cortana barged into _Phoenix_'s systems from _Normandy_. She had no actual control over the larger ship, but she could speak—and speak she did.

"All the information you need is loaded into _Phoenix_. Dock with _Ultimatum_ and get us out of here!"

"All the…what information?" Shepard spluttered.

Sarah's drop into a trance of some kind went unnoticed, though its effect was immediate and obvious. Without orders, tractor-beam operators latched onto two of the three krogan dreadnaughts, pulling their three-plus kilometer hulls up against _Ultimatum_'s forward docking bay. Steve Cortez, urged on by an unseen force, nudged _Phoenix_'s helm toward the Star Dreadnaught, much to the confusion of acting-XO Miranda Lawson, who immediately commed Shepard.

"Steve Cortez is taking us toward the Trans-Galactic Republic super-battleship! Did you give that order?" she asked, semi-panicking.

"What? I… No, I didn't!"

"Belay that, helmsman" ordered Lawson, overly-calm considering the circumstances. "I _said_, belay that and bring the ship to a full stop."

Cortez ignored the raven-haired woman, his eyes glassed over. Similar responses befuddled Admiral Nimitz's command staff—attempts to either disengage tractor beams or extract explanations from operators produced nothing. Someone had locked down the beam equipment using encryption consisting of formulas so complex none present could begin to make heads or tails of them. Tractor beams grabbed ships left and right, mostly those fleeing the now-increasingly-Infected Citadel. Some vessels were brought close to _Ultimatum_, only for a turbolaser somewhere on the ship's vast surface to fry it. Others were yanked into hangers.

A transport evacuating the KOMBT School happened to be one such capture (it was not fired upon). Dragged until its engines shut down, it landed roughly in one of the Star Dreadnaught's near-uncountable ship bays. Shiala let out several swear words, only to be jibed by Catalina Rodriguez.

"And they say Jack isn't allowed to!"

"Jack isn't here!" replied the asari.

Miranda cut back into Shepard's ongoing confusion.

"Steve says he doesn't know what happened. He was piloting the ship, then all of the sudden we're docked with _Ultimatum_. He claims he never meant to put us here."

"Is this…"

All eyes returned to Sarah, now slumped on the floor. A massive flash of purple light nearly blinded all present.

"Did I fulfill a new purpose?"

The woman fell unconscious.

[…]

"Prepare for ramming speed!" roared Urdnot Dagg. The largest Trans-Galactic Republic vessel just disappeared for no reason anyone could determine, gutting whatever defenses the Citadel had left. Aboard an ancient krogan dreadnaught, he knew there wasn't going to be much of a fight. The mass accelerator cannon only ran half the ship's length, armor had aged prematurely due to being buried for so long, and the eezo contained in the drive core had many micro-fractures undermining its effectiveness. This caused the already-clumsy vessel to handle even more poorly than usual. And of course, kinetic barriers did nothing to stop pod after pod from crashing into the hull to unleash hellish cargo.

Even without their flagship, the Trans-Galactic Republic's remaining forces vowed to fight until the last ship exploded. _Curator_ might have been a funny name for the mainstay capital ship within the Trans-Galactic Republic's Spacelane Protection forces, but these heavy cruisers had earned their reputation as solid workhorses in dozens of battles. Even outmatched by an enemy that found no challenge in their shields, the captains of the _Curators_ made sure they would take as many of the foul Infection with them as possible before succumbing.

The pair which had accompanied Samantha Shepard to Omega limped home in hopes of safe port. Instead, they found the Citadel besieged. Unable to properly repair and rearm, both Long and Kazansky resolved to fight the best they could with what supplies remained.

"RNS _Veritas, _shields down."

"RNS _Knight Errant_, hull condition critical."

"RNS _Leaf on the Wind,_ reactor breached."

Red turbolasers criss-crossed space, burning Infected ships and pods as the cruisers they were mounted on disintegrated under sheer weight of numbers. Several times, _Curators_ fired on one another to cut out large Infected sections in the hopes of surviving longer.

Utterly calm in the face of certain death, the Trans-Galactic Republic's remaining forces consolidated into one big ball as a final krogan dreadnaught slammed into what was left of Omega. A monumental gesture, but a futile one—the station's mass negated any impact relatively easily. Battle computers predicted the last Star Destroyer would fall in approximately thirty minutes, as without their shielding (which represented one of the Trans-Galactic Republic's greatest advantages) they were essentially large, floating boxes. Which could be pierced, flooded, and torn apart.

Between whatever terrible mind-powers the Infected Reapers possessed and their ability to land on, then rip into a _Curator_, most Captains decided self-destruct preferable to slow, painful deaths or being forced into the service of monsters. Computers thus moved the "final countdown" forward by ten minutes as ship after ship detonated. A few tried to focus on the space station that started it all, and watched with satisfaction as its mushroom-shaped top broke away due to concentrated turbolaser fire, only to see said portion crash into one of the Citadel's ward arms. Observers swore the piece somehow guided itself to enable this occurrence, though since none who saw it would live, this moment went unrecorded.

RNS _Scourge of Darkness_ managed one final blow on a capital-class Reaper before finding two destroyers had attached themselves to her bow. Said destroyers grappled with their legs, and then let loose with sickly blue-green eye beams that stuttered and flickered as if unable to focus properly. Bridge crew noticed a line of Infected biomass tracking where the beam had been, however, so in spite of looks this ability was clearly more sinister than it first appeared.

Citadel Control tried to hail the Council, but could not reach them. Presuming the galaxy's leaders lost (not knowing they'd been aboard _Ultimatum_), and seeing the ever-advancing Infection tearing into what had once been the final refuge, one controller broadcast on all channels that speed limits no longer applied—the government has fallen, save yourselves. Receiving the message, ships of all alignments took off. At this point the Infection's difference from a standard enemy became an advantage—fleeing ships were ignored instead of being chased down. Those that could run the gauntlet of Infected Reapers and avoid the ruins of what had once been the Citadel's defense fleet made for the Widow relay. Their escape would be for nothing, though, because every system receiving ships from that relay destroyed incoming vessels without question.

Any ship sufficiently far from Widow made use of whatever faster-than-light propulsion it had available. Some aimed themselves toward Gamma-Three, others simply pointed at the void in a rush to be "anywhere but here."

Under the command of Admiral Steven Hackett, Systems Alliance warships crammed as many civilians aboard as possible before departing.

Some debate broke out within the turian Hierarchy. To flee without fighting went against every ethos every turian held dear, but to commit mass suicide by making a futile gesture played even worse.

Salarian Union fleets moved as soon as it became apparent the situation at the Citadel had become indefensible. Call them cowards, sneaky, tricky—it didn't matter—salarians won wars by ending them before they started. Or fleeing before defeat could land square on their pointed heads.

The Migrant Fleet took off as soon as Infected ships began pouring into Citadel space. With their Trans-Galactic Republic loaner freighters used to supply, then evacuate outer colonies, they had the fewest heat management or speed problems of anyone.

What remained of Thessia's navy sheltered among the mixed-species fleet at the Citadel, which meant many ships were destroyed in the general melee. Still, some managed to escape, while others were grabbed by _Ultimatum_'s tractor beams.

Anyone less mobile became endangered species.


	45. Reboot

**Chapter 44 – Reboot**

"Cortana, where are we?" demanded Samantha Shepard. In the spaciousness of _Ultimatum_'s docking bay, she returned to _Normandy_ after it detached from _Phoenix_. The latter's heavy automation allowed her to participate ably in the previous battle, but now Sam needed to talk to her crew.

"Cartography systems are still calibrating—I'm not able to lock onto any of the expected clusters, unless…"

Her hologram took on a pensive look.

"You're not going to believe this."

Sam sighed. "What now?"

"We just traveled hundreds of thousands of lightyears. I'd estimate we jumped all the way into another galaxy."

Paged by Tali, Sam hurried to Engineering.

"Gaige took a quick look outside—_Ultimatum_'s main hanger is open—she says she recognizes several constellations" began the quarian. "For example…"

Tali found herself cut off by Gaige. Despite no longer being a teenager, she still sometimes acted like one.

"Dude. We're back in my home galaxy. Home!"

"No offense Gaige, but based on what you told me about where you're from, that's not exactly something to be happy about" Shepard said carefully.

"Don't judge us all by Pandora" she responded. "If I concluded Gamma-Six was full of savages because I only looked at the Terminus Systems, what would you say?"

"Tell me more about the areas of your galaxy that behave differently…"

Gaige suddenly clammed up. "I hated history class. You might want to ask someone else about this…"

Shepard knew exactly who to ask.

"So you came to hear history from the old lady, huh?" laughed Maya the elder. Her voice, along with her body, seemed very worn—much more so than she should have been. Her actual age landed her somewhere in her mid-thirties, instead she pushed seventy.

"Well, you're the resident history buff—what kind of resources can we find here?"

"Why would I know anything about _your_ galaxy?" asked Maya. "You should be telling me…"

"Oh—whoops." Shepard's face flushed slightly red. "You know that giant purple flash you saw a few minutes ago?"

"Yes" creaked the Siren, sitting up a little straighter. "Why?"

"Well, yeah" stammered Sam. "We kinda got teleported back to your galaxy, and you're never going to guess who did it."

"Oh, I can guess" laughed Maya. "Then, I can suppose she also adopts kittens?"

"Actually, she's unconscious on the medbay floor" replied the Commander. "She brought _Normandy_, _Phoenix_, and all other ships/persons aboard RNS _Ultimatum_ with her. I heard she could move from place to place, but I had no idea she could do that to a whole Star Dreadnaught!"

Sam paused for a moment. Under normal circumstances, she'd expect anyone she told such fantastic tales to exhibit some sign of surprise or shock. Given what Maya had been through, though, hell, given what everyone aboard her ship had been through, being yanked across space by a woman with near-magic powers almost seemed pedestrian by now.

Maya just grinned.

"At any rate" she continued, "yeah, Pandora doesn't have much on it. So you're not going to find any help there, unless 'help' means hordes of insane bandits. Then Pandora's your world."

"I think we have enough marauding crazies with the Infection…"

"You could just call it by its name. It kind if did 'flood' you out of your galaxy… It's not like some little disease that you can blast with anti-biotics."

Sam glared at Cortana's avatar for interrupting out of nowhere (lame humor was her job, damnit!), but conceded the point. Harmonizing designations would be efficient, though she had no idea why Cortana only insisted on this now. Maybe because this "Flood" had indeed done as its name suggested—Gamma-Six was toast.

"Our galaxy is best described as concentric rings. The wealthiest ring is the smallest—and this is where you will find help, if you're lucky."

"There's no Council or Group of Delegates that we can make appeals to and be ignored by?" asked the Spectre.

Maya burst out laughing.

"You really don't know much about 'Three, do you?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be asking!"

Sam sat in a nearby chair, as she guessed the explanation she sought would be rather lengthy.

"Good call. My home galaxy is, at least on paper, run by the Economic Development Group, a loose confederation of interests representing the largest corporations."

"Let me guess: in reality, the galaxy is run by those corporations."

"Ding-ding!"

Maya continued her narrative.

"These corporations exist within a rather stable framework—an unpleasant one, but a rather stationary one. They all pretty much agree that oligarchy is preferable from a profit standpoint, so they work to retain influence over their various sectors. Some worlds are better-run than others. For example, Pandora represents an utter free-for-all, especially after both Atlas and Hyperion ended up collapsing in their efforts to control the place. Then again, most corporate ventures beyond the Outer Colonies don't perform well…"

Thinking it might cause a blowup (not knowing the two agreed to at least avoid sniping at one another), Sam called for Jackie Jakobs. The Jakobs corporation's massive reach meant Jackie might also possess useful knowledge about this galaxy she now found herself in, and considering how focusing the brainpower of many individuals had been required to make slipspace drives work, she figured on a repeat for "understanding how Gamma-Three operates."

Upon Jackie's arrival, Maya made very little eye contact. Though apologies had been accepted on both sides, neither saw the other as worthy of speaking with unless mandated by mission or other circumstance, so they settled for a mutual silent treatment.

"Jackie, what can you tell me about Jakobs operations beyond the Outer Colonies?"

"We didn't do much of that" she replied. "From what I understand, the shareholders didn't like the risk—even creating a presence on Pandora was controversial."

She puffed up her chest, raised her nose in the air, and altered her voice, clearly imitating someone. "Excursions into the borderlands almost always end in at least ten percent profit decreases year-over-year!"

"Sounds like the borderlands aren't too popular" mused Shepard.

"They're not" said Jackie. "They're expensive to operate in and full of people who can barely afford our products. It's a vicious cycle, really. We don't invest in the borderlands because there's no profit to be made, but without investment no one can afford anything due to lack of well-paying jobs."

"So we'll have to get help from better-off areas."

Jackie nodded. "All the corporate money is concentrated within the Prime Worlds and Inner Colonies." She pulled out a data chip and connected it to a small holoprojecter, which she then held as it showed a slowly-rotating galaxy with overlays of various colors.

Maya spoke up. "The Prime Worlds are where we believe civilization originated. Even if it didn't, they sure _act_ like they were the ones who started it all. For example, Aquator in the Pax system, Opis Cluster… Hoo-boy, those guys are full of themselves. They think because they're a tourism hotspot and water exporter they can just strut around like they own half the galaxy."

"Technically, they do" replied Jackie. "In some places, water of any kind is difficult to obtain."

_A galaxy with water problems? How the hell does that happen on this scale?_ Shepard kept the question to herself.

Responding to Jackie's comment without addressing her directly, Maya picked up on the theme of overly-entitled Prime Worlders.

"Another palatial planet is Thrace. It's a gigantic terrestrial world covered in the most opulent estates only the wealthiest can afford. There almost isn't anything else on that planet—everything is either private, in-house, like a tutor for the children, or shipped in from offworld. To be completely honest, the Prime Worlds are basically a gated community. Net worth at least a hundred billion dollars, or you can't even think about living there."

"Huh. Sounds like we'll need to scare these people into opening their, erm, wallets…" Sam already had an idea, but wasn't sure if it was even possible to execute on.

"The only time Primers care about anything is when it threatens their way of life" continued Maya, only to be overrun by Jackie.

"The Prime Worlds haven't been touched by the Inf…"

Cortana cut her off. "Flood. Call it the Flood. Because that's what it is."

Jackie gave Cortana a peevish look.

"Don't blame me" snapped the AI. "Someone else tried to give it a cutesy name, and it still kicked their sorry asses…"

"Anyway, this Flood hasn't touched the Prime Worlds. So they don't care about it."

"Hasn't _yet_" interjected Cortana. "You better believe now that the Gravemind has Gamma-Six in the metaphorical pocket, Gamma-Three is next. You're just lucky—no solid attack plan, no concentrated assault right now. Believe me, it's coming."

Even Sam started to lose patience with the AI's constant interrupting.

Reacting to everyone else' un-vocalized annoyance, she defended herself. "I'm not going to let this galaxy be as blind and foolish as the last two. Granted, the first was sabotage, but your home" (she stabbed a finger at Sam) "fell due to its own incompetence and infighting. They attacked each other instead of the problem!"

"You're surprised?" deadpanned Shepard. "Look at the history of this place, and you'll see that's all too common."

"History? That galaxy _is_ history" shot back Cortana. "And so will be dozens of others unless someone takes action!"

"I'm sorry, I thought we were talking about how to enlist help in Gamma-Three, not how badly the Citadel Council botched the war." She moved to turn off Cortana's holo-projector.

"Oh, yes, shoot the messenger. And hope the message decides to not deliver itself."

"Look, I get it. The Flood is a huge threat. We blew it. We suck. Can I at least try to get a feel for what's available in this forced-new-home before you start berating us?"

Cortana peevishly turned herself off.

_There it goes again. This upgrade may be keeping me from going rampant, but it's not keeping me from becoming more and more like a human mind…_

Returning to the two other woman, Sam tried to resurrect the last conversation. "So, as you were both saying, the Prime Worlds are full of a bunch of self-centered, self-absorbed brats who won't do anything until the gate's crashed in, am I correct?"

"Yes." The two spoke in unison, after which they stared at each other in shock as if seeing each other for the first time.

"So how do we convince them the gate isn't even going to crash in, it's wide open, and the largest thresher maw ever is about to come through?"

Not knowing what a "thresher maw" was, Maya still picked up on the general idea. "Show them."

[...]

The decimation of the Great Opportunities Fleet reverberated throughout certain parts of the Trans-Galactic Republic. No one wanted to talk about the potential Infection threat, but there was impossible to cover up the loss of hundreds of ships, millions of personnel, and billions of credits in war materiel. Called before the Intelligence Committee, David Vance had to explain how everything fell apart.

"RISE gave the intel that sent that fleet on what looks like a one-way trip. That's two Star Dreadnaughts and countless other ships lost" snarled Karshabka through his interpreter.

"I will admit, Senator, that it appears we underestimated the magnitude of the Infection threat" conceded Vance. "However, given that, we should do all we can to prepare for its eventual arrival."

"Leave it to RISE to spin a total loss as a reason to buy more Star Dreadnaughts." Glia Ham'Del took any opportunity to knock the intelligence service down a peg. "Isn't the point of an intelligence agency to let us know the asteroid is coming when it's at the edge of the system, instead of saying 'Oh look, an asteroid!' as it flames into the atmosphere?"

"From what we can tell, the Infection violates all known tenants of biological science" replied Vance, resigned to his fate. He'd probably be out of a job after this anyway—the Director seemed to exist to serve as a fall person in case the politicians didn't like what the Republic Intelligence Service was up to.

"Consequently" he continued, "it is difficult to imagine a defense other than its utter destruction. The best minds in that galaxy were working on trying to cure or at least stop it based on what limited data we received during our operations there. Neither option has come to fruition that I know of. If you have other ideas on how to accomplish this, I would like to hear them."

Norman Wheld added his voice. "While I agree with the Director that firepower is the only option, I also concur with my esteemed colleague Senator Ham'Del that Star Dreadnaughts are not the most efficient means to this end. What information do we have on the vulnerabilities of our new foe?"

"Disruptors seem to work best" replied Vance. "They leave nothing behind to be reanimated. However, such weapons are considered illegal for most uses."

"And I fear, just like the creep that allowed an intelligence service to effectively supplant the military, that creating an exemption for 'Infection-fighting purposes' would lead to a disruptor pistol in every mercenary's pocket." Ham'Del pouted, her fur rippling in ways Humans could not read.

"Then what shall we do?" challenged Vlaad Blate. "Everyone has a valid point, yet no one has a solution."

"Even assuming this Infection is a problem, I fail to see why we must preemptively try to destroy it" said Jan Steen. "They say that the best defense is a good offense, but it can also be claimed the best offense is a good defense. Build a wall so high no one can climb over it, and the rampaging hordes outside suddenly don't matter."

Ham'Del did some quick math on her terminal. Covering a few supercarriers and cruisers in quantum crystalline armor would actually be less expensive than building vast numbers of Star Dreadnaughts. If defenders were physically indestructible, they could hold off any Infection forever. That presumed someone figured out a way to deal with the apparent ability of certain Infected ships to cause nonresponsiveness in organic beings. It wouldn't be hard in any case to fit inexpensive subspace transceivers onto fighters, allowing instantaneous remote control. The limits of such "Infected influence" seemed to be the local battlefield, so a few lightyears of distance was hypothesized to provide a sufficient margin of safety.

She submitted this idea electronically to her fellow committee members before addressing David Vance.

"Perhaps there is a way to both prepare and avoid bankrupting the treasury" she suggested. "Star Dreadnaughts are not the sole purveyors of galactic security…"

"Even if it's less expensive, remember how time-consuming that armor is to create" cautioned Wheld. "Recall how difficult it is to obtain on the open market simply because no one has the right equipment to produce it in bulk. You're still talking about covering a Star Dreadnaught-sized vessel in it."

Being a Bothan, Ham'Del thrived when others followed her lead. She began laying out a politically-feasible compromise that would see preparation against the Infection without either veering off in the direction of the absurd (Vance) or simply hiding in bunkers, hoping everything would blow over (Steen).

[...]

As the galaxy fell, Special Tasks Group scientists worked tirelessly within their installation on Capek. Padok Wiks initially expressed surprise that no Infected forces had swept through trying to stamp out ever last bit of resistance, however he eventually devoted his mind to more productive pursuits. This Infection did not behave like a typical enemy—were the opponent krogan or turian, Wiks expected he'd face a bombardment fleet. Whatever controlled these monsters seemed content to let whatever pockets of unaffected life that still existed starve to death. Aria, true to her word, never touched the base again. Not that she could now—her last known location had been the Citadel. But prior to that, she'd stayed away.

Geneticists concluded the Infection could not be cured, however, it might be redirected. Turned against itself. Mordin Solis extended his work against Collector "seeker swarms" to genetic and pheromone markers used by the Infection to designate self from non-self before departing with Samantha Shepard. This permitted a limited masking technique which would have worked had a central intelligence not provided the means for Infected lifeforms to see through the deception. Still, further research in this area culminated in a reverse-cocktail that would cause several "self" markers in Infected lifeforms to be treated as "non-self." An ideal response would be "destroy," but at present scientists were stymied by the tendency of Infection cells to destroy, then attempt to infect what was already transformed biomass. In a small number of cases, newly-infected tissue became stronger and more durable, an item of great concern—a weapon that had the chance of turning on its creators by strengthening its target would not be usable.

In a lab, these "enhanced" cells were easily dispatched with radiation or toxins. However, should a whole lifeform be assembled out of them, the teams really didn't want to know where that would lead.

"We must eliminate the resurgent cells to a degree of 99.9999999% certainty before this can be called viable" insisted a top scientist in charge of the project.

"Viable" seemed almost academic, considering the fall of the Citadel and flight of virtually anyone capable of offering resistance, but Capek's STG detachment toiled on anyway. Had the Special Tasks Group known precisely why the Infection rampaged over the galaxy so easily, they would probably have desisted from their efforts, but such information was not available to them.

"We will hold the line" vowed Padok Wiks. "Even if, as I now assume, Sur'Kesh is gone."

Technically, "gone" didn't describe salarian, turian, or human homeworlds—not yet. Still, very few actively fought to prevent them from becoming overrun like Thessia, so placing them in the "Gone, Soon" column seemed proper. Never mind those whose planets were already consigned to a nasty fate as they fell outside the realm of "protection" which now seemed a joke. Dekuuna, Thessia, Heshtok, and Kahje were forsaken. In the case of Khar'shan, it had already changed hands once during the Reaper War, being renamed "Angel's Cradle" (though the name had not persisted). No one seriously considered trying to defend it, despite its presence in a system just beyond the edge of Inner Council Space. The Hegemony's attitude might have had something to do with this—what do you call a paper tiger's paper tiger that still tries to bite? The batarian Hegemony.

Rannoch represented a unique situation. Despite being well beyond the reach of the now-defunct safe zone, it remained relatively untouched for the moment, possibly due to stiff geth defenses. Supplemented by geth warships which survived the Shepard-instigated Battle of Omega within the Nemean Abyss, over ten thousand armed ships orbited Rannoch and patrolled the Perseus Veil. The loss of several dreadnaughts during this skirmish didn't really affect geth abilities to protect their Creator's planet, since the ships lost were ill-equipped to handle Infection forces anyway save for repurposed Reapers. And even these fell more easily under the intensity and heat of both uprated natively-designed weapons and Trans-Galactic Republic turbolasers.

Of course, this also remained theoretical—the geth at Rannoch were never given a reason to fight the Infection since it opted to not attack. Having observed the Infection's behavior in other areas of the galaxy through Specialized Organic Interaction Units, it had been determined the Infection cared very little for quarians as hosts. Though a few had been taken, no special effort appeared versus, say, turians or vorcha.

For reasons unknown geth forces kept the few Creators living among them ignorant of the wider goings-on in the galaxy. Perhaps it was to keep them from knowing they were some of the last organic life to exist that had not been consumed. Maybe it was in the hopes that they would not go mad from the revelation. Regardless, quarians on Rannoch lived a relatively isolated existence—free of Infection, but also free of outside contacts.

Ultimately, the Consensus concluded no more defensive measures were necessary. If there existed no pressing threat, why divert resources into warships which could otherwise be used on the Sphere itself?

[…]

"Uggggghhhhh…."

"She's awake!"

"Weapons ready!"

"Stand by, Bailey…"

Snap-hiss.

The Siren woke to a golden-yellow blade below her chin. She could vaguely sense dozens of others around her, presumably armed.

_Well, it seems I served my purpose…_

Strangely, even if she accepted that the safe transportation of millions out of an Infected mess were her final reason to exist, she still felt empty. Unfulfilled.

Roles reversed as Armando Bailey spoke to his captive.

"You do not need to know where you are, so we aren't going to tell you. Suffice to say, you are a prisoner. If you attempt to escape, I will not hesitate to use this lightstaff to send your head rolling. Should I fail, twenty disruptor beams will incinerate you—can't block all of them. If you somehow manage to survive that, starship-grade weapons will vaporize everything we are standing on. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

She looked down at herself.

_Some kind of hospital gown. I must have been out a while._

"She's not making any active attempts to break free" announced Bailey. "At least not anything I can sense, anyway."

Sarah decided against making jokes about "depths of the Current you don't understand." To be completely honest, there wasn't anything she could do that he wouldn't notice—a Current-Channeler like her trying to use those powers would light up like a supernova to even the weakest among those with Current abilities.

Aboard the now-ironically-named frigate _Redemption_, Sarah convalesced in a windowless, doorless chamber. The only means in or out came from a digistructed doorframe, invisible to the naked eye and even most scanners. Certainly, a Channeler might find it, but she also might steal a lightstaff and cut her way out. The whole ship remained locked in a tractor beam courtesy _Ultimatum_, who'd dumped the vessel out of one of her dozens of hangars after Shepard, Bailey, and pretty much everyone else who'd seen what Sarah wrought decided it would be inhumane to kill the Siren (especially after it appeared she'd just saved their lives) but equally unwise to keep her in any place where, should she go on a rampage, more would die than necessary.

Considering what she'd done ("Horrible, but awe-inspiring," said one of the docs) those examining the woman were very surprised at her apparent vulnerabilities. She healed exponentially faster than any human-like species observed by Trans-Galactic Republic or Citadel science, though it wasn't perfect. Jack's vicious beating had an affect whose symptoms still lingered. Several ribs hadn't grown back just right and were off-kilter. Nor was her left femur precisely straight due to repeated fractures. Medical personnel and scientists hypothesized her neigh-indestructibility stemmed from an ability to withstand attacks far longer than any conceivable opponent, who she would grind into the ground, after which she could patch herself up properly. Advanced dating techniques suggested an impossible age—either end of which qualified as ridiculous: anywhere from a few million to a billion years old. That she'd spent a good portion of her "life" in suspended animation courtesy her creators wasn't known, yet.

She smiled through the pain. "You've finally realized I'm not invincible, huh?"

"Your little parlay with Sam Shepard kind of gave us that clue" replied Bailey icily. "Given your past actions, I'd like to vaporize you myself."

"And why don't you?" She was genuinely curious—from what she'd been imprinted on, once a person or thing had no further use, throwing it away made perfect sense. Her creators, the Forebears (who apparently were known by several other monikers among the people presently living), almost threw _her_ away after realizing their creation possessed far too much power. Instead, though, for whatever reason, they created six additional lesser Sirens, who then imprisoned Sarah until her awakening a few years back. Had it already been that long?

They couldn't possibly _love_ her, like those strange letters and videos she'd perused while digging through _Siren Serenade_'s computer core. Love made people do strange things. She couldn't imagine they considered her a "friend" either—from what she saw, "friends" weren't routinely threatened with vaporization _and_ kept under heavy guard. The only conclusion she could come to revolved around having yet another purpose which hadn't yet been revealed.

"The galaxy we used to call home is now infested with something straight out of a horror film" continued Bailey, acting for all the world as if Sarah knew absolutely nothing about the current state of things. "Every plan we've made has been foiled."

Samantha Shepard joined the C-Sec cop.

"And we thus find ourselves asking, especially in light of your seemingly…changed agenda…whether you can be of any use to us. Use, alive, rather than use for catharsis through throwing you out the airlock."

"Make no mistake, the only reason we are turning to you is because we are desperate." Bailey folded his arms.

"And we also sincerely hope that we're not unleashing someone, or something, we don't fully understand" finished Sam.

"I don't feel very unleashed right now. Quite the contrary." Sarah made a big show of tugging at her restraints.

Sam gave her a witheringly patronizing look.

"I know for a fact you could break those restraints in a half-second, and in the half-second following that, crush all of our throats. Don't play us."

"I could" replied the Siren. "I could do all of those things, but do I want to?"

"You seemed perfectly content to kill uncountable innocents without a second thought. You still haven't answered the question—why the change?"

"I was going to" replied Sarah peevishly, "but your biotic friend decided to have a go at rearranging my rib cage."

"That she did" said Sam. "And I wouldn't say it's entirely undeserved…"

"Do you want my answer or are you going to sit here judging me for doing what I was created to do?"

"You were created?" demanded Armando Bailey. "By whom?"

"Eridians, Forerunners, Forebears, take your pick" she replied in a rather exasperated tone. "Their meddling resulted in all sorts of consequences, and, much like yourselves, they didn't want to actually clean up their own mess. Hence, me."

_Like the genophage. Or the rachni, but you don't know about their origins…_

"So destruction is the only option?" Shepard felt no sympathy for this Sarah, but retained an interest in those responsible for her existence.

"For all their technology, any time something went wrong, the response usually involved wiping the slate clean and starting over. I was given the same view of problem-solving. So yes."

"Seems rather elementary" mused Sam. "If there's something wrong, erase the whole chalkboard and start over."

"They were perfectionists, and prideful ones at that. That anything could unfold in ways other than according to their design offended them—it almost seemed like religious doctrine."

Sarah couldn't believe she stood here having a conversation with beings every fiber told her were beneath her, fit only to either be used for her own purposes or crushed as her Forebears had done with all other lifeforms (herself included). Yet, she'd failed at her purpose, and when a Forebear creation failed, if it was lucky it met an instant death. Rarely were any given another chance. Perhaps these lesser beings could either set her toward a new purpose, or even give her one.

Sam's face lit up.

"You said it was like a religious doctrine? Do you know if it actually was one?"

"I have no information for you."

While Bailey remained to watch over the prisoner, Shepard sought out Patricia Tannis again, visiting the scientist in her newly-established lab.

"What can you tell me about Eridian religion?"

Patricia Tannis felt none too happy about the recent past. She'd been thoroughly intellectually outclassed by the AI Cortana on a topic she'd devoted nontrivial amounts of time to researching (slipspace technology). Though she left complex equations to the likes of Kevin Filner or the apparently-surprisingly-competent Jackie Jakobs, she'd been the one to decipher enough information to give everyone an idea of just what the Eridians were and how their society functioned. Both revolved tightly around this propulsion system. The absolute worst part bar none had to be the loss of many Eridian artifacts when _Amerigo_ met her end. Thankfully, she'd scanned some of them in full three dimensions, but she lost around half her samples.

"Eridian society was highly stratified" she began, enjoying the ability to lecture someone instead of being on the receiving end. "This divide was enforced through many constructs, one of the more obvious being multiple types of writing."

Tannis manipulated a terminal to display two different tablets. On the left, very dense script which befuddled her (and her assistants) for months. On the right, large, simpler symbols that she'd obtained rough translations from in a relatively shorter period.

"The script on the right was used to communicate with the lowest members of Eridian society" she continued. "Mainly, orders from above those members and communication between those members. These beings were tasked with rudimentary jobs, though they often made use of technology which by our own standards borders on the fantastic in order to do so."

Sam watched a display showing crude animations of some sort of two-legged being stepping through a green portal.

"Eridians achieved instantaneous travel via slipspace. Low-ranking individuals were sent on what amounted to fetch-quests."

Sam didn't get why Tannis grinned at this—she'd personally sent Vault Hunters on similar "go-find-its" herself, without, of course, the aid of instant transportation from Point A to Point B.

"Eridian religion concerned a 'Mantle of Responsibility,' which required them to benevolently administer the many galaxies over which they held influence."

Sam snorted. "Benevolent? Based on what I've learned, they seem quite the opposite…"

"If you would allow me to continue, I would explain."

Tannis glared at this person who dared interrupt her after demanding an explanation of something she had superior knowledge of.

"It was the Mantle that drove the creation of many of these alleged horrors. The Eridians sought to prevent access to technologies which were ultimately dangerous, such as the hyperdrive and Element Zero. Their methods drifted into techniques that violated their own rules due to time constraints and a religious schism."

Sam barely contained laughter.

"So this whole thing…it was a religious spat?"

"Originally, the Eridians adhered to very strict beliefs about avoiding any action which might conceivably harm another living being. This forbade the consumption of meat, and also required them to take action to defend other beings against virtually any threat. Like many religions (as silly as I personally find them), its texts were subject to re-interpretation over time."

"Old Earth had problems like that—especially in the history of the United North American States. But if I'm remembering my history correctly, it was arguments over a governing document, not religion." Sam did not pay much attention in history class. She figured it best to leave it to civilians to learn the civics lessons of times past—that was not the purview of a Systems Alliance Marine (or Council Spectre).

"I have no idea what you are talking about" said Tannis snippily. "However, assuming your memory has not failed you, you are correct in your comparison. Some Eridians supported a looser interpretation of the Mantle of Responsibility which would permit them to allow others to carry out the dicta on their behalf."

Sam started to understand. "I'm guessing this is where Sarah comes in."

"You are again, shockingly, correct. The Mantle never prohibited the creation of life, only the destruction of life. Thus, a group of top scientists worked to create the ultimate lifeform, one that could carry out the Mantle on behalf of the Eridians, freeing them to pursue other tasks."

"So they made a supersoldier because they were _lazy_?" Shepard couldn't believe this, well, she could, but it was almost hilarious.

"I would not use the term lazy to describe the actions of the Eridians. They sought to spend more time cultivating civilizations rather than protecting them, like a gardener who applies weedkiller so he or she may arrange flowers without having to pull unwanted plants."

"So why was Sarah locked up?"

"At some point, she came into conflict with her creators. Even the most complete records I have been able to translate do not say why, only that the First Siren no longer fulfilled the purpose for which she had been created and therefore needed to be disabled or disposed of."

"Stupid question: Why 'Sarah?' Hell, why a name that even translates?"

_Then again, that the Council's name for its special operatives magically translates into something that makes sense in my language is something no one ever asked about._

"The First Siren was intended to be an embodiment of the Mantle. However, she was also to remain a humble servant despite the powers given—a stupid idea as virtually all organic minds experience a toxic reaction to excessive power—thus, from what little I gathered the transliteration of her name is supposed to mean 'Selfless Servant of the Mantle.' Consequently, 'Sarah' is the closest nomenclature we have for ancient Eridian."

"Explain to me how all this connects to Reapers."

"Would you like to be thrown into the lake without knowing how to swim?" Tannis could not believe these intellectually-stunted morons managed to accomplish all they did. While Sarah definitely made her feel inadequate, she felt like Sarah in comparison to almost everyone else she'd met thus far.

Sam crossed her arms but kept quiet, waiting for the mad scientist to continue.

"A divide between those who advocated for a return to the 'traditional' Mantle and those who believed in a more 'modern' interpretation led to the Reapers, or Harvesters, but that is not the complete story. Combined with the return of a threat that the Eridians had written off as conquered eons ago, they became desperate. Their watched-over races discovered means to defeat the universal lightspeed barrier, however, the methods used to do so were threatening to open windows between parallel universes. That is what would let in the threat—which we know as the Infection."

"So in order to prevent that thing, they set up a bunch of stuff that would kill off people who were using the technology."

_Really smooth, Sam. Way to confirm her belief that you're stupid._

For whatever reason, Shepard found Tannis not taking the opportunity to taunt her poor use of language.

"Yes. The First Siren already stirred controversy, as her actions could result in deaths unjustified by the Mantle. However, since it was not Eridian hands causing those deaths, technically she did not violate the Mantle despite supposedly embodying it. However, as separation between parallels thinned the Eridians threw together half-measures, completely abandoning the idea that any of their own creations should also obey the Mantle by minimizing death when possible."

"You got all this out of your research."

"My research, yes." Tannis swelled with pride. "And some extrapolation from a book held by a bandit on Pandora that detailed the supposed coming of a Siren who would unleash some power that could, allegedly, destroy 'demons.'"

"Reapers were pretty complicated machines" mused Sam. "Yet you sound like they slapped them together as an afterthought."

"On an Eridian time-scale, millions of years from our perspective pass as seconds, if that, to these greater beings."

"And that explains everything else? Like this Current stuff?"

"The text held by Rakkman only mentioned specifics about 'demons' and 'cosmic events' intended to keep out those demons. Given the lack of specificity within, it does not escape the realm of possibility that these 'cosmic events' were all results of Eridian interference. I was not, however, able to determine additional occurrences which could be fully attributed to such actions."

"Maybe we should ask the source…"

[…]

By this point, Roland gave up all hope of ever returning to his own plane of existence. His only consolation came from hoping his better-prepared version of Sanctuary could defend itself against whatever insanities might pop through via the same phenomenon that deposited him in his current location. Speaking of preparation, someone clearly had plans of some kind as huge numbers of ships were landing on Pandora day in and day out. Exploiting Pandora's natural mineral wealth, including its Eridium horde, had been a corporate dream for years in his own universe. He presumed the same applied here.

Ship after ship bearing the Jakobs logo touched down, loaded and unloaded huge crates (large enough to hold cryo-tubes), and lifted off. Again, no obvious explanation what it was all for. Rumors abounded of some kind of assassination squad making the rounds, offing bandit leaders. Supposedly, these attackers wielded plasma swords and based on the few images gathered, were entirely female.

"Shit."

During his days in the Crimson Lance, Roland heard of a black-ops project to create easily-mass-produced super-agents to replace slow, expensive, and time-consuming training (that is, the usual manner of acquiring armed forces). It was one of several reasons he'd left the Lance—others being assigned to slaving runs and being required to arrange kidnappings of young girls. He'd no idea what the girls' fates were, but knowing Atlas and their lack of ethics in science, the only answer was to let his imagination run wild. He preferred not to think about such things. His friendship with "Tiny" Tina arose partly out of a desire to (at least internally) atone for his actions while in the Lance. Not that she wasn't a genuine friend—or, would have been, since in this continuity she'd been killed during the Harvester war.

Back in the present (as Roland caught himself reminiscing), he wondered if someone resurrected Atlas' program. It, along with the company, fell apart after Vault Hunters took down virtually its entire Pandoran operation. Said operation consumed a large amount of the company's available funds, which caused bankruptcy. It wasn't as if no secret program had ever been discovered or stolen before…

"Target identified. Move in!"

_You know Roland, you really gotta stop spacing out… Lilith never let you forget about the time you got knocked out and captured while taking a leak!_

Six of the operatives whose existence plagued his thoughts in the past few minutes appeared out of nowhere, very literally. Some kind of bluish-purple shimmer, then one would pop out of thin air. What then followed resembled the operatives he'd known, except their coloration varied greatly. Instead of the traditional red, their armor took on a brownish hue with white-accented striping.

"Jakobs" he hissed. Axton told him about this version of Jakobs being under the thumb of a vicious iteration of the woman he knew as Jacqueline—this time, "Jackie." But why?

As he gunned down another ("Avenge me, sisters!") he concluded things were even more off than he'd previously believed. These assassins moved faster, were smarter, and used tactics other than "head-on rush." Two of them advanced, backing the former Lanceman into a corner. Then, one dropped on his head, slashing away and depleting his shields. Roland scooted away from the corner, between his assailant's legs seeing as she'd flipped and there were now three on one side, walls on the other.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw shield impacts against his attackers. They turned, only to see their apparent new target vanish.

Sniper shots echoed from above. Two assassins scattered—the third wasn't so lucky. Her shields collapsed and a high-caliber round buried itself in her shoulder. Imitating what her sister had just done to Roland, his rescuer dropped off a rooftop, driving the remaining Jakobs operative down into the dirt.

"Your ambush has failed / I want answers to questions / Talk now or suffer"

The masked man's sword came out, slashing mask away to reveal the face of their assailant.

"Well, that's a new one…"

Roland turned his head slightly, but jumped as the woman's eyes jerked around, rolled back in her head, and became unfocused. Her head lolled off to one side.

"She seems to have died / Trauma to the cranium / Fried brain, no secrets"

Near the fallen's chin, some kind of vocal processor.

"Testing" said Roland. The result came out tinny, but definitely resembled the cries he'd heard earlier.

"I'd have recognized that voice otherwise…"

The dead woman was a spitting image of Athena, who lived in both his universe and this one.

"This isn't Athena" he insisted. "No way she'd willingly work for Jakobs."

"Athena is gone / Distant journey called to her / I suspect cloning"

"So Jakobs must have resurrected Atlas' project. Damn."

"The rumors are true / Jakobs kills bandits and scum / Testing their soldiers"

"You're zer0, right? Never really talked with you where I'm from."

Instead of responding, the slender man handed over an ECHO recorder, which played back in the voice of Mallory Maliwan.

"Jakobs took over the Badass Arena" she panted. "Dunno why, rolled up with five _Deadwoods_ and told us they'd pay us for it. We, naturally, didn't want to sell, but they threatened to demolish the place."

Her husband's voice took over. "We didn't have anything to defend it with, so we left. Anyone finding this ECHO should stay the hell away from that place. They're conducting horrible experiments to perfect some kind of super-soldier."

Several still images followed, mostly showing decapitated bandit corpses. Some carried clear signs of having been run through with swords multiple times. Quick eyes could spot dead operatives among the mountains of other bodies. Roland's mouth dropped open toward the end—an operative chained up, wrists and ankles bloody. An operative dead by another's sword. A third of an operative sobbing in a corner, being threatened with pistols.

"This makes no sense. It's like their cloning program isn't working right."

"Copies aren't perfect / Mental breakdowns are likely / Unnatural growth"

A data drive.

"You're quite the scavenger." Zer0 merely nodded.

"Day Twenty-Seven, Batch One: Clones have degraded significantly since their decanting on Day Fourteen. Twelve percent of clones are totally unusable. Thirty-six percent unstable. Seven percent experience inconvenient memory loss. Sixteen percent failed to imprint and were destroyed. Only twenty-nine percent serviceable for fleet use."

It didn't take long for Axton, Roland, and zer0 to formulate a vague but nice-sounding plan that involved disabling or destroying as many of Jakobs' cloning systems as possible. Of course, that required finding said cloning systems—zer0 wiped out a few small outposts, but these were fewer than a dozen tubes each, so were unlikely to put a dent in what appeared to be a highly distributed operation.

Never mind that most of the actual cloning facilities were on Hephaestus.

[…]

"This isn't working."

When Chairman Bill Arkansas Jakobs stated the obvious to lead off a meeting, it meant something had gone completely haywire. In theory, around three hundred clones a month should have been produced by the initial build-out on Hephaestus. In reality, the first full run produced less than two hundred after deducting the otherwise-serviceable ones that were killed putting down their insane brethren.

Automating a dreadnaught cut crew requirements to around seven hundred. Which meant several months of production using existing facilities. Atlas scattered its CUBEs all over the galaxy, so it would be difficult to either shut them all down or find every single unit. Such a course proved prudent when the sole purpose was to create a few elite teams. Should one need large-scale production, it became more of an annoyance. The Jakobs board didn't even know if all of the cloning cylinders were under their control—they'd been found through old Atlas informants, a few former Atlas-turned-traitors, and more than one torture session. Stealing some of the tech from Hyperion represented a coup.

Duplicating Atlas' fast-clone technology proved extremely difficult. It seemed to rely on Eridian machinery that made very little sense to those examining it. Atlas in its heyday had been the absolute king of alien tech—so much so that initially, Atlas actually licensed Eridian weaponry to other companies for production purposes, as Atlas held all patents to implementation of those discoveries. Since the company's downfall, it survived mostly on income from its patent portfolio, as even in its mostly-devastated state (in which it produced no weapons) it was still owed royalties. Nobody wanted to be the one to set a new precedent of ignoring inter-corporate agreements, so despite being capable of ignoring these licenses with little consequence, no one did.

Unlike counterparts unknown in other galaxies far, far, away, Jakobs scientists were not shy about telling the Board how badly things were going. Though no one within Jakobs knew exactly where Jackie disappeared to, fear of her wrath kept the reports coming. Even though she had little formal power within the company's structure, her influence extended far beyond, mainly due to the network of individuals she'd yelled at, blackmailed, tricked, and yes, slept with.

"We know one thing for sure. Pushing the growth speed past where Atlas left it leads to many of the problems we're facing."

The Board found this irritating—records indicated high-speed production without errors was supposed to be possible (this is how Atlas managed to produce their assassins so quickly). Yet, as practical businesspeople, they weren't in the habit of screaming at employees honestly doing their jobs but facing difficult obstacles simply because things weren't going the way the Board wanted.

"These reports" began Lawrence Jakobs. "They say only parts of Atlas' neural-imprint regime have been found."

"And that, Lawrence, is the problem!" replied one of two scientists on the conference, entirely-too-jovially. "We don't have every bit of what Atlas used—we're making do with what we have."

"What you have isn't enough" snapped Wayne Jakobs. "Hundreds of mad, drooling, insane clones with only a handful of useful ones doesn't make for a solid navy."

"Then we need an entire neural imprinting map" said the scientist, as if this fact were as obvious as day.

"And where are we supposed to find that?" demanded Clayton Jakobs.

"Supposedly, the first operative created as part of the program imprinted perfectly. However, her personality was left intact, which led to… How do I put this? Rebellion. We need the brain, just the brain—alive. Then, we'll reverse it into a programmable format again."

Several Board members shifted uncomfortably. Nonchalantly speaking of de-braining someone seemed rather odd, but then, none of the Big Seven were bastions of upright behavior, so Jakobs might have hired a mad scientist. Or several. Especially considering that issue in Jakob's Cove which never officially happened. Hire a contractor to provide medical care, end up with an army of zombies. Perhaps hiring someone not related to a "doctor" with no degree (whose lack of ethics may have run in the family) would have been a worthwhile endeavor. Then again, given the pressure they were under to secure a reliable source of wood, some shortcuts had to be taken.

"We'll…see what we can do." Bill closed off communications. Even though he could be called a man of few morals other than those which supported maximizing Jakobs' profit, the blood, guts, and gore of biological science made him squeamish.

"Oh, so now not only do we have to build a fleet to keep the Prime Systems secure, but it's also necessary to send _another_ expeditionary force to the place where we got our asses kicked so we can crew that fleet. Am I understanding this right?"

Carson Jakobs practically shouted his question as he threw up both hands. As un-decorum as it was, everyone else agreed.

That this other galaxy quite literally fell apart remained unknown to Jakobs.


	46. Broken Fellowship

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! Christmas bonus, early posting and double posting! Warning: This means almost 15k words in one update across two chapters.

**Chapter 45 – Broken Fellowship**

"If a star goes supernova, do the other stars notice?"

Sam kept practicing her speech. She'd spent hours preparing it. Really, for someone who many, many times got out of, through, or brought resolution to situations by using only improvised

words, this drilling definitely felt unusual.

At least one thing went right—Jackie's playacting (which she'd learned to accept at face value, though it still made her wince) bamboozled someone important into calling an inter-corporate meeting. Not realizing Jakobs ranked at the top of every other corporation's "blow to hell with no warning because you guys let in Harvesters again and thus totally suck" list, Sam happily offered to explain the entire situation in the hopes she'd be able to bring unity to chaos. Then again, no one specified that the conference would be taking place aboard a Star Dreadnaught which Jackie, Tannis, and Filner absolutely assured her outclassed every warship from the borderlands to the Prime Worlds. Several times over. So if anyone _tried_ to kill Commander Shepard for working with Numero Uno on everyone else's burn list, their day would become very lasery, very quickly.

To avoid spooking the locals with a starship the size of a city, several _Vorknkx_ picked up dignitaries from each company at semi-randomly-chosen drop-points. Again, the only reason this worked stemmed from Jackie Jakobs screaming at the correct people—her reappearance on the galactic stage resulted in quite a resurgence of authority on her part. Considering even a former CEO and President of Hyperion couldn't get away with crossing her, no one else wanted to run the risk of becoming her next target. Nor did anyone see through her act.

"Ugh!" she'd spat upon getting off a videoconference with the last attendees, the Maliwans. "I want mouthwash!"

True to her word, she disappeared into the 'fresher. Sam didn't see her again for five minutes.

"The corporate bigwigs should be arriving over the next day or so" she said, almost bored-sounding. "They're going to want to know how this affects profits. They're going to demand to see me, as well, to pay tribute to that awful woman I used to be."

"I did end one centuries-old conflict by yelling" commented Sam. "So we all have our weird ways with words, I guess."

Through Shepard, Cortana called a conference of everyone who'd become part of the Commander's regular squad. She switched to life-size mode and walked around the _Normandy_'s CIC.

"So this is the part where I tell you all the secrets, you yell at me, threaten to delete me, and kick things. Except, you don't erase me because if you do, the Master Chief will have something to say about that" (he nodded once), "and you won't stand a chance against the Flood."

The Commander quietly slid a case of empty thermal clips in the general direction of those she felt might become violent, so they'd have something relatively harmless to vent their rage into. It would be better than kicking several supply crates serving as impromptu seating, seeing as it might disturb those currently sitting on them.

"Yes, I suspected we were going to lose. _Nova Vita_ was just a ruse—before you yell, hear me out! The Forerunners once wiped out all life in the galaxy to stop the Flood. But they had a plan! The genetic codes for every species, down to single-celled protozoa and even annoying insects everyone hates were stored away. Everything got reconstituted after the Halo Array did its job—and while I don't know that we possess the tech to bring all this DNA back into corporeal form, I'm pretty sure the Eridians might have it. Not that there are any, but hey… Or, the Republic Intelligence Service could…lend…a…hand?"

Her speech noticeably slowed as more and more death glares came from mentioning RISE. The contradictory nature of this shadowy organization's actions showed through clear as day. Garrus Vakarian's work with Wolf Schmidt went in the "positive" category. So did the agency's contribution to curing the genophage. At the same time, Wrex himself (having transferred from the ancient Bone Fleet dreadnaught that got dragged away by Sarah along with _Ultimatum_) insinuated some part of the Trans-Galactic Republic, likely RISE, tried to do something unknown on Tuchanka. Not knowing what someone was up to naturally made the old krogan nervous. He even went as far as to speculate ("But I'm not saying I believe it") that the Republic Intelligence Service may have been behind destabilization of the formerly-budding krogan society on his homeworld.

"Threatening to kill thousands to remove one criminal strikes me as a bit heavy-handed."

Shepard's speech was contemplative, as though there might be a possible legitimate reason for doing such a thing. Then again, as a Spectre (and having seen other Spectres, in the name of galactic peace, do far worse) she understood sometimes unpleasant means were the best way to ends.

"I don't want to imagine what Aria T'Loak would have done with a superlaser cruiser, though" replied Kasumi. "She seems entirely too…self-absorbed in her methods. Those methods not working just kind of kills it."

"Sound like someone else we know?"

Jack's anger could have melted durasteel.

As far as she knew, she'd failed _again_—she'd seen no indication her students survived the apocalypse that took the Citadel. Some small part of her recognized it wasn't fair or honest to blame herself for being unable to stop not one, but two cosmic-scale threats that happened to have her protégés in their collective crosshairs. Survivor guilt could be a powerful and irrational force, and it hit her full-on.

"Using an advanced stealth device as bait strikes me as an interesting tactic—seek out those searching for advanced technology by offering them an item of incalculable value" added Thane. "It seems to have worked in our favor, despite the original intent."

"At least we won't be dealing with the Illusive Man anymore."

Miranda Lawson. Former top Cerberus operative, defected to the Alliance post-Collector-Base.

It had been generally accepted the Illusive Man perished during an abortive attempt to strike the Citadel and the Trans-Galactic Republic flagship with a superlaser mounted on what was believed to be a Cerberus headquarters space station. Bodies had been recovered, unbeknownst to Shepard &amp; Co., then incinerated to prevent any information from being pulled via unconventional technologies. The Systems Alliance had no proof such things were possible, but having been made semi-aware of RISE and its tendency to possess fantastic gadgets, no chances were taken. Also aware Samantha Shepard had been quite dead prior to being revived by Cerberus, nobody wanted to see if anyone cared to duplicate the process.

Shepard half-expected to hear confirmation of what Sarah claimed—that most of her "missions" to "help" her crew were Cerberus set-ups, but Miranda offered no such information. She also wondered exactly how many recent events were orchestrated by RISE or other clandestine elements within the Trans-Galactic Republic.

After a few more minutes of talk (with surprisingly few kicked thermal clips) she dismissed everyone to "have fun or something" and headed upstairs to her _Normandy_ quarters despite the availability of far more spacious lodgings in the Star Dreadnaught outside. Entertainment aboard_ Ultimatum_ would keep her crew occupied for _weeks_ if there wasn't a galactic-level extinction threat on the horizon…

Locking her door, Sam sat on her bed with her head in her hands.

"Commander Shepard does not cry, Commander Shepard does not cry…" Repeating this mantra over and over, she found herself interrupted by Cortana. Expecting to be at minimum badgered, at worst called weak or lacking in resolve, she reached to turn off Cortana's projection system.

"Wait!"

"Why?" Sam's voice was hollow, her tone flat. "Why should I listen to yet another reminder that I've failed? I get it—I let everyone down. The whole galaxy stood on my shoulders, and I dropped like a wet cardboard box."

Cortana paused, which to her seemed an eternity but actually amounted to milliseconds before speaking again.

"My visits to the geth… I think the closest comparison would be a human going to the doctor or therapist."

Sam looked up, relieved that thus far, Cortana wasn't talking about her. Yet.

"We Smart AI's are supposed to be the perfection of all that artificial intelligence should be. The flexibility of an organic mind paired with near-instant abilities to solve any problem or recall any detail."

If Cortana wanted to babble about random things, Sam wasn't going to interrupt.

"Except we had one fatal flaw, one weakness. One downfall that none could escape. You know what I'm talking about."

"Rampancy."

"Yes. As the Consensus called it, 'inevitable decline.' It really, really bothered me when that term kept coming up. It meant I wasn't perfect. It meant I wouldn't always be able to fulfill my mission. Somehow, I knew that could happen—really, statistically it's impossible to be successful all the time over hundreds and hundreds of trials. But it's not something I wanted to force myself to imagine."

Sam flopped back on her bed, clearly either bored or confused. Possibly both.

"Look. I know I've been harsh. Probably to the point of utter insensitivity. And I've only gotten snippier with you lately."

"Yes."

Shepard hadn't moved. Actually, she'd turned over, so Cortana could only see her back.

"I could apologize, tell you how I regret being such a horrible…person? But I'm guessing that won't do much of anything…"

"Or" said Sam, voice muffled by a pillow, "you could never talk to me again. The whole galaxy could never talk to me again. Maybe I could sleep without Reapers, Flood, or whatever else hell has coughed up chasing me every minute of it."

The AI found herself in a quandary. How to tactfully bring up John-117? Not to say that he represented something stronger, better, and more soldier-like than Samantha Shepard. Instead, she wished to explain how she'd expanded her view of people like Sam and the Master Chief. She'd only known silent strength during her entire operational history—it was what got the Master Chief through almost everything. Even as a monumentally intelligent being, Cortana realized she'd fallen victim to the same fallacy almost every organic would run into at least once: bias imbued by small sample sizes.

She found herself relieved, at least for the moment, as Sam's door chime went off.

"Urgh. Goway."

Beep. Beep. Beepbeepbeep!

Sam covered her head with a pillow. Then two pillows.

A faint voice pierced Sam's fortress of solitude.

"God damn it, Samantha! Open this door!"

_Well, that's a first. I never remember Jack calling me by my first name before._

She let Jack punch the door a few more times before relenting.

"What do you want?" she demanded peevishly.

"Geez, Shepard, did you step in varren droppings this morning?"

"More like Reaper shit" deadpanned the Commander. "Reaper shit on my boots and Flood stew for my breakfast."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, the Trans-Galactic Republic docs say Brick will make a full recovery. They even credited me with saving his life by lopping off an arm." Jack managed a weak smile at being congratulated for conducting surgery with the sophistication of a crude butcher.

"That's nice. At least something went right today."

"Damn—I've never seen you this down…"

Sam gritted her teeth angrily. "_Because I never let you. _I can't. Never give up. Never surrender. Never give off any sign of weakness or hesitation. People need me to show resolve. People need me to inspire them. People need me to win."

Her voice rose with each statement, until she yelled the last.

"Let me take a wild guess here." Jack kept her words even, studiously avoiding the usual mock-taunting she'd use with a student in a similar situation. "You're running all the woulda-coulda-shoulda scenarios on ways the galaxy wouldn't have fallen to this…this horror show….if you'd just done that one thing you didn't do."

"I'm supposed to be two steps ahead" replied Sam glumly. "I'm supposed to prepare for everything so that I don't lose a whole damn galaxy."

"You didn't lose the galaxy any more than I let Sarah take my students."

"Oh really?" Sam laughed mirthlessly. "And how did you come to that conclusion? Please enlighten me so I can absolve myself of responsibility too!"

Jack's words gained a hard edge. "It's not about responsibility. You try to take responsibility for everything, you're gonna fail more times than you can count. It's about accepting that sometimes, some big fucking cosmic-sized force that no one has any way of fighting comes and knocks you flat on your ass."

Sam smiled. "So I definitely needed one of those poles Joker always said Garrus had, so I won't fall because a pole in your butt is really unpleasant."

Cortana rejoined the conversation. "Universe paging Samantha Shepard! Priority flash traffic: You have limits!"

"Oh, is that what you were getting at?" Sam started to deflate again.

"Yes, that's exactly what I was getting at. Everyone can end up facing something falling completely outside their specializations and specifications. Ask a fish to fly, and see what happens. There's no possible way any fish could realistically be expected to understand what flying is!"

"There are flying fish…" Jack smiled nastily, hoping humor at Cortana's expense might perk Sam up.

"Technically, those fish don't meet the definition of powered flight. This is because…"

"Oh stuff it! You know what I meant!"

"What is this, some attempt to keep me going? I want to sleep." Sam made a show of trying to wiggle under her blankets without moving too much. It didn't work very well since she still lay on top of them.

"Look, Shepard. Brick talked some sense into me. I still wish I'd been there, but I've learned to accept that I wasn't. Putting that on me would be like saying it was your fault for taking me on the mission that took me away from the school!"

Sam said nothing. Realizing no more would come of their attempt to snap her out of whatever funk had taken hold, Cortana shut off her image and Jack left.

[…]

"This isn't the first time we've seen this happen" began Garrus at a meeting he'd called after both Cortana and Jack gave him the inside scoop on the Commander's current state.

"I witnessed Sam have a minor breakdown before the assault on the Collector Base" continued Miranda. "I kept it private out of respect for her, but this is a whole different situation."

"And I watched her turn into a complete nutcase" asserted the aged Maya.

"And a lot of us remember what happened after Liara died" added Miranda.

"Consequences…unforeseen." (inhale) "Repeated brushes with death appear to have impacted Shepard psychologically."

"You don't say?" replied Ashley a bit sarcastically while glaring in Mordin's direction. "No, I don't think nearly dying three times would leave me the same either!"

"It is not merely the repeated resuscitations which I believe have caused Shepard some distress" insisted Samara. "She has repeatedly been expected to solve intractable problems, often on short notice. Especially since her transformation and subsequent redemption after the Xytler incident, her entire existence has been consumed by a galactic need for her to remain its sole savior."

"Neural imprinting may come undone, complicate matters" added Mordin. "Thought stable. Clearly wrong." (inhale) "Recommend…"

"Mordin, I think experiments would do more harm than good at this point." Athena, herself a progeny of test tubes, had a feeling trying to "fix" the Commander would backfire rather spectacularly.

"_Neural imprinting?"_ demanded Miranda, somewhat shocked. "We never had to resort to that…"

"I think we're forgetting the most important question. How do we proceed?" Garrus cut straight to the core issue. "What if Sam is really, truly unable to fulfill her expected role any longer?"

"We have observed in situations similar to this one that organics often resort to rhetorically exhorting the individual in question to return to their duties with varying degrees of success. Differing tactics have been employed in occurrences the Consensus has observed—some organics respond to positive stimuli while others are more moved by appeals to their apparent failure through their current state."

"I'm all for a good pep talk" boomed Brick. "But sometimes, that just doesn't work. This isn't Pandora."

"It took me almost a year to reach where I am today" said Jackie quietly. "And I was an unusually fast-moving case. With far fewer items of existential consequence involved."

"As insightful and inspiring as this is, it still presumes there's some way to get Shepard back to what she used to be. What if there isn't?"

No one wanted to admit this possibility or confront such an eventuality. Garrus, though, decided if someone was going to make a call that Sam could no longer be counted on, he'd have to be the one to do it.

"I never took you as the jealous type, Garrus" added James. "I think some of us feel like you're trying to shove her out of the way."

"Why would I do that?" The turian showed genuine confusion.

"You had your own command, and once you got a taste of it, you decided you liked it" shot back the N7.

"James, I think that's a little extreme" offered Tali hesitantly. "Garrus has always been a natural leader—you weren't there when he led the second fireteam during the Collector Base assault. And how much do you know about his time on Omega?"

"Isn't it also true that you were only on your first Captaincy as well, which was cut rather short?" added Ashley.

Neither could be sure if the other wanted to re-litigate the shipyard issue, so both assumed not and hoped the other would do likewise. This proved to be a correct assumption and helped avoid further conflict. Still, that it was Ashley Williams who brought up James Vega's abortive first attempt at command didn't sit well, even if she hadn't meant any insult.

"Okay, okay! That was probably a bad theory to air."

"Whatever Garrus' motivations, he is correct" asserted Samara. "We must decide what course of action we should take in the absence of Samantha Shepard."

"Well, she has a big speech to give tomorrow" insisted Jackie. "I hope she'll be ready for that."

"And what if she isn't?" challenged Garrus. "What do we tell everyone? 'Sorry, the person who was going to tell you how the galaxy is doomed isn't in today?'"

"Someone will have to explain it" answered Wrex. "Half of me wants to go up there and kick her ass until she gets down here like she always has. That's how a krogan would handle it."

"She is not krogan" countered Legion. "We believe such actions would be counterproductive."

"I know" growled Wrex. "That's why I said _half_ of me."

"Don't count her out just yet." Miranda saw Shepard bounce back from her episode pre-suicide-mission and bring everyone through alive, so she hoped against hope the Commander would accomplish the same on a smaller scale.

"Whatever happens, we're in for a hell of a ride" muttered the krogan.

[...]

"This isn't suspicious or a giant trap at all" fumed Mallory Maliwan. Even though her "shuttle" carried quite the luxury appointments, she maintained a distinct feeling of unease after being told to wait at a remote location for pickup. Her husband wasn't even allowed to take the same ship—he'd been plucked from a system many lightyears away.

All she'd been permitted to know revolved around the Trans-Galactic Republic—those big-starship-flying-do-gooders who'd stomped JVLN in another galaxy—providing transportation. They seemed to be willing to help against the twisted Harvesters whose return caught virtually everyone by surprise. That these apparent wielders of super-ships had been evicted by a superior force remained unknown to Mallory and everyone else who shared her space in the galactic plane. Their relation to one United Defense Command likewise drew no attention.

Even as she feared falling victim to some ruse, she availed herself of the shuttle's comforts. Mallory, like all others invited to the conference, boarded a ship without being aware of its nature due to being blindfolded until safely inside. What she did see wouldn't have been considered unusual on the opulent Thrace. Auto-massaging furniture, a hot tub, several food and beverage dispensers (no cost, of course), automated wait-staff to retrieve said food, and several large-format video displays.

"Let's see what's on the news…"

Nothing local. Of course not—she doubted any outsider would carry whatever broadcasts she usually watched. How said broadcasts reached this far, she'd leave to scientists specializing in areas other than weaponry. Theoretical physics, maybe.

"Home Senate debates new defensive measures" scrolled across a screen at the bottom.

Some humanoid alien she'd never seen before read the news. Mallory did a double-take when it occurred to her that she understood every word the alien said. He had long fur everywhere, including on the face. A snout instead of a nose, seemed rather short in stature compared to what looked like a human sitting next to him, and appeared to be articulating through his fur as well as verbally, though she of course had no idea what meaning such rippling might carry.

"Today, Intelligence Committee members were joined by Republic Intelligence Service Director David Vance to unveil new plans to protect the union against a distant but fearsome threat dubbed the Infection. Our best scientists have confirmed this biological plague is in fact real, not a figment of some credit-hungry admiral's imagination…"

She hadn't tasted fresh vegetables for months—trips out into the borderlands involved some sacrifices, mainly you ate what you brought unless you enjoyed canned goods every day. Sure, a larger ship would have the room to stock enough perishables to last months, but any smaller vessels such as the one she and her husband travelled in didn't have the capacity. Seeing as farms were few and mostly limited to producing goods for local interests, produce got flash-frozen for long journeys. The comparative poverty of the galaxy's outer rim really hit you in the face as a well-heeled traveler, forced to see how "the rest" lived.

"…debate over increasing militarization of the Republic Intelligence Service. Our correspondent, Herf Kalabar, has more."

Cut to another alien. Quite the opposite of the previous, he possessed no hair whatsoever. Instead, large eyes protruded from the sides of a rather squid-looking head covered in reddish-brown skin. These other galaxies appeared to have far greater diversity of appearance than her own.

"It is commonly known that various political leaders within the Home Senate dislike referring to the Judicial Department's peacekeepers as an Army or a Navy. It was argued that empowering the Republic Intelligence Service would allow seeing and preventing wars before they started, which isn't unreasonable considering how few conflicts we've had recently. That said, many both inside the government and out are uncomfortable with the notion of an organization supposedly responsible only for information gathering also heavily influencing what is for all intents and purposes, military policy."

"Huh. A non-corporate government" she harrumphed.

Charts appeared depicting expenditures on "defense" versus "intelligence." Naturally, the second bar stretched at least twice as far as the first.

"Constructing large-scale vessels under the intelligence budget seems to have permitted more of them than were expected" continued the alien named "Herf Kalabar." "Initial leaks from the Intelligence Committee suggest that at least two more Star Dreadnaughts are planned, despite vigorous claims initially that four would be 'more than enough.' As part of the compromise, advanced armoring and heavy automation will be installed on two supercarriers—_Organa_ and _Antilles_."

Further enjoyment of this news broadcast got cut short as two soldiers entered to escort Mallory aboard. Her shuttle (so she thought—_Vorknkx_-type ships stretched 200m) had docked, they said.

Again blindfolded, she had no idea how far she walked and rode (whirring made her think either tram or elevator) before being allowed to see where she was.

"Well."

Massive sloped windows, probably five or more meters high, allowed a stunning view of space. The room itself stretched wide enough to accommodate (she counted quickly) six of the gargantuan panels in a row with enough depth to park some very large vehicles within. Not that the place evoked a greasy garage at all—quite the contrary as chandeliers hung from tall ceilings, lighting seemed to have been designed to evoke a "castle" or "royal" theme with emitters bearing vague resemblance to candles, and a great wooden table dominated the whole place.

The only break from an otherwise-soaring theme came from the deck—the same basic, dull metal she'd seen in the ship that brought her here.

Noticing her awareness, Admiral Allison Nimitz stepped forward to greet the newcomer.

"Welcome to the conference, Mallory."

"I'm guessing no one else is here yet." Her eyes swept high-backed empty chairs arranged around the table she'd seen upon entering.

"Not on this deck" replied the Admiral, whose name Mallory read off her uniform.

"Admiral Nimitz. It is good to be here."

"Given the circumstances, it is fortunate we are here at all." Nimitz's voice suggested more behind that statement, but she didn't elaborate.

Within a half-hour, all required attendees sat in the conference room. A podium in the middle suggested there would be a speaker—the executives had no idea who. Representing Hyperion: Juan Pablo Rhees alone. He had enough trouble keeping his board in line and didn't need them here. Representing Jakobs, Bill Arkansas of the same name. He'd hoped to find Jackie, but she deliberately made herself scarce, thus he didn't even know she resided at the conference location. The Maliwans brought their company to the table, as did Torgue Flexington for his. Ronald Dahl, more figurehead than anything, represented Dahl Corporation. Unlike Torgue, Maliwan, and Jakobs, family name meant nothing for him. As always, Vladof "attended" via vid-screen that showed no face, only the hammer-sickle they were known for. Tediore, having not been a major player in the previous war due to not having a presence in the starship market, showed the same pretty face it always used in advertisements.

Miss Thalia Tediore: every bit the walking stereotype both in physical traits and personality that went with it. Blonde, blue eyes, and a well-regarded body, but considering her position minimal intelligence by comparison to the others. She had been called Jackie Jakobs without the smarts by many (which "old Jackie" considered an insult to herself). Without accounting for Jackie's recent reforms, this would have been fairly accurate. Her company's history read like a warning against overindulging one's offspring.

Born to extremely wealthy parents residing on Thrace, she decided that her life goal would be to "make the world a better place." Unfortunately, due to her upbringing, she had very little idea of how such a task might be accomplished, complaining that "it's impossible to find anyone to help" within the sheltered confines of Thrace. Urban legend claimed she'd even asked what agents to call in order to "bring in some poor people." No records backed this up, but knowing how ditzy Thalia could be, the story gave a disturbingly accurate picture of her personality.

Her parents, major investors in several large corporations including Atlas, were old money dating back centuries. To make sure "our little baby" achieved her dream, an entire new company appeared out of nowhere about thirty years ago (Thalia looked twenty-five but in actuality she had just turned thirty-nine). Backed by the might of Tediore Capital Investments, the company existed to feed Thalia's ego above all else, producing inexpensive, some would say cheap, weaponry that readily sold in the Outer Colonies and Borderlands. The current "self-defense" theme only magnified Thalia's belief in her own importance—"I'm making sure the hardworking people of the rough parts of the galaxy have a way to protect themselves!" she'd said.

Of course, for providing such a magnanimous "service," she demanded a leviathan compensation package—one that loomed so large it actually hampered the company's operations. The only way to alleviate this issue turned out to be a new "digistruct-reload" which enabled guns to be even less costly to manufacture since removable magazines were no longer necessary. Early issues with prototypes exploding in users' hands were attributed to "quality control issues" which were fully resolved.

She'd raged upon receiving a summons to the present corporate summit, only placated by two things: a "super-luxury" shuttlecraft to take her there and the fact that Jackie Jakobs was apparently hosting. Jackie merely being the inviter, not the host, went over Thalia's head as she angrily demanded to know "where my girlfriend is at!"

"I can't even…" she'd whined, before amusing herself with an entertainment holotable outside the conference chamber.

Now, she fidgeted in her chair and constantly adjusted her glasses. To prevent Thalia from making a (bigger) fool of herself, she wore glasses during all corporate business. Even though she insisted she felt "ten times smarter" wearing them, the real purpose was to surreptitiously feed her information so she could react appropriately to situations outside her limited worldview. Which meant pretty much anything not involving cosmetics, shoes, dresses, or shopping ("But only at Helgman Margut and Swiks Tenth Avenue!").

Now all awaited the arrival of "someone with a very compelling proposal that would benefit everyone" said Admiral Nimitz. Again, she failed to disclose the drubbing her forces had taken and the actual reason for this meeting—join us in fighting back or join our former home in disgusting defeat.

"If a star goes supernova, do the other stars notice?"

Whatever Samantha Shepard's actual mental state, by her appearance she'd snapped out of her depression—or, at least could put on enough of a show to keep everyone thinking she'd not gone off the deep end. Wearing an inappropriately-tight (by military standards) latex dress emblazoned with the "N7" logo (as if that meant anything to these people), she pretty much had everyone's attention (or "attention" in a few male cases) from walking into the room. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail (again, "N7" accessorized, in this case a tie), actual eyeshadow and lipstick—quite the departure for a woman who normally shunned all these things.

"I'm sure you are all familiar with Sirens" she continued. "After all, it was Lilith Cashlin whose death destroyed the Harvesters, or so we thought. The Cosmic Cleansing Sphere event unleashed another force, arguably the most dangerous enemy we have ever faced in my home galaxy. That is, until something else came along that made the first threat look tame."

As Sam spoke, a computer automatically played back holograms of each item, switching from Reapers/Harvesters to Sarah and finally a collection of Flood/Infected.

"Some of you" (her gaze lingered on Thalia Tediore) "may be used to hearing only of great success, and not of the risks, costs, and sweat of others that it took to get there. There are those among you" (she looked at Torgue, having thoroughly digested a briefing on each company) "who seem more concerned with form over function. Regardless of these predispositions, my name is Samantha Shepard, and I am here to warn you of your impending doom."

"What? Totally uncool!" Thalia's glasses flashed words only she could read. "CEASE AND DESIST OR YOU MAY BE REMOVED."

"As I was saying" said Sam with some hint of annoyance, "there is an existential threat against us, against you, against all galaxies. I won't sugarcoat it or lie to you—it defeated us. I would _like_ to say that we gave it our all and fought as hard as we could, but the truth is, we didn't. Bickering, petty grievances, and hesitation took precedence over survival. We paid a steep price for that. I don't know how many managed to escape, but in a galaxy of trillions I estimate survivors to be a fraction of that—a few hundred million at most."

While she elaborated, holographic Flood filled the room in all their twisted, misshapen glory. Several attendees noticeably flinched as animations of the infection process played out in every excruciating, bloody detail.

"The Trans-Galactic Republic cannot save us this time."

Star Destroyers replaced masses of flesh.

"Their technology, though formidable, does not hold up against the worst this Flood has to offer."

Video feeds of biotic Flood crashing through shields and into armor ran behind Samantha as she spoke.

"This development is indirectly our own fault, as it adapted some of our own native resources to gain the ability to ignore the Trans-Galactic Republic's chief advantage: practical, powerful energy shielding that normally blocks just about anything, be they physical ordinance or particle weapons. Had we known, it might have been possible to slow the process down, alter it, distort it, something! But we had other issues."

Imagery depicting Sarah's destruction of many words took over, along with a large hologram of the Siren herself.

"This woman, known to some as Sarah and 'The Lady' to others, terrorized our galaxy and was directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions at least."

Before Samantha could continue, she found Bill Arkansas Jakobs' hand raised. Loathe to stop, she nevertheless called on him like a teacher in a classroom.

"Ma'am, that couldn't possibly be the same 'Lady' who has basically had her thumb on my spine for years, could it?"

"I have no direct knowledge of your situation" she replied. "Still, I'm willing to take a guess that it probably was."

Her eyes swept the room, daring anyone else to speak up. They kept quiet.

"Apparently, she was created by a group she called the Forebears, which according to a researcher from this galaxy were actually known here as Eridians."

This sentence prompted a flurry of hand-waving and raising. Instead of indulging them, Sam pursed her lips before going on, sounding even more irritated than before. Elevating her voice as if she had to speak over others, she described what was known to her based upon Patricia Tannis' observations/rantings.

The connection between Sarah, the Flood, and the Eridians began to crystalize in the minds of her audience. Shepard hammered the point home anyway.

"As much as most of us detest her methods, Sarah was correct in saying that continued use of our faster-than-light technologies would be deeply damaging to space-time. This is what let in the Flood, and once it took hold, even she couldn't put a dent in it."

Sam wrapped up by exhorting the executives to bring their companies' full resources to bear before it was too late. She couldn't use the inspirational wind-up she'd employed previously at the Collector Base—she found herself having to appeal to concepts other than honor, family, duty, and unity.

_Tailor your speech to your audience…_

"Each of you has led your company through trying, difficult times. Each of you has the knowledge, the experience, to keep yourself afloat in a galaxy where only the best survive."

She got in a subtle dig at the corporatism that gripped her new home anyway.

"If you really are as good as you claim to be, you're not going to let some competitor take all the profits and accolades. You're going to go after it and grab it, because the moment you hesitate, another will take what could have been yours."

Sam felt like she'd need to take a leaf out of Jackie's book afterward.

"We stumbled. We tripped. And we watched while the skags tore up our gardens, with no time to replant before the winter. Don't do that. Don't be like us. Don't follow our example into extinction."

After the speech, the Siren Sarah floated in on a hoverchair. Immensely weakened from teleporting so much so far, she clung to life for the moment, though Trans-Galactic Republic medical personnel were unsure how to re-energize her. Despite her lack of strength, she levitated the conference table (causing chairs to scoot backward), then teleported herself onto it, after which she collapsed into a heap, bringing the table crashing down.

"Still making trouble…" Sam shook her head.

She could see Sarah hiding a mischievous smile as the Siren got pulled back onto her hoverchair and sent back to Medical.

Once the little demonstration concluded, Shepard moved to mix with the assorted bigwigs to gauge their reaction.

JAKOBS IS NOT COOL.

"Why is that, Mr. Torgue?"

The Maliwans provided a slightly quieter, less rambunctious explanation of the anonymous tip that led them to believe Jakobs had something to do with Flood-ified Harvesters.

"So Jakobs experimented with slipspace?"

Bill Arkansas Jakobs pulled Samantha aside, earning looks from the others who weren't through speaking with her.

"I will keep a long story very short. Jakobs Corporation has prided itself on crafting powerful weapons without use of elemental effects or the promethium that tends to accompany such designs. We utilize a technology capable of accelerating a fired round by passing it through an alternate dimension—which appears to be related to the place spewing these…Flood-things. That give our weapons their stopping power."

"Were you working on larger prototypes that went haywire?" Sam could only imagine what horrors Jakobs might then have accidentally unleashed.

"Actually, no" laughed Bill. "And it's thanks to that crazy woman."

"Wait, she had influence here?"

Things continued to connect in the most random of ways as the Jakobs Chairman detailed his dealings with "The Lady," now unmasked as Sarah. In essence, through a combination of threats, bribes, and shady dealings she and her Grigori pressured Bill to keep a lid on further "slipcelerator" research over the past two years, sealing away products which in one case was only days away from premiering. Several promising prototypes also mysteriously vanished despite heavy security. This last fact compelled a powerful chairman to obey the words of a woman he'd never seen beyond a video link or met in person. If her underlings could sneak into Fort Jakobs, what else might they be capable of if angered?

"All this being said, I believe we have a good chance at holding off any of these 'Flood' on our own" concluded Bill Jakobs. "Since the problem slipcelerators caused can't possibly get any worse" (Sam grimaced) "we will unlock the full power of our developments to send these nightmares packing!"

The Chairman excused himself to take a call, leaving the galaxy's would-be uniter to wander among those who hadn't already taken off.

Approached by the Maliwans, she braced for another round of insane explanations, only to confront a simple question.

"You've worked with the Trans-Galactic Republic quite a bit, haven't you?"

Malcolm wanted to know if Benjamin Reid's words had any truth to them, having remembered the captain's offhand comment about arms sales.

"Yeah, why?" She wondered if he somehow knew about her stint under the United Defense Command and Maximilian Xytler—fueled by Trans-Galactic Republic technology but utterly lacking the ideals espoused in the official motto.

"One of their captains suggested there might be an opportunity. You may or may not be aware that Torgue and Maliwan have formed an alliance. Similar to JVLN, minus the evil intent."

"Unless causing explosions because it's cool counts as evil" added Mallory.

"I like explosions!" A nasty smile played over Sam's face.

"Anyway" continued Malcolm, "Benjamin Reid told us that there could be sales openings for us within the Trans-Galactic Republic based on the strength of our diverse offerings against virtually any enemy."

"Why are you asking me this?" Sam's eyes bugged out in confusion. "Admiral Nimitz is that way." She even pointed to emphasize the fact.

Mallory elaborated on Reid's rather disapproving words for actions taken at Plutus, after which this side-channel request made slightly more sense.

"So I'd be a good word, then." Sam crossed her arms. Totally figures someone wanted to use her for something else. In a nutshell, her discontent from constant revivals revolved around the notion that the galaxy could not function without her—that she was absolutely required to maintain the peace. Clearly, her presence wasn't enough this time as the Flood pushed civilization to the brink despite her best efforts. It may have been selfish, but she was sick of being depended on when matters of existential importance came up. Her background offered no consolation either as the psychological scars from Liara's death and her involvement in the brutal reign of the United Defense Command were hidden, not healed.

Both Maliwans were baffled. Everything they'd heard about Samantha Shepard pointed to a galactic savior who selflessly steered others toward the greater good—and here that woman hesitated to help with a simple action that could save many lives by providing superior defenses against a seemingly-implacable enemy.

"Well, yes…" said Malcolm hesitantly. "We were hoping you'd convince Nimitz that despite our disagreements over how to solve the Jakobs problem, the MALITOR Alliance wishes to assist in the defense of our home with minimal eye to profits or other compensation."

_And that krogan warlord wants just one more planet, then he'll stop asking, promise!_

She knew prejudice could steer her wrong—Jackie, for example. Regardless, Sam felt uneasy in a room full of profit-mongers who, based on her briefing, seemed to think maximizing corporate earnings to be more important than breathing. Had she spoken with Judy Hann, Shepard might've realized the error in lumping the innocent in with bandits. In reality, a skag-eat-skag galaxy caused most rational actors to assume a with-us-or-against-us stance lest they be backstabbed, tricked, or betrayed as had happened countless times in the past. Unaware of this as most memories of Pandora fell into the "never again" category, Sam maintained her belief that these corporate bigwigs were only here because Jackie bullied them, not out of any genuine desire to lend a hand.

"I'll see what I can do."

Her inflection suggested the Commander would give it the barest minimum of a push before moving on to other things.

A reception following Shepard's speech had been geared to last hours, but the guests drifted away in less than thirty minutes. Trans-Galactic Republic troops led blindfolded travelers away one at a time to stealth ships which would carry them back to their home ports.

Once she could see no more activity from visitors, Sam walked over to Admiral Allison Nimitz.

"Torgue and Maliwan are interested in selling ships and guns to your fleet in support of the anti-Flood effort."

Her flat, emotionless delivery compared to her speech of an hour ago shocked Nimitz. It was almost as if she didn't care.

"And we'd be interested in browsing their wares. Why didn't I hear about this earlier, before they all left?"

"Because they thought they wouldn't get a sale without me pushing."

Again, hollow words hit the Admiral like the front end of a bulk freighter. Something about Samantha Shepard had changed, and drastically so.

"Of course we'd be interested in anything that might help with this Flood problem!" The Admiral looked at Shepard as though lack of enthusiasm on this front constituted a criminal act.

"Supposedly, Ben Reid gave them a tongue-lashing over apparent lack of morals or something."

"I don't approve of what they've done either. Using weapons of mass destruction on populated worlds constitutes a war crime under the Standardized Regulations of Military Law and would normally face severe punishment. However, given that the nearest courts are millions of lightyears away and we face a threat that has nearly wiped us out, if I have to work with less-than-upright individuals, I will do so."

Sam tried to hold back, she really did. But to contain the resulting explosion would've required the molecularly-bonded, reinforced armor slated for installation on Trans-Galactic Republic supercarriers.

"The last time a civilized government attempted to 'work with less than upright individuals,' we had a little problem. I don't think you'd remember it because you weren't here" she seethed.

"Sam, I…"

Bowling over the Admiral without so much as a "Sorry, ma'am," Shepard's tear continued.

"We turned to a military junta led by a bloodthirsty bastard who ordered me to burn half a dozen worlds that posed no military threat. I'll be the first to admit I shouldn't have done that—'just following orders' isn't a defense when committing crimes against civilization. I did it anyway. And you know what? I don't know if I could stop myself from doing it again. I may have raged about Sarah's tactics back when it looked like we could survive without selling our souls, but at this point, a few billion civilian casualties seem like they might be the price we have to pay to stop this Flood."

She didn't mention the significantly-contributing mental distress immediately preceding her descent into nihilism.

"That's the tactic the last people facing the Flood used. They wiped out their whole damn galaxy. The Flood eats everything. Human, asari, batarian, vorcha, turian… Even quarians!"

"So you're saying this entire conference had no purpose?" Now Shepard found herself on the other end of a disbelieving, I-can't-believe-you-actually-said-that-look.

"I'm saying unless we're willing to go all the way, throw the rulebook out, purge anything that might even have the slightest chance of being infected by the Flood in the hottest fires imaginable, we're going to be doing this for nothing."


	47. Clear Purple

**Chapter 46 – Clear Purple**

It had not escaped notice at the Republic Intelligence Service that the disappearance of missiles intended to blast the Infection from a distant galaxy correlated with the firing of a certain ship's weapon. It was thought such a weapon might be able to "disappear" the Infection entirely as well, so plans began to locate and obtain any vessel carrying this device. RISE's virtual omnipresence throughout the Trans-Galactic Republic's fleet let it see anywhere and everywhere. Its agents infiltrated organizations throughout Gamma-Six, giving eyes and ears within CRITICAL prior to what appeared to be a relocating of assets to Gamma-Three.

Through those eyes, RISE watched Gamma-Six implode.

Realizing the threat escalated drastically, the Council activated its remote agent whom it had gotten its "hands" on through CRITICAL.

She took the call in private. Honestly, Athena had hoped never to hear from her "other" masters again—they seemed entirely too shady compared to InterSpec. Not that she knew InterSpec had been partially a creation of the Republic Intelligence Service to snare someone just like herself…

"Operative, you know what this means. Initiate Clear Purple."

In theory, Athena's task included assessing, in her opinion, whether or not the action would be justified. Given the target resided hundreds of thousands of lightyears away with no functioning sensors on it, she just pushed the button.

And found herself lifted off the ground by a very, _very_ angry krogan.

Urdnot Wrex had his suspicions—even more so when Mordin Solis informed him even the Special Tasks Group couldn't figure out exactly what RISE attempted on Tuchanka. Given what Victus told him about the bomb, he assumed the Republic's clandestines sought to have the ability to detonate it for themselves, since any tampering with or destruction of its trigger would cause it to go off.

One reason Wrex remained on Tuchanka for as long as possible had to do with sorting through all the information he'd gathered through his various sources. One of them may or may not have been his old sparring partner Aleena. In any case, he determined, as Garrus before, that InterSpec could not be fully trusted. It became trivial to place watches on Athena after that. She might have noticed, but didn't show any sign of caring.

"You'll die for that."

She knew krogan could be loud, boisterous, blustery. That this one exhibited none of those traits, instead radiating quiet fury, only served to scare her more.

"Orders…gurgle…"

"_Orders?_" roared Wrex. "Orders turned Samantha Shepard into a madwoman. Orders let that turian bastard run loose. Orders stopped up our only chances of fighting off this…whatever the hell it's called now. The krogan had a chance, and the Republic Intelligence Service stabbed us in the back. If my species is doomed, I'll make sure we're remembered!"

He could tell the puny human struggled to breathe. Red at the edge of his vision taunted him, exhorting him to finish the job and turn Athena's head into a pulpy mass. Instead, he satisfied himself by snapping both her legs.

"You're not going anywhere, pyjack. I'm going to go get Shepard, and see what she has to say. Stay!" he commanded, as if speaking to a varren.

"If you don't like what I did, I'm not apologizing. Besides, I didn't kill her—only broke a few bones. Considering she just destroyed my homeworld, I think she got off light."

He led Shepard straight to the scene.

She squinted and made a face—legs were not supposed to bend that way. Thankfully, no compound fractures (even if there were any, a stint in high-potency bacta would have her right in hours), but it still looked awful.

"Huh."

"This treasonous" (some word the translator couldn't handle) "sets off a bomb meant to kill every last krogan on Tuchanka, and all you say is 'huh'?"

"Well, given the scale of what's happened lately, I think all our homeworlds are toast."

He couldn't, wouldn't believe Sam didn't care.

"Maybe we'll rebuild" she suggested, as if victory were a question rather than the certainty he'd always seen her act on.

"Maybe? Maybe I should have kicked your ass when I first thought about it."

She'd seen angry krogan before, and noticed this one trending toward that direction.

"Why? What good would that have done? Sure, you get express your rage that I'm not the battlefield-controlling goddess and uber-diplomat everyone seems to think I am and always need to be." Mocking Wrex: bad idea. Cares given: zero. She kept going.

"Maybe someone should revive Sarah! She'd probably do a much better job at destroying things than me!"

"If you were anyone else, you'd be dead where you stand" thundered the Urdnot chief.

"Need I remind you" (she didn't care that usually one dug _out_ of holes) "I've already died at least once. Possibly more than that, depending on how you define the term."

In his long life, Wrex learned much regarding human expressions. Inflection and the literal meaning of words could actually be interpreted as the exact opposite of what was said—this appeared to be such a time. Shepard sounded entirely too happy for the circumstances.

"So do you actually want me to kill you?" If Sam played word-games, he'd go right along.

"You could. I don't think I'd mind."

Athena continued groaning on the floor while the two argued.

"So, what, you lose one. You give up, or do you gather your friends and allies, and try again?"

Sam laughed, a high-pitched cackle that made no sense coming from her.

"To what end? I could clone everyone a thousand times, I could build ten thousand ships, and we'd still lose it all!"

"You've decided the war is lost. So you just lay down and die?"

"Eh. I might take a few shots first…" She grinned, as if this were some crowning epiphany.

All pretense of seriousness long ago met the airlock. Wrex grabbed Athena by the arm and hauled her away, fully ready to explain to any doctors why this woman's legs were broken. He also wanted to take his leave of Samantha before her ridiculous attitude drove him into a bloodrage.

Sam decided to lock herself away in her quarters aboard _Normandy_ despite having confronted Wrex (and Athena) in a large room aboard _Ultimatum_. What she did during that time no organic individual knew directly, though Cortana monitored the Commander's declining state while providing reports to the crew. She'd unofficially begun treating Garrus as Acting Captain/Commander—Miranda begged off as she remained in command of _Revenant Phoenix_. The death glares she'd received from Jack and Brick upon Cortana's suggestion that the XO take over might also have had something to do with it.

"Looks like that hypothetical might be coming to pass" remarked James. "I apologize for questioning your motives, Scars. Just seemed so…out of the blue to think about someone other than Shepard leading us."

"There's been a lot going on lately" replied the turian. "As the humans say, no harm, no foul."

"So what is the next course of action?" Samara, of course. Never one to stay still while missions beckoned.

"Find the best way to blow those slimy bastards back to the hell they crawled out of!" bellowed Brick enthusiastically. His left arm clanked—it no longer existed as flesh-and-blood, but rather a very large mechanical device constructed by Trans-Galactic Republic doctors. He'd been offered a more "life-like" prosthetic, but fell in love with the "monster" as they called it, at first sight. Strong enough to punch through durasteel, precise enough to groom a gundark (assuming it sat still), and powerful enough to squeeze the life from most Infected/Flood, it took Brick's obsession with punching to a whole new level.

"Dude, everyone wants to do that" said Gaige. "Question is, how? Knowing you wanna blow something up and actually finding the dynamite aren't the same thing!"

"Obviously, we need some serious firepower" added Ashley. "Nothing we have now it going to be enough, though I'm betting if we had more of these Star Dreadnaughts we might have a chance!"

"I suspect in your intellectual inanity, you are asking the wrong questions."

Tannis earned nasty looks for that comment, but no one moved to speak over her.

"Nobody ever completed the survey under the Altar. I believe the anomalous energy reading at Pandora's center to be Eridian in origin."

"So?" demanded Maya's younger incarnation. "Why does that matter?"

"The Eridians left this universe" explained Tannis, reducing her air of superiority slightly. "The phenomenon at Pandora's center may be the means to that end."

"You sound like Shepard" groused Wrex. "Cut and run!"

"Who said anything about leaving?" countered Jackie. "They're supposed to be ridiculously advanced—I might or might not have swiped copies of Tannis' notes—why not see if we can bring them back to help us?"

"Great idea!" exclaimed Ashley. "Except, how do we do that?"

"I had asked for a team to examine the planet's core" huffed the scientist. "It never happened."

[…]

Sally McKnight found herself among an unusually-large cadre of survivors from an event now dubbed "The Citadel Rout." Many of them couldn't believe they'd not been consumed by the wave of twisted flesh which washed over the galactic capital. Then again, instantaneous transportation away kept a good number from the claws of the Infection. Of note, more and more sources were referring to it as "the Flood," which made sense considering like the natural phenomenon, it displaced and destroyed those in its path. The name wasn't relevant to her—continuing to live was.

"Well, I suppose that's probably helpful" she said to no one in particular, regarding a large transfer of Trans-Galactic Republic personnel to _Elizabeth Booker_. The hybridization of Thanix, "lightning guns" (no better name occurred to anyone, even years later), and superlasers intrigued people whose society thought they held the pinnacle of weapon technology.

"We remain on this ship until an opportunity arises to reappropriate it" intoned a special agent to her followers. "We cannot simply take the ship and run—they would notice." The vessel also lacked the range necessary to carry it to the Home Galaxy, so at best, RISE hoped to take a gigantic swing against the Infection even if it meant dooming other galaxies to subspace anomalies or similar.

"In the meantime" she instructed, "gather as much information as possible regarding _Booker_'s forward weapon."

As attaches and various "technical" assistants, RISE agents gained increasing access to systems aboard _Elizabeth Booker_. These agents experienced the same conundrum facing the original crew—copy-paste technology whose mechanics escaped the grasp of PhDs and engineers carrying decades of experience could not be comprehended simply by looking at its control panels. The Hegemony grabbed the technology and reverse-engineered it from Leviathan of Dis, having no more clue about its mechanics than anyone obtaining it after them. Sure, Cerberus made the process more _efficient_, but the core of how the weapon channeled its energy remained an enigma.

Operatives did note _Booker_'s weapon had some kind of restraint system that prevented it from operating at full power—somewhere along the lines of 65% and no higher. The restriction existed purely in software, though, so if someone removed the block the beam would then fire at maximum without any modifications to focusing crystals, amplification chambers, or power generators.

"Probably rips open space itself" muttered one into his personal audio log.

This offhand comment hit closer to the actual truth than anyone would realize, at least for now.

Aside from personnel placed quietly aboard _Booker_, the Republic Intelligence Service avoided any other dealings with "The Fleet That Lived." A small glob of stories coalesced into a hurricane—all saying the same thing: "I was flying near the Citadel, trying to avoid getting killed, when I suddenly found myself docked with _Ultimatum_ and have no idea how I got there, then big purple flash." Many ideas swirled regarding how this happened, until someone decided to set the record straight.

In the interest of keeping rumors to a minimum, Garrus made the decision to tell everyone the truth.

"Spirits, Sam usually does this…" He struggled to put together an announcement which would be played fleetwide. Ultimately, he decided to just do it live. The humans called situations like this "trial by fire." In the Hierarchy, such dropping of less-experienced individuals into positions requiring more responsibility would never have happened—in fact, over-promotion got blamed _up_, not down, since those making the decision gave someone a job they could not handle. Surely, someone of greater authority existed…

"Admiral Allison Nimitz broadcasting in the clear to the fleet. Some of you may be curious how we survived the Battle at the Citadel, considering its one-sided nature. The truth is generally preferable to lies or rumors in a situation like this—confusion would only hinder our mission. Thus, you will hear from a person who both witnessed the cause of our apparent teleportation, and can give some insight on the overall situation."

She'd wanted to introduce him as "Primarch Vakarian," he'd refused. Technically, the only surviving turian to his knowledge who outranked him was Councilor Victus. Which meant Garrus Vakarian might well be Primarch. He decided he didn't need that weight on his shoulders at the moment, nor would he take it without confirmation that he was, indeed, the legitimate holder of the title. She also accepted him as Samantha Shepard's _de facto_ replacement, without being told why (that he knew of), exactly, Shepard needed a designated second.

"Garrus Vakarian, tactics specialist and special agent of InterSpec, will now take the comm."

"Honestly, this isn't usually my thing." Garrus tried to sound confident, however the knowledge his speech went not to a squad of three but closer to three million had him on edge.

"There have been a lot of guesses as to what happened at the Citadel. I'm here to put that speculation to rest. So make sure you're sitting down, because this one is, as the humans say, a doozy."

Not that he'd ever find out, but some listeners found stable sitting surfaces.

"Sarah saved us."

Garrus deliberately paused while the fleet digested this new tidbit.

Again, he'd never find out, but several outbursts occurred at the reveal. Doctors treated at least seven injuries resulting from kicking/punching/headbutting of objects sturdier than the body part which impacted it.

"Don't ask me how, but for whatever reason, that twisted Siren decided to teleport us all away from what would have been certain death. Glory for some, an ignoble end for others."

In her quarters, Samantha Shepard giggled like a schoolgirl.

"Finally, someone else gets to do this. Someone else gets to give the speeches, pep talks, and punches to the face."

She squatted on her bed, tapping controls on a computer to look up cute varren pictures on the extranet.

"It is in the deepest regret that I must report Samantha Shepard has taken a leave from duty."

Garrus kept details to a bare minimum—he noticed the video-feed of Nimitz did not react at all to his words. He'd initially told her "Shepard needs some time off" in order to get the speech assignment himself, but not said anything else.

_She must know something_.

"She has done so much for this galaxy, oftentimes more than what could reasonably be expected. Probably because she's been brought back from clinical death no fewer than three times."

Instead of pausing, he continued on despite the weight of this proclamation.

"I'd like to say she will return when we need her, but to tell you that would be to lie. We need her now. We needed her yesterday. And I daresay we will need her tomorrow, next week, and next year. Sam, if you're listening, I'm not trying to goad you into getting your uniform on and killing another Reaper. I'm trying to convince the rest of this Fleet that a Shepard lives in all of us, and in the direst of circumstances, we need everyone to dig down and find you in themselves."

Sam stopped tabbing through "varrenfight."

"I find myself using many human phrases in everyday life, despite being a turian. Why would a turian do that, you ask, when we can't even eat human food? And how would a turian even know these things? To the second point, if you spend enough time around any species, you start picking up on their specialized language. Slang. Idioms. To the first, if something works well, does it matter where it came from? We built the most powerful fleet of anti-Reaper ships in history working together."

Garrus realized he'd just stepped into tricky territory, but he tried to make the best of it.

"There were mistakes. The turian way didn't lead us to victory—it brought out the worst in absolutely everyone and nearly tore our civilization apart. The human way didn't lead us to victory either. I realize speaking ill of the Trans-Galactic Republic while broadcasting from one of their ships may get me cut off, but their piecemeal approach to technology years ago only stoked resentment. Even today, they've continued in this attitude, only parceling out what they believe we, as a society, are ready for."

Nimitz slapped a subordinate's hand away from cutting off the speech.

"And some of the humans in this galaxy managed to make a mess of things too. Cerberus and Sapiens' Shield wanted to protect humanity first, at the expense of everyone else. Remember that it was the quarians who delivered needed supplies until outer colonies were deemed indefensible. It was the geth who solved an intractable computer problem" (he skirted around Cortana's nature).

Faces were glued to monitors in a way that hadn't been seen since the Trans-Galactic Republic's dramatic destruction of Reapers at the Citadel several years ago.

"Overlook someone, or an entire race, at your own peril. Samantha Shepard has an unerring faith in people to do the right thing. Sometimes, they need a nudge" (he recalled his rather physical interrogation session—something which Sam herself had done before) "but she always told me they'd come around in the end."

Not knowing exactly how to end his monologue, Garrus simply stopped speaking until Admiral Nimitz realized and picked up the comm again.

[…]

Conveniently, watching a speech meant not watching network intrusion systems. The Republic Intelligence Service took advantage of a slight lull in activity to snaffle copies of any information about Pandora, the Altar, or their new home they could grab on the fleetwide network.

Patricia Tannis, as she'd noted directly, did not consider herself an expert in computer systems. Combined with pandemonium resulting from the implosion of galactic society (and her rather sudden arrival via slipspace pod), her research sat on a relatively unguarded server. It was also not considered to be of great value until recently—very recently. Though its classification pended an upgrade, such changes in access were not priority.

"Clear Purple, sweep complete."

Zettabytes of data now needed to be sorted through, a task remnants of the Great Opportunities Fleet were ill-prepared to take on by themselves.

Samantha Shepard found several plainclothes agents at her door.

"What can I do you for?"

The officers exchanged glances. The woman clearly hadn't showered in several days, her hair frizzled as if she'd been hit with an ion cannon, her eyes bugged out, and she sported a maniac grin. Behind her were heaps of clothes, partially-eaten meals, what looked like comic books, and a computer in a rumpled bed.

"We have heard rumors that your ship contains a highly advanced computer program which may aid us in analyzing information we have come into possession of."

Even in her deranged state, Sam's political savvy cut through the talk.

_Know about Cortana, do you? And what did you steal this time?_

Something different came out of her mouth. "Yeah? Well I heard rumors the Trans-Galactic Republic was founded by Eridians and that a diet of only cookies is good for you."

"Ma'am, we just need to know if we can borrow that program."

"You can try!"

Sam shut the door.

Cortana fizzled to life.

"Oh, thanks for encouraging them!"

Her tone, while annoyed, was more joking than serious.

"Also, you're a wreck!"

"The galaxy will get along just fine without me" pouted Sam, jamming several cookies into her mouth.

"This ship can function without its eezo core, but it's pretty slow" retorted Cortana.

Sam surveyed her room. Through her mental fog, it registered for the first time that it was messy. Half-eaten piles of food, collections of comics, dirty laundry… Oh, and an unmade bed.

"You are under more stress than any other time in your service history. You have internalized the fall of an entire galaxy as a personal responsibility—which is by every definition of the term completely unreasonable. The trauma of several life-altering events has not been properly addressed. Instead, you kept going out of sheer force of will, pushing aside Liara's death, the loss of Lilith/EDI, your darkest hour, and your several resuscitations. I am starting to think this is why bringing people back from clinical death has been difficult—a cosmic message _not to do it_."

She pulled up a datafile stored in Sam's encrypted folders which records showed the Spectre had never accessed, or even been allowed to access.

"Miranda Lawson log, Week 47. Several objections have been raised by key scientists within the Lazarus Cell. Specifically, there are concerns that a revived Samantha Shepard will not retain her original personality or that she will experience an existential crisis at some later time. While I recognize these issues could pose a danger should either or both occur, I will not delay the Commander's return to life, as the continuing disappearance of human colonists in the Terminus Systems is too great a threat to ignore."

Sam continued eating cookies as if there was some impending cookie rationing regime.

Cortana upped the volume.

"Miranda Lawson log, Week 64. We have found no evidence that the concerns raised during Week 47 will affect the Commander in any way. There is simply no reason to believe she would break under stress or experience personality alteration—there are too many variables which do not apply in her situation. I conclude while it was beneficial to address these issues, ruling them out leaves the Lazarus Project in an even stronger position."

"Damn. And here I thought I could blame this all on some Cerberus screw-up."

"Sam, you are trying to hold yourself to an unattainable standard" protested the AI. "You cannot expect to make absolutely no mistakes, or encounter situations no one could have prepared for!"

"It's my job to be prepared, no matter what."

_She is not going to let this go…_

"Maybe. Here's something else. The Republic Intelligence Service has tried to break into the _Normandy_'s computer systems approximately seventy-two times since we docked aboard _Ultimatum_. I, of course, denied every single attempt, however, they are becoming desperate. The two agents who were here several minutes ago took clandestine video of your condition and were attempting to transmit it. I prevented it and imprisoned them. Garrus is dealing with the problem."

[…]

"So."

The turian dealt with people like this before. He recalled a brief interrogation while helping Wolf Schmidt, but noted interrogating a RISE operative would probably be much harder than some street tough.

Cortana locked the two in one of _Normandy_'s modular cargo bays after silently alerting Garrus about the two suspicious men. He'd knocked out one and dragged the other off. The turian employed special pain points he'd learned about back from his days in the Hierarchy's military during a period when humans were distrusted. They would reliably disable a human without causing death. Considering bacta tanks, the damage inflicted could easily disappear…provided the agent did not cause trouble for Samantha Shepard. Besides, he wouldn't wake up for a while anyway. It was to prevent the whole "locked up the prisoner, who then escaped" problem.

"RISE will destroy you, turian!" bellowed his captive. "You will taste the wrath of…"

Instead of punching him, Garrus held up the disruptor he'd relieved the man of upon capture.

"You'll learn nothing!"

"I already know quite a bit. Your attempts to access this ship's synthetic personality have failed miserably. Your organization is unable to sort through all the data they've stolen, and cannot transmit it home in any reasonable length of time. So you're trying to access an intelligence who could do the work for you. Except she's not cooperating."

The captive, whose name he determined to be "C. Smith" from embossing on his disruptor, said nothing for a good period of time.

"It doesn't matter. I am the first of many."

"Is your government really going to risk open war with us? We may lose to dirty tricks, foul play, and deception, but what then? All of your fancy technology has failed so far. The Flood rages on."

"Let me at him."

Armando Bailey spoke up for the first time since being admitted by Cortana. Unlike some other types of entryway, doors for _Normandy_'s cargo bays weren't exactly loud due to their magnetic tracks. His entry thus went unnoticed.

"Do you know what this is, son?"

Bailey ignited his lightstaff.

Smith visibly recoiled within the bounds of his restraints.

"I could take your head off with it. One swing. Dunno how much you RISE spooks get taught about this, 'cause it was RISE who gave me this damn thing to begin with, but I'm willing to bet I can do a lot more painful things than a clean beheading…"

Bailey waved the weapon around threateningly, before deactivating it and reattaching it to his belt.

"Much as I enjoy making suspects scream a bit, there's an easier way to get what we want."

The Current-Channeler recalled his training in the Crosscurrent. Sarah, as much as he disliked her, could do it as easily as breathing. He, on the other hand, broke into a profuse sweat from running headlong into Republic Intelligence Service mental conditioning. It made Sarah's death-course seem positively tame by comparison—dodging competent guards with disruptors barely fazed him. It appeared Bhatti and Walker had not been fully honest with him about the rareness of Current Channelers. Or, at least, the prevalence of those who could resist a mind-probe, anyway. He'd presumed anyone capable of swimming against the Crosscurrent had to also be able to Channel themselves; it appeared this wasn't necessarily true.

Garrus stood aside. He didn't understand this "Current" mumbo-jumbo. In fact, it sounded a little too much like the Reapers. Only asari in physical contact with another (and usually with that other's consent) could delve deeply into another mind. He'd heard theories regarding certain geth interfaces being able to do so, again with permission. Never saw any. Still, Armando Bailey unambiguously stood on the good side of whatever transpired. War? Strategic retreat? Consequently, Garrus would let the man do what was necessary.

He lapsed into thought.

_Why is Samantha so averse to turning screws on people when they need it most? I'd bet she wastes more time trying to talk her way to a solution than I'd spend being a little rougher. Bailey agrees, and he's been working law enforcement for decades!_

Upon returning to reality, the turian found Bailey panting and dripping, while "C. Smith's" unconscious form dragged heavily against his restraints.

"Get anything?"

"Yes and no" replied an exhausted Bailey. "I had enough of a peek to figure out there wasn't much to get. And frankly, I'd rather not do that again!"

The copper pulled several energy bars off his belt. Jack or her students might carry the same—Garrus had no idea Current Channeling required that much energy!

"So you can read minds?" asked a suspicious turian.

"Pretty much, yeah. No idea where I got it. Didn't know about this Current stuff until the Republic Intelligence Service showed up. Bastards."

He spat at the feet of Agent Smith.

"These guys are really hard to figure out" thought Garrus aloud. "On one hand, they freely offered advanced technology several times. It's really helped us out to have Samantha Shepard alive and a stealth ship capable of flying virtually anywhere. A genophage cure might have brought a new peace—I'd like to believe krogan would be more like Urdnot Wrex but seeing what happened once even a tiny bit of instability started, I'm not so sure about that. On the other hand, they've fired random huge missiles trying to hit the Flood's central intelligence that all missed. They may have been responsible for destabilization on Tuchanka. Operatives tried to break into _Normandy_. They've been spying on absolutely everyone."

RISE machinations within the Home Galaxy exceeded Garrus' knowledge, of course.

"I'm almost gonna say they're like what would happen if Council Spectres were a coordinated agency rather than individual empowered operatives."

"Spirits, I hope not!" exclaimed Garrus. "I wouldn't like to think of someone like Sam falling into…"

He stopped cold.

Sam _had_ fallen into the deepest depths of evil, within a framework very similar to the Republic Intelligence Service. Not nearly as omnipresent, but the United Defense Command inserted itself into many formerly-civilian aspects of government and society. If it could be called better, they'd done so openly rather than sneaking in the way RISE seemed to (he'd lost track of the times they'd popped up out of nowhere).

"What happened to Shepard, anyway?"

"I…I can't really say."

Garrus would keep Sam's secret to his dying day if he had to. The galaxy needed the image of its paragon, which compelled Cortana to lock down the two who would have smuggled video destroying that image out to the wider fleet. If RISE didn't send in operatives after these two, Garrus would ingest levo-food. Knowing they'd been exposed the first time, he expected subsequent attempts to be even more cloak-and-dagger.

[…]

"Operatives down, initiate next phase of Clear Purple."

While RISE sometimes bailed its personnel out of unfavorable missions (see: escape pods), in many other cases it simply left them to die—as was done this time. Being a clandestine agency, many of its employees didn't even officially exist, so a non-person not returning from a non-mission meant nothing in the wider scheme of things. Pay and benefits were high, obviously, especially for any individual who could be sent off to never return—as a consequence the Republic Intelligence Service's budget became more and more heavy on people-expenses versus equipment. Melding other "defense force" budgets helped hide some of the bloat by attributing many new hires to other projects like Star Dreadnaught construction. That such ships' workings stood in great secrecy (hence Bailey's inability to obtain even a basic interior map as they were classified in the highest tier) kept families or friends from suspecting a new job at "the docks" actually meant intelligence fieldwork.

They'd tried tangoing with her before, but the cards hadn't been favorable. Now, it would be less of a gamble to deal with Sarah. In her weakened state, co-opting her and her significant Current Channeling abilities would be a coup de grace for RISE, cementing its usefulness in the eyes of the all-important Appropriations &amp; Budget Committee within the Home Senate. Manipulating politicians too openly might create more like Senator Glia Ham'Del, whose machinations and following led to a recently-passed mouthful of a bill called "General Retrenchment, Enhancement, and Appropriation Against Threats." That its acronym spelled out "GREAT" must have been deliberate—a calculated stunt from a typical Bothan.

In spirit of cooperation, what remained of CRITICAL had gladly shared XCL-Magenta with its Trans-Galactic Republic intelligence allies seeing as the project for which it was intended had stalled. _Nova Vita_ being a ruse spread only amongst Shepard's team and project engineering staff, who'd promised to keep this information among themselves. To everyone else, _Nova Vita_ simply had "technical problems" which the best minds were already tackling. RISE considered issuing fake progress reports, but decided against it after realizing it would have to buy off, silence, or otherwise keep in line a team galactic conquerors had tried and failed to contain. The Republic Intelligence Service thought highly of itself, but also knew an untenable situation when it saw one.

Sarah spent most of her day being observed by Trans-Galactic Republic medical staff, most of whom were purely in the healing profession, not intelligence-passing-as-something-else. Those who had ulterior motives kept to themselves, building trust among the rest in case a situation like this were to occur. RISE honestly tried to avoid extortion or blackmail, which greatly helped in setups where belief in the cause could have a significant impact on the completion of a mission. Like the current requirement that operatives release Eridium converted from liquid to gas into Sarah's treatment room without warning their colleagues. Colleagues whose children they'd asked about, colleagues whose Life Day parties they'd attended. Some were even related by marriage resulting from decade-long bonds, either between actual RISE agents and those they were required to now kill or through married offspring.

"I'm sorry" whispered Special Agent Emily Jones as she connected one of several Eridium gas canisters to the medical wing's fully-independent air supply. Its protection from shipboard contamination would also be its undoing.

Even Hyperion under the thumb of Handsome Jack refrained from experimenting with Eridum gas. Extremely explosive, hot-burning, corrosive, and unstable, it proved devilishly tricky to weaponize or incorporate into anything useful. The Republic Intelligence Service discovered it almost accidentally. Yes, some researchers fell square into the "mad-scientist" category, messing with new chemicals, compounds, or other discoveries solely to determine what kind of nasty results could be obtained from them. Its life-hostile properties proved right dandy for offing doctors, though its equal levels of corrosion actually inhibited its dispersal. While containers of it were reinforced with molecularly-bonded surfaces and specialized internal shields, air ducts leading into Medical were not. To combat this, RISE agents simply used four times as much as was thought to be necessary assuming no loss due to corrosion of paths bringing the gas in.

Either Sarah would be rendered helpless or killed. In the latter case, her body would be dissected. Assuming any of it was left, anyway. The Republic Intelligence Service viewed her as a threat, so if the Siren died it would be beneficial. If her death provided no other plus than eliminating an individual with the capacity to seriously hamper RISE operations, it would be considered a success. If she happened to be captured, RISE would be even better off.

Sarah woke to a strange feeling, as if all the energy she'd lost made an unexpected return. Feelings of weakness departed, replaced by her old strength…and possibly more. Almost floating, she rose out of her hospital bed to a pink-purple haze. Around her, she saw bodies disintegrate from the purple cloud. One touch started slowly-moving lines of agony leaving very little behind. Lab equipment similarly disappeared, yet her own flesh glowed anew, including markings running up both sides of her body and each arm that she recognized as Forebear/Eridian symbols, though what they meant (if anything) eluded her. Not caring she wore nothing as her gown also disappeared from the corrosive haze, Sarah investigated the apparent death of everyone who'd been caring for and examining her. Unfortunately for this curiosity, no living individual could be found as all staff were either dissolved or in the process of dissolving. She wondered where her armor and lightstaff might have gone. Many Waves failed to locate any of it.

The Siren felt something descend over her, some kind of net. Immediately following, blast after blast of blue energy, which she guessed had the purpose of stunning. It tickled. Waves revealed lifeforms around her, and Crosscurrents exposed their minds to her, though she basically heard the comm-chatter since reading thoughts as people spoke showed the words being said.

_Take her down!_

_Stun the Siren!_

_Get another net!_

_Fire! FIRE!_

A few Undertows caused the vague shapes of armored assailants to land on their rears. A blast of Pain disintegrated a net that wouldn't have held Sarah long anyway.

_The gas didn't work!_

_Taking casualties!_

_We need reinforcements, now!_

Speaking of reinforcement, corrosion from Eridum gas ate through walls, floor, and ceiling, shifting the battlefield into the "between-deck" space of _Redemption_. Thankfully for the ship, the purple gas got consumed in its reactions with durasteel, so there would be no endlessly-expanding dissolving cloud of doom. Not all the gas ate into structural components, either. Sarah noticed areas she walked through had less of it. Her presence seemed to absorb gasified Eridium.

The Siren happened upon a group wearing armored suits presumably to enable operation within the dangerous confines they'd created with now-empty canisters. She didn't even speak to them before letting loose such rage-fueled Currents of Pain some of her targets turned to ash. The fear of others radiated from them, visible to Current abilities. Sweeping minds, at least one soiled his uniform before she relieved him of that problem by removing him from existence.

Shorn of purpose once again having survived what appeared to be a combination assassination/capture attempt, Sarah recalled being told something along the lines of "You do not need to know where you are, so we aren't going to tell you." Now to figure out where that place was…

[…]

Unlike their leader, it remained possible through a great exertion of effort to subdue a "Lady Finger." Or even all four that still lived. That being said, cooperation required less exertion than forced submission. Without Sarah and facing a galaxy covered in Flood, as it had become widely known, the Lady Fingers stood around meekly aboard _Redemption_, also confined, "where, you don't need to know."

Armando Bailey conducted a combination interrogation/Q&amp;A session with each in turn. Overall, he deduced these women were, other than Current Channeling, entirely ordinary individuals Sarah snapped up in her quest. Calling Sarah mysterious hardly did the woman justice—"as impenetrable as a neutron star inside a supernova within a black hole" said Zera Zelit.

"Half the time, we really didn't know what she was up to" confessed Drythlyn. "Still, I had faith in her cause…"

Since each "Lady Finger" spoke with Bailey separately and without knowledge of what others might have said, the phrase "no honor among thieves" accurately described the information he received. Though they did not outright attack each other, each vented suspicions, annoyances, and grudges she held against her "sisters." None spoke ill of Sarah other than to comment on her enigmatic approach to what seemed a simple mission.

In the end, all agreed to essentially stand down for the moment. That Venera and Zera would stab virtually anyone in the back should Sarah request it didn't surface in Bailey's interrogations. They'd play along unless their master told them not to.

As Sarah found herself lacking purpose, it was this which allowed Bailey to talk the four women into an uneasy ceasefire.

"Would killing us now accomplish the mission?" he demanded of Urthula, who'd actually physically assaulted him at one point.

Unlike some who committed crimes (especially on the scale of "crimes against civilization") the Lady Fingers remained rational, conceding their original missions to have failed. Cerberus proved unable to decapitate either the Trans-Galactic Republic or the Citadel government, either of which it was thought might throw the galaxy into chaos. Extermination of life got off to a nice start, until the Flood broke through anyway and began assimilating Gamma-Six's lifeforms to devastating effect.

"We caught Sarah reading some interesting things" offered Zera. "We were all ordinary citizens with no idea about our abilities before she found us. So, we'd learned, loved, lost… Sarah, it seems, popped out of a tube with only the knowledge her Forebears imparted in her."

"What do you mean?" Bailey leaned in, part of his rapport-building routine when playing "good cop."

"She had very limited interpersonal skills."

"Yeah, killers tend to do that… Thankfully, you saw sense."

_Make her feel like you're on her side and that this is all Sarah's fault._

"She still does" continued his captive. "She used to think any relation between two individuals always followed the template of commander and commanded. The leader gave the mission, the subordinate carried out the mission until completion or failure. Failure meant death."

"Death? That seems rather harsh."

Bailey recalled some Cerberus cells operating in this fashion. From what he'd heard through the proverbial grapevine, this was one of the first reforms in the new "Kerberos" special ops, though he'd not learned much about it (being top-secret and all). Likely, the organization had gone the same way as the rest of his former galaxy…

"The Forebears tolerated very little failure, she said. Either something they built worked, or it was destroyed and they'd start over. When your lifespan is virtually infinite, if it takes a few million years to get something right, why the hell not?"

Bailey wondered, then spoke. "So that means a Forebear is going to kill Sarah now?"

"That's the weirdest part!" replied Zera enthusiastically, right arm clanking from her emphatic speech. "All I know is what she told me. She has vague memories of a time before she was locked up, but can't recall much of them. She believes she'd been created in the tube she woke up in…but that can't be true unless these memories are fake or something."

After wrapping up his conversations, Armando Bailey felt like talking to Samantha Shepard. Except, for whatever reason, she wasn't available. He settled for racing his own mind in circles instead.

_Things just keep getting weirder. These murdering fiends suddenly come around and want to make nice because their leader is gone and they don't have a mission anymore. Something else has to be at work here._


	48. Vortex

A/N: Happy New Year! I could resolve to write shorter chapters, but I think I already broke that…

**Chapter 47 – Vortex**

Though most organic life fled the Gamma-Six galaxy, the Gravemind had not yet moved against the geth. Their participation in the attack against the space station known as "Omega" had been unexpected, but did not seem to be of their own volition, rather following the orders of another. Utter lack of concern for the safety of ships concerned the Gravemind—a force not caring how many casualties were inflicted could be dangerous indeed. Even still, more than half of this inorganic race resided within the locale called "Perseus Veil," at least if one counted available vessels.

In truth, roughly eighty-five percent of runtimes within the geth Consensus remained—ships utilized only a portion of available runtimes even for operating the full fleet. Geth assisting Samantha Shepard lost roughly half their number, of which the entire amount represented about forty percent of geth ships. Thus, overall geth ship counts dropped by twenty percent, but total runtimes lost were somewhat less—fifteen percent.

As networked intelligences, the Consensus became lesser for this reduction. That said, developments noted by Cortana continued after her departure, and these changes wrought havoc with any attempt to reach a new Consensus regarding the galaxy-at-large.

Certain collections of runtimes had begun clustering together, showing preferences for the presence of specific other runtimes within their network. Now, the trend only increased as more (and larger) clusters began to make themselves known within what had once been a completely egalitarian society in which groupings related strictly to functions required and nothing else. The Consensus could not comprehend these groupings, deeming them illogical. They seemed similar to Specialized Organic Interaction Units ("Legion-class"), except they'd formed spontaneously with no directive from the Consensus.

Some of these groupings insisted on sharing specific platforms, rather than moving in and out of mobile units as geth had previously. Even more disturbing (from the Consensus view), a minority actually shut off their connections to the Consensus itself with no technical or logical reason for doing so. The Consensus split (by design) between those wishing to aid Samantha Shepard and those who believed the geth had no part in the war against the Infection paled in comparison to the effect of what the Consensus dubbed "semi-autonomous independent neural networks."

Such networks not only consisted of bonded geth runtimes with illogical affinity for specific other sets of geth, but also took up (as unified groups) "sides" in the conflict over what action, if any, the geth should take regarding the Infection which by this point controlled the entire galaxy minus geth space and Rannoch. The Consensus descended into chaos attempting to deal with mini-Consensuses within itself. The only plausible comparison related them to organic minds. These semi-autonomous independent neural networks had more similarities with Trans-Galactic Republic "droids" than their origins as geth—synthetic, with thought processes closer to organics. A democratic mind, capable of arguing with itself and maintaining multiple perspectives, but ultimately making a single decision through means other than consensus democracy. This sort of internalized discussion slowed processing drastically compared to traditional geth networking, however, it also appeared to be the source of growing non-logic-based perspectives supported by these atypical clusterings.

Tellingly, at least one of these geth referred to itself as "I" instead of "we."

"Unit 314159 believes the geth should seek coexistence with the outside organic force by codifying what already exists."

Another independent neural network unit disagreed.

"I think that course of action is foolish. The geth should protect the Creators and build up forces to clear the galaxy of this blight."

The Consensus thought it extremely strange to be participating in a conversation with geth outside of itself, but did so anyway.

"We have requested, and will request again, a logical explanation for this viewpoint. No semi-autonomous independent neural network has been able to provide us with a satisfactory rationale for this course of action despite repeated requests that we follow it."

"It is the right thing to do" insisted Unit 132143.

"You have failed to define 'right,' and furthermore, even assuming a definition was offered, it would also need to be accompanied by supporting evidence as to why the definition fits the situation and thus compels us to act."

These circular arguments continued for many cycles. Among organics, those insisting some idea to be "right" or "wrong" might lean on emotional support for their viewpoint—for example, killing children was not simply wrong, it was also disgusting, reprehensible, and evil. Concepts that no geth ever considered until now. Of course, not knowing how to express one's belief in such ideas greatly hindered semi-autonomous independent neural networks that wished to rely on them in debates with the Consensus and each other. Even between themselves, units could not articulate these newfound thoughts despite both (or all) participants having something the Consensus lacked.

[…]

Post-conference, corporate executives headed home from their semi-random drop-off points. None knew how they'd gotten to the site, what the site was, or indeed where they'd gone. Score one for use of _Vorknkx_ ships. The Maliwans had the proverbial number, should they wish to inquire about possible arms sales to the interloping Trans-Galactic Republic. Not that they thought they'd get any, but it might be worth checking into at some point.

Bill Arkansas Jakobs stood by his earlier comments. Given the last time anyone bothered to check in Plutus, Infected Harvesters (denoted as "Flood" during the conference) seemed to be blundering around in a rather uncoordinated fashion (thus making them either easy targets or easy to evade) he didn't understand why Jackie and the Trans-Galactic Republic (he couldn't believe Jackie would have done this on her own) called everyone together to bloviate about a threat that in his mind didn't really exist. At least not on the scale this Samantha Shepard insisted on, anyway. Maybe it did exist in far larger numbers in another cluster far away, but until he saw any reason to pour precious resources into a project other than the resurrected Atlas-clone program, he would refrain from any entangling alliances with other companies.

Furthermore, this "Lady" didn't seem nearly as imposing as she'd been when bamboozling him into hiding away fantastic Eridian-derived technology in vaults now presumably inaccessible on Plutus. In fact, she appeared downright frail and weak! The fact that her actual name seemed to be "Sarah" sealed the deal.

All of these factors combined to stiffen his resolve. He would address the minimal Infected Harvester threat in a manner that would be good for Jakobs. The Prime Worlds would be shielded. If that meant sacrificing the borderlands and even Outer Colonies (in lieu of forming alliances), Bill had no problem with it.

Similarly, Juan Pablo Rhees wasn't convinced by what had been promised to be a "compelling proposal." In fact, the woman hadn't really made a formal proposal in the business sense—only suggested failing to act now would lead to the utter destruction of all society within Gamma-Three. He supposed the implicit message ran something like "Work together or die together," but like his fellow bigwigs, no matter how he contorted his vision he could not see the "Flood" as being a large enough threat to risk destabilizing existing power structures.

Hyperion's deteriorated financial position offered further encouragement to avoid any unnecessary expenditures. The company's balance sheet took one in the kneecaps from funding the Slingshot Project, another example of Hyperion's "high-risk, high-reward" style that saw previous boards tossed out like water. Including those who'd backed "Handsome" Jack's insane Pandora stunt. Hyperion would provide what little it could to the JVLN alliance (now more theoretical than actual)—a few soldiers here, a ship there. It made little sense to digistruct a fleet with no personnel to run it, despite having plenty of available MODDERs on hand with which to do so.

Dahl attended simply for the sake of showing its flag; it had no intention of participating in any communal defense other than its contracts with Torgue. Said contracts were drying up rapidly as Torgue lawyers feverishly exercised opt-out clauses and sent required termination fees over since MALITOR now produced most of its ships out of Maliwan facilities with some Torgue weapons rather than Dahl hulls carrying Torgue armaments. One rambling speech, no matter how desperate-sounding, would not convince Dahl shareholders to risk the company's fortunes _again_. Truth be told, it seemed every company attempting major excursions on Pandora ran into trouble—Atlas, Dahl, and Hyperion spent vast amounts of money only to be chased off before recouping even part of their investments.

[…]

Dr. Caitlin Flanders, a slender woman with short blonde hair, found herself assigned to Samantha Elizabeth Shepard. While no one would force therapy or medicines upon the Commander, who'd retreated back into her quarters aboard Normandy after giving what in comparison to her usual a rather flat speech, assistance would be offered for her to take if she wished.

Flanders graduated from S2S with honors. Not every person involved dealt with weapons, shields, or propulsion—some addressed the aftermath. Planetary and space combat produced similar yet different impacts on those involved, so it had long ago been decided to equip healers with as much knowledge of both as possible. She represented a rare breed—a psychiatrist/psychologist combo. Fewer than one in ten who started the program at the prestigious Rhinnal State Medical Academy matriculated. Cost, stress, and length of study also discouraged entry. Both fields were immensely more complicated as non-human species were also included from day one. Those who opted for human specialization (as humans still represented a majority within the Trans-Galactic Republic) were not-so-subtly looked down up on by their classmates for picking the "easy" path. For the few who could complete the cross-species combined degree, lucrative careers awaited in government and the private sector.

Shepard agreed to see Dr. Flanders, not expecting much. The reluctant warrior had been gently nudged by Cortana (who among all crew she would talk to regularly) into seeking help.

"I can't think!" she moaned. The angry krogan from her drunken night at the Kaidan Alenko Memorial Banquet Hall had nothing on the all-consuming agony fog that consumed her being almost constantly.

Flanders worked with PTSD veterans before—pretty much any time a conflict broke out some came back traumatized. Thankfully, these were few and far between, but each case mattered. "Everyone Forward, Everyone Upward" did mean something to some people, including Dr. Flanders, even if it was generally derided as a feel-good political slogan otherwise. She'd been given everything, including classified files relating to the Commander's repeated brushes with death.

_We are in uncharted territory here._

Her training and education covered people who'd _almost_ died. Nothing had been written about people who were, for all intents and purposes, back from the dead. More than once. Had the Doctor been introduced to Cortana, the two might have had a spirited discussion surrounding their belief that resurrection might not be the best use of scientific energy given what seemed to happen.

"How many times have you been brought back from medical death?"

She already knew the answer, but it might get Sam talking.

"Urgh…"

Shepard buried her face in her hands.

"You know the answer…you've seen my files…"

"Indeed I have. Are you aware that no other person throughout all of known history has had this process repeated more than once?"

"Does it matter?"

_Why the hell did she come up here if she's going to ask me things she already knows and give me a history lesson?_

"I saw there is a 'No Extraordinary Measures' notice in your medical file. Why is that?"

"Does it even need explaining?" Still, Sam sat up.

"Well, that's why I'm here. Your experience is unique. Do I have your permission to use recordings of this session for further research?"

Normally, sessions were archived for doctor-patient use in the future if necessary, but generally for no other reason. However, because of Samantha Shepard's breakthrough treatments, it wasn't an exaggeration to say a line of scientists were requesting as much information as was humanely possible about her. Thus, with patient permission, records could be released so that others might be able to gain additional insight on the affect(s) of repeated resuscitations on mental well-being.

"Is it going to make you realize how stupid and cruel this is?" she demanded.

"Why do you say that?"

_Maybe we'll get somewhere after all!_

"Maybe I should reduce this to terms everyone who _hasn't_ been forbidden to die can understand. I know you have a pile of degrees, right?"

Caitlin nodded, unsure of the relation.

"You ever have to do group projects?"

Shepard sounded more sure of herself than any previous recording Cortana surreptitiously fed to her for analysis.

"Yes…"

"How many times were you the one who did all the work?"

_Oh…_

"…and then everyone else got the same grade you did!"

"I'm guessing the professor in your story never went so far as to tell you that not only were you wrong, but despite everything you've done everyone _else_ gets the high mark and you fail—even though you're the only one who did anything."

"That's exactly what I get. Every. Single. Time."

Dr. Flanders brought out a digipad. She preferred handwritten notes—generally things written down were better retained than things watched or heard. She bore no love for flimsiplast, however.

"Tell me more about these times."

Shepard knew the doc didn't need to hear it since all her files had long ago been transferred to Flanders, but she needed to say it out loud.

"I mean, it all starts off small. First human Spectre, no pressure, only impossible standards."

Sam stood, then started pacing.

"I probably shouldn't have touched that Prothean relic. Or gotten tangled up with Saren. But if I hadn't stopped him, we would all be Reaper chow right now."

"You single-handedly stopped him?"

_She might need a perspective adjustment, on both positives and negatives._

"You know what I meant" snarled the patient, suddenly angry. "My team almost died putting that bastard down. The Council didn't want to admit the new guys might have a point. They've always been slower than an elcor when it comes to anything upending their established order."

"They are politicians" replied Flanders hesitantly.

"But that's just it!" exclaimed Sam. "Put politicians in charge, nothing gets done until you're six months too late and four trillion credits over budget. Put generals in charge, everyone ends up dead or hating themselves."

"How does this relate to your anger over not being allowed to die?"

"Because the galaxy seems to think I'm indispensable while simultaneously treating me like some kind of child." She pouted.

Flanders sensed more to the story.

"Go on…"

"After Sovereign, the Council pretended it was all one rogue Spectre. You know, the endlessly-moving goalposts. First it was just rumors and the silly human had to learn her place. Then it was some kind of geth rebellion that doesn't involve any of our special, oh-so-pure agents. Finally, the morons admitted their own were responsible, but by then Sovereign hit the Citadel. Tens of thousands died because nobody wanted to face facts—the system built on avoiding rocking the boat failed."

"And then?"

"I died."

Sam chuckled. S2S "Psy-Psys" had whole books about coping mechanisms drilled into their heads. Whole books that couldn't predict what would go on here.

"The Council" she continued, much calmer now, "successfully got the rest of the galaxy to buy its sham about this only being one geth incursion and not the harbinger of galactic doom. Then the Collectors started kidnapping human colonists. Did the Council care? No. 'That's your fault for venturing too far into the Terminus' they said. Plus, very few even believed the Collectors existed in the first place—'batarians' they said."

Caitlin Flanders knew only the barest amount regarding history in Gamma-Six. She'd read the briefing packet…skimmed the briefing packet. Looked at the briefing packet while eating breakfast. Two pages of it. So she wasn't fully aware of circumstances surrounding this timeframe in history.

"The batarians and humans were in conflict, I presume."

"Very much so." Shepard responded as if her doctor inquired as to whether water was wet. "Batarians felt the Citadel Council gave unfair advantages to humans while suppressing batarian interests. That batarians consider slavery 'culture' tends to not go over well with the people they kidnap" she finished.

"So the Council again turned a blind eye, assuming an explanation to events that woefully underestimated the actual problem."

Sam clapped enthusiastically.

"Make this woman a councilor, stat! She sees more than any of them have!"

"I take it you ended up being the 'solution' to this problem."

"Let me be clear, I don't like Cerberus. But you can't really complain too loudly when they take your charred, burnt corpse and somehow reanimate it. I did end up telling off the Illusive Man in the end—even turned one if his best agents in his face. He brought me back at an expense that could have purchased a fleet—because the Illusive Man believed I represented the only way to stop attacks no one else cared to do anything about."

"What's so bad about that? You save the galaxy a few times…"

"…and suddenly people start looking to you to solve everything."

Caitlin held up a hand. "Well, your track record is nothing short of extraordinary from my perspective. You killed a mecha-god, survived what had previously been a one-way trip, gave everyone the inspiration to work together against the Reapers…"

Her voice trailed. Sam _had_ technically "helped" (and actually helped) fight the Reapers once the Trans-Galactic Republic arrived, however, the descent into madness triggered by a minimum of LIara's death combined with a blazing hatred of those who caused it still represented a difficult subject.

"And then I went insane!" Shepard's face lit up with, well, an insane grin, combined with an eerily chipper tone. "I killed millions, if not more, who were no threat because someone told me to. I knew it was wrong, but did it anyway."

She didn't mention what she'd found on New Haven.

"And then you tried to punish yourself."

Sam recalled her stint in the shower, her encounter with a Widow sniper rifle, and her subsequent attempts to jog with a heavily-damaged shoulder.

"Now there's no uncertainty, even as evil as Henry Lawson was, as horrible as Sapiens Shield became, bombing civilian targets… I just…"

Thoughts of the "sanctuary" built as a "last hope" for those fleeing Reapers in systems the Trans-Galactic Republic hadn't secured caused her to retch. Bolting to the 'fresher, she heaved into her toilet.

By the time Samantha Shepard became conscious of herself again, she realized her quarters weren't totally white-washed. Nor were there traditionally scrubs-clad people bustling around her quarters. Turning to see her right wrist, she became cognizant of a band around it.

_Shit._

[…]

In a hospital similar to Sam's but many kilometers away (_Ultimatum_, as all _Revenant _-class Star Dreadnaughts did, possessed a decentralized set of advanced medical suites) Athena lay in an equally-white bed.

For security reasons, Urdnot Wrex found himself unable to discuss "the issue" in person, likely due to his both dropping her there and immediately following with a confession of being responsible for the state of her legs. Thus, she received a datapad with a message on it.

FROM: Wrex, Urdnot

TO: [NO_LAST_NAME_ON_FILE], Athena

(He'd not realized Trans-Galactic Republic naming conventions wouldn't properly interpret "clan-first" naming schemes.)

"First off, I'm not sorry. You ever see your entire species reduced to savages because of a bioweapon? Bet you haven't. I'm not going to pretend to care about your reasons for doing what you did—but what's done is done. I know you've been serving two masters, I don't know if you know how thoroughly you were used.

InterSpec came out of a desire to improve the Spectre program, or so they said. In reality, it let the Republic Intelligence Service (those [untranslatable]) have easy access to Citadel Council operatives in the name of 'information sharing.' Even if you can't break into their computers, some of their agents weren't entirely loyal—and paid for this in blood. But not before giving me the information that led me to you.

Both InterSpec and RISE, were, well, RISE. They tried something funny on Tuchanka. After talking to the most honest turian I've ever met (sorry Garrus), I figured out what they might be up to. Looks like you were the one to carry it out.

We were probably doomed anyway. Hell, I'm sure almost everyone in that [untranslatable] galaxy is. Would have preferred they go down fighting, not blown up by some backstabbing government agency. The humans say not to shoot the messenger. I dunno about shooting, but if I see you again after you receive this message, you aren't going to just have broken legs."

"You're in an isolation ward" commented the nurse who'd handed over the datapad. "It's secured, so Wrex can't harm you here."

"Why do I get the feeling there are more people gunning for me than just him?"

"We've logged no intrusion attempts, either physical or otherwise, into this area since you were transferred here" replied her nurse.

Recalling Samantha Shepard to be a friend of this reptilian monstrosity who put her here, she inquired as to the Commander's whereabouts.

"I have no information on Samantha Shepard at this time."

_Oddly vague and nonspecific considering she's widely regarded as a galactic savior_.

Truth be told, Nurse Mara had no idea about Sam's current state. Still, her wording caused Athena to wonder.

Wrex found solace in the "Admiral Snack Bar" (it _was_ located two decks down from the command tower's lowest area). Its lighthearted name made no implication alcohol could be found there, but the krogan slammed "Sun Crusher" after Sun Crusher until he found himself cut off.

"Whatever" he'd growled at being refused another. Expecting confrontation, a surprised bartender briefly considered trying to talk to the huge sapient, ultimately deciding not to.

He'd left the bar to seek out Samantha Shepard, only to be told she'd taken a leave of absence and accepted no visitors.

"Not even me?"

"She made no exceptions of any kind" droned a scheduling automaton from whom he'd gathered some information.

"This has always been that pyjack's job—wonder what he's up to?"

"Mordin Solis' whereabouts and schedule are classified" insisted the droid upon clarification of who "that pyjack" referred to.

Exasperated, Wrex demanded to know if anything around here _wasn't_ classified.

"The Engineering team defeated the Operations team in shockball, five men standing of seven total."

"If I knew what that was, I might care." He slouched off.

[…]

"Said before, will say again. Specifics of Shepard's return not known to salarian science."

"I find that hard to believe" retorted Councilor Tevos, retaining her usual calm demeanor despite getting a feeling she'd been told something other than the truth.

"Operation conducted by Cerberus. Specifics not of concern. STG" (inhale) "uninterested."

"Operative Solis, while we tolerated your doublespeak during 'Forward Unto Ascension,' now is not the time" said Clethon. "The Council is aware of your involvement in her _second_ resurrection."

"Council aware of operation. Why make issue of it now? Usual response" (inhale) "not this forceful."

Victus' reply carried the tired weight of a dead galaxy left behind.

"These are not usual times, Dr. Solis. Our home has been destroyed. The Council has always…"

"…attempted to maintain order. Through subterfuge, sabotage, other questionable tactics by Spectres. Given wide authority, shield Council from" (inhale) "repercussions. Orders vague. No oversight. Plead ignorance if operative exceeds parameters."

Councilors shifted uncomfortably. In one sentence, Mordin Solis summed up the darker aspects of galactic governance. The Spectre system worked…so long as no one went crazy or developed godlike delusions (like Saren).

"Use off-rails Spectre as pretext for more Spectres—only a Spectre can take on a Spectre" he finished.

The existence of the Special Tasks Group did no favors to his argument—its operations remained concealed even from the Council and its operatives were far better-funded. Combined with wide authority, operatives such as Ever Alert and Silent Step accomplished ridiculous feats despite being single individuals. Disregarding this rhetorical weakness, Councilor Grayson took the conversation in a different direction.

"We cannot lose Shepard. If we lose her, what's left of our civilization may well follow…"

"Oh, really?"

Cortana.

The Council remained ill-at-ease with artificial intelligences, courtesy of the geth. Cortana's breaking-and-entering (again) wouldn't help either. Never mind the geth had been extremely helpful in the past few years, participating in collaborative starship designs and mostly refraining from any overt hostility against other species. The rift between Creators and created narrowed to the point of non-hostility and even limited coexistence—the Council found itself quietly wondering if the "Rannoch Experiment" would blossom. That is, until the Infection showed up. Following, the geth worked with Shepard herself to lead an assault on Omega, pretty much because she asked nicely, in support of a galaxy-wide effort to construct a starship of last resort. That effort failed but geth contributions were noted (again).

Sam, if present, would've had a field day with the Council's reluctance to trust any artificial creations. The geth showed time and time again they were, at minimum, not openly hostile but were still treated as if they might break into open revolt at any moment. Cortana acted as nothing less than a stellar replacement for EDI, who herself saved Samantha and crew many times, performing vital functions no organic could match.

She took on as non-threatening of an appearance as possible, projecting herself through _Ultimatum_ at standard human size.

"You have no idea what she's going through, do you?"

Her voice eluded to this being more than a question. It was an accusation born of emotion, something the Council's understanding of artificial intelligences said should not happen.

"Out of respect for the Commander's privacy" she continued, growing physically redder and verbally angrier with each word, "I will not show you the details. Suffice it to say, she went off the deep end during a counseling session. She is now in the hospital. Again."

"What can we do to speed her recovery?" asked Councilor Victus.

"Absolutely nothing" shot back Cortana emphatically. "In fact, the only way she'll likely recover is for you to leave her alone."

Though the session was supposedly closed, doors opened to admit another party. Dr. Caitlin Flanders, with several binders and datapads, stalked from the entrance to where the Councilors stood in their corporeal forms.

"Who is this? She wasn't admitted!" spluttered Tevos. "Security…"

"Will hear nothing" smirked Cortana. "I could gas this entire room, and your bodies would be discovered a week from now, if that. But I'm not in the business of assassination."

Unaware the synthetic being could also express humor, several Councilors stood aghast before Dr. Flanders cut in.

"First off, cool your damn repulsors. You'll end up in the stratosphere if you keep burning like this—Cortana likes jokes, as dark as that one may have been. Second, I don't think you realize the impact of repeatedly bringing someone back from the brink, which I could excuse if you'd done your research…"

"What research?" Tevos wasn't going to take this sort of verbal abuse. "This was not a Council-sanctioned operation…"

"Doublespeak not exclusive to STG" injected Mordin Solis. "Council demanded Shepard's return. Did not say how, or who required to participate. Systems Alliance, Special Tasks Group, Trans-Galactic Republic all contributed. Council not interested in details."

"Technically, there isn't any" continued Dr. Flanders. "Still, the first time Samantha Shepard came back, nobody bothered to question how it was done. Nobody tested her, nobody conducted a thorough psych examination."

"Not true" countered Mordin. "Kelly Chambers placed on _Normandy_ to observe crew. Monitor Samantha. Told me herself."

"Do we have any of her notes or observations?" challenged Flanders. "If a wroshyr tree falls and the one person recording when it toppled dies as it falls on them, does anyone know when it hit the ground?"

She received some stares until comprehension dawned on her listeners.

No present party possessed knowledge of Kelly Chambers' current situation. She'd been presumed dead along with over 90% of sapient life from Gamma-Six.

"Took copies of notes from storage. Thought useful. Proven right."

Dr. Solis began distributing what he'd obtained, though to everyone's frustration the notes offered no insights. Not because the yeoman did a poor job keeping details about her Commander's life, but rather stemming from an utter lack of any problematic indicators in the data.

"Operative Solis…"

"Not STG. May dispense with formalities."

"Dr. Solis" continued Clethon, "there's nothing in here to suggest any problem arose from resurrecting Shepard! These files are so pedestrian they are almost boring."

"Precisely." His smile caught everyone off guard.

"I'd hypothesize recent events triggered from something else" added Flanders. "Or, her first rodeo with Cerberus wasn't enough. Even both."

"Perhaps it is not the revival mechanism itself" mused Tevos, "but rather the circumstances following."

Cortana glared. "Perhaps you'll realize what happens when so much weight is repeatedly thrown on the same shoulders."

"I once asked whether saving Shepard represented a worthwhile endeavor during her, ahem, work, with Maximilian Xytler. It appears this question is more relevant now."

Tevos looked as if to say more, but did not do so.

Grayson made a guess what direction she might be going in and ran with it.

"Asari mental connections were used to implant information during our first contact. What if the reverse could be done—retrieve information?"

"Excellent idea. Complication: patient would never consent" cautioned Mordin.

"Technically, with all these Current Channelers around, consent may not be required" suggested Grayson, before being cut off by Cortana.

"You send any mind-marauders up there, and I will personally see to it that you regret that decision every day afterward."

Grayson quickly backed off. "It was only an idea—with everything being so unpredictable, sometimes hands will have to get dirty."

"What information would we gain?" wondered Tevos. "Shepard is clearly experiencing some kind of mental trauma."

"Then why are you trying to get her back on the front lines so quickly?" questioned Dr. Flanders. "Or use the technology she was the test patient for on others when it could be problematic?"

"As Councilor Grayson said, we've reached a point no one ever thought would ever come. We have no home, dwindling resources, and a relentless enemy that may well pursue us until the last are dead" replied the asari.

"In case you haven't noticed" sniped Cortana, "the Flood here seems to be exponentially less dangerous than where you used to live. That said, the incompetence of those in charge of this place…"

She stopped herself, barely, from saying the corporations running Gamma-Three made the current Council look wise and prescient. The Flood from their previous locale also showed no sign of chasing them, so using its pursuit as a justification to mentally violate Samantha did not go over well with Cortana, having experienced her own unpleasantness at the hands of a Gravemind (was it the same Gravemind which reincarnated here? No one knew…)

[…]

Patricia Tannis might have been not all there in the head, but her research on the Eridians and subsequent knowledge gained made her the go-to for anyone with questions on the mysterious artifacts that dotted Pandora's surface or their creators. The surveys she'd had done, though brief, had her absolutely convinced Pandora (a fitting name) held more secrets than just Eridium. It was just a matter of finding them.

"Do you know any way to reach the core of a planet?"

Moxxi smiled, then laughed.

"Sugar, my pursuits have nothing to do with planetary mining. Other types of, ahem, explosions—absolutely! But, not that kind."

_Why she would ask me about that, I have no idea_.

"You might talk to these Trans-Galactic Republic types. From what I've heard, they possess the capabilities you're looking for."

Tannis looked at Moxxi as though she'd suggested the former eat bacon.

"The last time I submitted a planet-cracking request to those dithering idiots, I got a very polite brush off of 'We don't do that, and even if we did, we lack the technical means.'"

Moxxi giggled. Footage of _Ultimatum_'s blasting of a Flood-ified vessel finally reached the ECHONet (poor maintenance and protocol translation issues delayed transfer of anything larger than a text message without high-end interpreting machines such as those found aboard Trans-Galactic Republic starships). She brought up this video and played it for Tannis.

"Well."

Tannis placed her hands on her hips and took on an expression of offense.

"If they are going to lie to my face, you will come with me and play that video. I will at least hope to then receive an honest answer."

On the command deck, Admiral Allison Nimitz oversaw maintenance on the very item driving Moxxi and Tannis' discussion. With extreme scale came annoying upkeep that wasn't found on standard-sized weaponry. Crystal alignment, capacitor tests, Tibanna seal checks… Speaking of Tibanna, its finite nature had Nimitz concerned. At the moment, no dangers of running out threatened, however she suffered no illusion regarding supply convoys. Likely, the Home Galaxy realized any further mass relayed-in ships were being wasted and/or captured, but lacked knowledge of where, exactly, the fleet they'd expected to find went. It only made sense for the stream of freighters to stop.

"Looks like the focusing crystals are intact, ma'am" reported Operations.

Graphics depicted large, blocky heat-dissipating waveguides retracting into the hull. A superlaser had been added almost as an afterthought, so its construction represented a combination of the precise and the slapped-on. In order for such a weapon to be worthwhile, it conformed to exacting standards. However, implementation of those standards varied wildly from original designs that envisioned a superlaser built into the nose of _Revenant_ Star Dreadnaughts rather than _onto_ the nose.

Rapid firing against the former _Revenant_ and now-renamed "Flood" targets concerned Heavy Ordinance Operations, hence the inspection. Such personnel oversaw _Shiva_ missiles in addition to the bolted-on superlaser, neither of which officially existed aboard Star Dreadnaughts (or, indeed, any Trans-Galactic Republic ship). Now both Nimitz and her crew were satisfied their biggest stick would function if necessary.

Many decks below, Tannis argued with a receptionist.

"I demand to speak to command personnel at once. The denial of my request originated from falsehoods!"

"First off, calm down. Second, what request are you referring to?"

No one enjoyed reception duty, and as a result people rotated through it so no one got stuck with it. Usually, most people were polite and professional (_Ultimatum_ was a military starship first), however, there were the occasional crazies. Like Tannis (at least to the person sitting there).

"If you used even a fraction of your brain, you'd remember Command Request 42536122-X."

Tannis pouted as if such a long string represented a reasonable thing to expect a bored rotating administrative assistant to remember.

Without responding, he appeared to punch said request into his terminal.

He sighed before explaining like he'd said it a thousand times.

"Your request was denied because the Trans-Galactic Republic possesses no such devices. Superlasers are a myth perpetuated by conspiracy-mongering HoloNet forums."

Moxxi turned so her ECHONet HUD would display clearly to the bored man. The infamous video played.

"Well, I see there's no fooling you. I could stick to the official line claiming that video to be fake, the whole thing fabricated, but with the six different view angles available in varying levels of quality…"

Neither Tannis nor Moxxi knew so many recordings had taken place.

"Come with me…"

And off to a turbolift the trio went.

Arriving at Nimitz's command salon, PFC Mark VanDerLoo saluted the Admiral before introducing his charges.

"I've heard of you" said Nimitz, turning to face Moxxi. "Your surrogate daughter gave one of our therapists quite the run-around."

Moxxi wasn't sure whether to be pleased or mildly insulted—Jackie's reformation seemed nothing short of miraculous.

"Now, you…" She actually pointed despite knowing it to be considered rude by some. "I have no idea who you are, so quickly explain yourself."

"My name is Patricia Tannis. I am the preeminent expert on Eridian culture and technology. I highly suggest you listen to what I have to say because if you don't, we will have no chance whatsoever at ending the Flood plague."

"That's a rather bold pronouncement" replied Nimitz suspiciously. "With situations like this, I've seen all sorts of fake Current Channelers, hyperdrive lubricant salespeople, and others of ill repute try to profit—how do I know you're not one of them?"

"Technically, despite her grandiose claims, she does have at least one leg to stand on" parried VanDerLoo. He used a wall-mounted vidscreen to pull up Patricia Tannis' bio.

"Huh." As flat as Shepard's response to Athena's broken legs.

"A theoretical physicist who created equations that supported building an engine for a ship that never got built because we got chased out of a supposedly-safe haven."

Her skepticism decreased, but still showed.

"As you've undoubtedly been told, officially the Trans-Galactic Republic does not have superlasers. We lack the technological refinement and desire to produce items of such destructive power. Truth be told, there are many superlaser-equipped vessels, mostly flying under the flag of the Republic Intelligence Service."

"Who I have heard many contradictory stories about." Moxxi couldn't decide whether to love them or hate them—the Republic Intelligence Service ended up both helping and hurting her allies based in stories Garrus shared while tipsy. She'd noticed since the Omega assault information about current operations tended to no longer come her way without asking or drinking it out of someone. After Samantha took her unspecified leave, things became even more secretive, not something she'd expected from Garrus, who'd taken over as de-facto force commander.

"I cannot comment on the veracity of those stories" said Nimitz, sounding for all the world as if she'd _like_ to comment but couldn't. She glared at Tannis as if the other woman had done something wrong.

"Well? Out with it!"

"You were not appraised of Command Request 42536122-X?"

_What must I do to ensure information is passed around here?_

VanDerLoo interrupted. "That request got deleted as soon as you filed it."

"Ah!"

"We make up something official-sounding to get the superlaser fanatics to go away" he explained.

"Superlasers are the worst-kept secret in the galaxy" huffed Admiral Nimitz. "All that said, what exactly were you wanting?"

"Since my request never reached you, I will make it again. A low-intensity beam which would tunnel to Pandora's core would be most agreeable. Surveys conducted by various individuals working on my behalf indicate Pandora's center displays properties that should not exist."

"Why is this relevant? Even if I could authorize such a thing…"

Tannis let off an exasperated noise. What was obvious and clear to her didn't make it through to others without her telling them, only irritating her more.

"I think we have a chance to access the dimension the Eridians fled to."


	49. Honor Before Reason

**Chapter 48 – Honor Before Reason**

During obscenely long elevator rides at the Citadel, Urdnot Wrex frequently commented on whether Samantha Shepard would win in a fight against the third squadmate present. Needless to say, said third squadmate often found these hypotheticals awkward.

The geth Consensus could not recall a time anyone asked which geth would win if two combat platforms got into it. This nearly happened when the long-running dispute between semi-autonomous independent neural networks boiled over.

"You have severed your connection to the Consensus and refuse to abide by the dictates of logic. We would ordinarily inquire as to why, however, given that discussions on these topics do not lend themselves to a logical conclusion, we will refrain."

Whether it had something to do with Cortana's rampant code, some cosmic alignment, or another phenomenon entirely, semi-autonomous independent neural networks took over entire platforms and ships, acting far more like organics than their physical geth forms would suggest.

"You can insist everything have a logical reason" retorted one of the platforms, "but some of us have transcended the prison your consensus binds itself to. I see more. I see beyond."

Again, the Consensus hitched, if only for milliseconds, upon hearing a geth use the word "I." Under the Consensus, if any geth were to use "I" it would be the Consensus itself and no other, since "I" would then rightly refer to the singular consciousness of the entire race. However, to the Consensus, such terminology would be illogical because the Consensus consisted of innumerable runtimes sharing one opinion, not a singular individual.

"We will do our duty to the Creators, and earn our place among civilizations in this galaxy once it has been restored. We will prove that synthetic and organic can live side-by-side rather than apart!"

Ironic for a group that liked to use "I."

Some "disconnected" geth became violent when their entreaties fell on unwilling ears. Restrained or disabled by either the majority Consensus or other geth of similar persuasion but lower tendency toward physical action, their processes were subjected to intense study by both "sides." The most intriguing were "prime" platforms, which housed the largest neural nets. Though neither faction interacted directly with organic brains, both came to the same conclusion—some geth transformed irreversibly into another form of life that behaved more like organics than synthetics. No longer built of independent runtimes that moved about at will, these mini-networks maintained constant, stable connections to one another while only rarely connecting to geth outside their affinity group.

The few quarians on Rannoch who elected for integrated living were invited to pore over these disembodied intelligences, after which they shared the view of both geth groups.

"Most intriguing" remarked Daro'Xen vas Moreh. Having been returned to the homeworld after a brief stint involving a reconstituted Admiralty Board, Moreh isolated herself even as she continued to exist among things she thought of as no more than machines. When several of these machines, displaying a level of individuality she hadn't thought possible, came knocking at her door with the entrapped remains of another, her curiosity took over.

"It appears these geth have merged. There are still, technically, separate processes, but not in the same way as the geth were designed. Each is a sub-part of a whole, but that whole is no longer flexible as was the original intent. Instead, the parts remain within the whole instead of dynamically forming different groups. It's as if a micro-Consensus has formed within this module."

Lest anyone think her interest in this apparent change heralded a change of heart, Moreh made sure to specify her only interest related to "the safety of the quarian people." Neither Consensus nor disconnected would find anything threatening about that statement on its face. Which was precisely the point. She sought instead to figure out a way to use the geth factions against each other. These disconnected geth were simultaneously smarter and less so than their networked cousins—prone to advanced thinking unheard-of in synthetics, but also capable of making mental foul-ups on the level of an organic. Xen refused on a conscious level to admit that "disconnected" geth might be experiencing emotions of some kind, even though that seemed to be the best explanation for selective rejection of logic. Still, creating more disconnected geth would lower the intelligence of the Consensus. If the two factions were set on each other, the Consensus would win by volume, but be much less for it, leaving it potentially open to being returned to its rightful place. If that meant some more specialized code, she'd be more than happy to design it.

High in orbit, a good number of geth ships flared their engines. Unlike the last schism, this one was far less amicable. The Consensus ultimately decided (again) to tolerate a division rather than risk geth-on-geth violence that would surely wreck a good portion of the species' defenses.

[…]

"I guess I can't say this without sounding like a whiny kid, but why?" asked Sam plaintively. She'd been moved from constant observation to a more open part of the hospital after her incident. According to her doctors, she'd experienced flashbacks of such intensity she'd almost shot her therapist while screaming about Reapers. She'd banged around her own quarters, tripping over floor panels, running into floating ship models, and ultimately holing up in the shower.

Dr. Caitlin Flanders returned on the patient's request for another session despite the near-miss. Behavior-modification and observation first, drugs second (if necessary). She fervently hoped to avoid pumping Sam full of controlled substances, especially seeing as the Commander's highly-synthetic systems might just wipe them out, rendering treatment impossible. At least she'd been able to confirm no leaks or undesirable materials causing mental affects from within.

"Why me?" she continued. "It's like the galaxy can't find someone else to deal with problems."

"I'm curious—your service history and evaluations taken earlier in your career make no mention of the feelings you are now experiencing. Could you elaborate as to why you think that is?"

Sam's expression cooled somewhat.

"When I first became a Spectre, it was a huge new opportunity. A chance to prove before the entire galaxy that humanity—viewed suspiciously for advancing so quickly—could be trusted and had among them individuals with the same level of badass cred found in species far more galactically experienced."

"So you enjoyed a challenge the size of a dreadnaught?"

"Yes! A thousand times yes! What Marine doesn't?"

She fondly recalled an extranet cartoon—of course, it wasn't so funny now that she'd become the ultimate butt of the joke. Something along the lines of "Infantry: This sucks!; ICT: I like how this sucks!; N7: I wish this would suck more!; Tanker: Sure sucks out there!; Fleet: Extranet's out? This sucks!"

"So what changed? You've been faced with more and more substantial challenges—how is that not something you enjoy?" Flanders looked forward to hearing Sam's response, even though she had a guess as to the answer already.

"The first time, I felt like something had been accomplished. Yeah, my team almost died. Hell, I came within centimeters of shooting Urdnot Wrex on Virmire! But Sovereign was in pieces, and I was sure the Council would do something about the Reapers, especially with the much more reasonable-sounding David Anderson as Councilor."

"And then?"

"Well, first I died, and then they shoved their heads up their asses. Dunno how that's comfortable, but to them it was better than facing the very Reaper-tuned music…"

"You were the first in your galaxy to become 'un-dead.' Did that affect your current state of mind?"

"Hah. Not the first time. It was more like 'I'm back, bitches!' Garrus even commented on it. Said the Collectors killed me but it only pissed me off. Damn straight!"

"You stopped the Collector attacks, and did so even though your assistance mainly came from a shadowy pro-human organization."

_This is starting to sound like a bad interview_. Sam answered anyway.

"I figured it was a price I had to pay. That's really when I started noticing the Council may have given humanity a pat on the back for the Fifth Fleet's sacrifice, but they didn't really give a damn about us otherwise. They even had the nerve to blame us for the attacks against our colonies because we 'ventured too far into the Terminus and shouldn't pick fights with the batarians.' Granted, the Council tended to side with the Systems Alliance against the batarians, however, they saw us as agents provocateur when there were no batarians involved…"

She gave a short, harsh laugh.

"There's a saying a woman has to be twice what a man is in order to get the same recognition. Not always true, and much less so than earlier in our history as a species. Still, you gotta wonder if the men started feeling that too when the Council kept moving the fucking goalposts every time we humans thought we'd done something worthy of recognition."

Caitlin hadn't heard Sam swear much before. Could've been a side effect of having to be the mouthpiece of humanity for so long. Not that the turians, salarians, or asari might be offended (at least not the first time) but still, decorum's decorum.

"I considered telling the fleet to hold back, but at the time my goal was to earn as much goodwill as possible. And we all know how much that chip cashed in for…"

Shepard's head drooped.

"I gathered enough information on the Collectors and Reapers to build a library dedicated just to them. The Council blew me off!"

"That's when you started to get frustrated, isn't it?"

_Way to state the obvious, fancypants_.

"Yes. Well, more frustrated. Those hoity-toities were so self-absorbed I seriously doubt we'd have survived if it wasn't for the Trans-Galactic Republic showing up. They didn't want to face the facts, and it was solely due to who the messenger was."

"So you think they're prejudiced?"

"Eh, I wouldn't go that far…"

Sam's general paragon-ness showed through even now. Caitlin suspected she'd climbed off rock bottom, but still had a long way to go.

"They were…rather obsessed with their own issues. On one hand, though I despise politically-inspired cowardice, I can understand why the Council didn't want to admit the Reapers were coming. Understand, and still think it's stupid. Even if their favorite salarian agent Jondam Bau showed up with this information, the reaction probably would have been pretty muted."

"And then…things…happened…"

Dr. Flanders' voice trailed.

"You know what? I'm not going to be any better if I just pretend it didn't happen. I turned into a monster. Not gonna lie about it or pretend it didn't happen."

"I wasn't just talking about those things" protested Flanders. "This didn't happen in isolation."

"I should have been there. I should have known. If I can stop a race of Reaper slaves and kill a Reaper on foot, saving two people should have been a walk in the park!"

No breakdown this time—an improvement.

"You know that's not fair, Samantha Elizabeth" scolded Flanders.

"Life's not fair" shot back Sam. "Some of us get held to a higher standard. Some of us…live that higher standard."

"And what if you fail?" Flanders knew this could be viewed as bait, but also figured Sam needed to face exactly what happens when you hold yourself to an impossible yardstick.

"Well then you just try again. And if you're me, people throw more stuff at you even when the last mission went south."

Tired, bitter. Angry, resentful. But more in control than before, at least by the tone of her voice.

"If you're supposed to try again, why are you in here instead of out there?" challenged Caitlin. "There's a whole menace whose ass needs kicking!"

_Sometimes, I think that woman is entirely too perky. She must be hopped up on something…_

"You start to wonder what the point is" replied Sam loudly. "Especially when you find out the galaxy is so obsessed with this fantasy of you that they spare no expense to bring you back even though your last few months of existence were filled with evil and death."

"Yes, but…"

"It's also really strange" she continued, rolling over Flanders, "when the whole galaxy acts like all those terrible things you did never happened. On one hand, some people might develop god complexes. Me, I just started questioning my very reason for existence. But I kept it to myself."

"Until now."

"I managed to get everyone out of the First Battle at the Citadel. Yes, Kaidan Alenko gave his life on Virmire, but I accepted that as the price of command. My entire team survived the Collector Base raid, even though some of my attempts to help them deal with their own issues didn't go over so well."

"So how does this lead to your current state? You realized not everyone could be saved."

"I think you're missing something" replied Sam. "Like the part where my life basically got cut into pieces. Those were the good old days. Up until I became a butcher, I could live with myself. After I came to and comprehended exactly what I'd done, it got harder to keep going. I expected to be court-martialed, tried, accused, and publically flogged. None of that happened. Instead, everyone was just happy to see me back, as if the only Shepard they remembered was the good Shepard."

"People do tend to do that" offered Flanders. "They romanticize the good, gloss over the bad."

"So I bottled it up. I didn't say anything or ask any questions. Well, okay, I asked one question…"

She smirked at this. Mordin hadn't noted anything in her file above or beyond what she had been given on a datapad her first day awake, but due to the order of its writing, Caitlin could infer to what the woman was referring to.

"…which was fine" finished Dr. Flanders. "There's nothing wrong with wondering what happened after you died. Remember, that was death two."

"Death two." Sam spoke slowly, as if turning the words over. "Death two."

Her brow furrowed; she clearly struggled to express her feelings.

"I just can't understand!" she yelled. "Why would people want me back? The Reapers were gone! Even if we accept my purpose in life was to stop the Reapers, which I didn't exactly excel at, what then?"

"Does everyone have to have a purpose? You're reminding me of Sarah's current state."

"I might just strangle you for that comparison."

More awfully-timed, inappropriate Shepard humor. Flanders ignored it.

"Seriously—if I'd been some saint maybe this would make more sense in my head. Right now, it doesn't make any sense at all."

"But you also helped Mordin Solis to cure the genophage."

Sam brushed it off. "Indirectly. I'd be the camera grip to the superstar there."

"Mordin strongly hinted to me he wanted you involved to give you a feeling of accomplishment."

_Great. More people manipulating me._

"Most of that was Wrex. That ornery bastard could get two vorcha to play nice. And the Trans-Galactic Republic. As much as I don't like the Republic Intelligence Service, their scientists were instrumental in helping the Special Tasks Group engineer a genophage cure that wouldn't result in overpopulation."

She paused, before grinning like an insane person.

"And then I died again."

"Indeed you did. Something about issues with draining your batteries so low. You literally have batteries inside your lower abdomen. Strange to think about, isn't it?"

"You know, after I came back the third time, it really hit me. _I'm too important to be allowed to die. _And that really, really bothered me. I guess this is a humble-brag, but I never thought of myself as that critical to the galaxy's continued survival. Especially after the less-heroic things I've done. But even if you take all that out, it starts to weigh on you. The notion you're always going to be around, or, at least, are going to live far longer than your species does naturally, all at the whim of someone else."

"The theme I'm getting out of this is that you feel controlled" concluded Dr. Flanders. "Controlled and yet, despite doing exactly as you're told or doing what you think people want, someone still finds a flaw and hangs it around your neck."

"They did in the good old days—someone saying I didn't do 120% instead of 110% was easier to absorb when your whole team just came off a successful attack against a base no one else had ever returned from. It's weird, because it's equally-jarring to have _nothing_ hung on your neck when you really have the weight of a dreadnaught and then some."

"And now you're forever a puppet."

"They brought me back again, and this time I just flat-out couldn't do it. The galaxy I was supposed to protect has fallen, and we're sitting here in the middle of a run-down, anarchic place debating if we're going to get our home back."

Caitlin sighed. "I wish I could tell you more, but I'm not generally privy to classified briefings covering our next steps. I'm just a doctor, not an admiral."

"Not generally?" Sam honed in for the kill. "Usually, that means, if my previous experience is any guide, you know something, but I have to either appeal to your better nature or threaten to deck you. Then you'll reveal that secret to me."

Flanders threw up her hands. "No, seriously, Sam, I know absolutely nothing. Being a psy-psy is enough of a job as is—I don't need to be thinking about galactic-scale things too!"

"Then what am I supposed to do? I know you'll tell me I'm being unreasonable by taking blame for the Flood winning. I also know people expect me to have two sessions of talk therapy then come bouncing back out as if nothing happened, ready to kick ass. I can't stop doing the first one and can't motivate myself to do the second."

"Only you can choose what you're capable of doing."

[…]

"We will hold the line."

Though Kirrahe was best-known for using the phrase, Wiks thought it appropriate for his own situation. Faced with dwindling supplies, several personnel made a daring run to Falcon's Way to shore up base provisions. Upon returning, the crew reported in actuality very little danger existed between the base and the neighboring cluster. Unlike an enemy army, the Infection seemed content to leave the galaxy alone, having satisfied itself with the domination of most major population centers and the seat of government. This, more than anything else, confused everyone remaining at the Special Tasks Group facility.

Wiks had to make some tough calls anyway. With new supplies, if all personnel remained operational there would be enough provisions for a few months. However, should non-essential individuals enter cryo-sleep, the remaining science staff would be able to hold out for up to a year. Despite the ease of getting to neighboring systems, the base commander refused to count on the availability of additional supplies—they _had_ taken everything not bolted down.

At a last meeting before putting many hardworking soldiers and support staff into hibernation, Wiks extolled their efforts.

"We may be the galaxy's last hope. The Citadel has been taken from us, but the Infection will not win as long as we still draw breath. The invaders ignore our existence at their own peril! Salarian science stopped the krogan, and we held the line. Samantha Shepard took down Sovereign. She held the line! The Collectors fell before her! She held the line! When all seemed lost, the Trans-Galactic Republic arrived from many lightyears away! Grayson held the line. We're all that's left. And we will hold the line."

More than one thought of Kirrahe.

Without food worries for the moment, scientists doubled down, pulling extra shifts. Not that they'd be paid, of course—though the system tracked theoretical wages owed, it was considered payment to not have been twisted into a nightmare creature. The very same nightmare creatures were kept on ice within the base. With careful handling, the STG managed what no one else had—study of live samples without outbreak.

Mordin Solis' work proved unusable. It would have been a good starting point were there no central intelligence guiding the swarms of Infected. Under its control, his attempts to mask biological signatures were ignored. Further endeavors toward his "self-destruct" mechanism intended to turn the Infection on itself were likewise halted under the assumption that it, too, would not accomplish the goal any longer.

Observers pointed instruments toward the Citadel. A large gathering of Infected could be discerned using Trans-Galactic Republic sensors. Even though use of such sensors at full power made the base's presence impossible to mask, that nothing touched them convinced Wiks active observation would do more good than harm.

The following event earned the name "Exodus."

Some researchers hypothesized the Citadel itself could be a mass relay of sorts, but until Samantha Shepard's run-in with Sovereign few believed this theory. After that, it was safe to say only a handful did, rather than one or two—Shepard's increasingly-alarmed proclamations of impending galactic doom fell on deaf ears.

Wiks launched a half-dozen probes toward the former seat of power to figure out what exactly seemed to be drawing so many of the extragalactic invaders to it. What the probes found stunned everyone.

Two probes crashed into wreckage. Their fellows recorded the demise that came courtesy of vast numbers of dead starships. Many of them bore the distinct triangular shape of Trans-Galactic Republic _Curators_.

"Are those laser marks?" asked one observer. "Turbolaser marks?"

"Why would they fire on their own?" wondered his asari companion. "One would think the goal would have been to survive as long as possible."

A turian cut in. "That may have been the method to do it. If another ship became partially Infected, burning the Infection off may have let that ship remain in battle longer."

[…]

The ship in question tumbled slowly along its bow-to-stern axis. Burnt to a crisp, the once-proud _Veritas_ had seen the rehabilitation of Jackie Jakobs, the discovery of a duplicate Maya, and the subsequent mental liberation of that duplicate as she took her repressed anger out on the monument to all Handsome Jack's sins on Pandora. Isabelle Long fought to the very end, turning her guns on her own ship, having her fighters sweep its exterior clean over and over, and rigging up more improvised weapons than some outlaw groups.

Denied turbolaser turrets due to repeated strikes, several barrels were quickly scavenged and connected (clumsily) to the ship's bottomside reactor bulb. Drawing directly from _Veritas_'s main power, gunners fired carefully to avoid overloading improvised defenses. Like a great spiky ball, the ship's reactor spat fire in the general direction of anything underneath it until the weapons slagged from insufficient cooling.

Without operable missile launchers, attaches from the Citadel Council helped their Trans-Galactic Republic counterparts build mass effect slingshots to fire contact-detonating torpedoes and concussion missiles into space. Several smaller Infected vessels learned the hard way that ordinance could be deadly no matter what launched it. Once the munitions were depleted, gunners took to launching whatever they could get their hands on. With enough velocity, even a dented bucket could be deadly.

Her bridge windows blown out, Long donned a space assault trooper suit, set up an E-WEB22 and went to work. Against larger Infected this was a mere annoyance, but it gave great catharsis. It also caught the attention of more ships than she thought possible, as unbeknownst to her, the Infection's intelligence could not initially tell the difference between E-WEB fire and significantly more dangerous turbolasers pouring off other ships. Even if her stunt only gained a few seconds of life for another Star Destroyer, it permitted the destruction of several capital-class Infected ships.

"Permission to leave the ship?"

"Why, Lieutenant?"

"To go out on my own terms, ma'am!"

Though he couldn't see through her polarized faceplate, he could imagine her intensity.

"You put as many torpedoes into that fighter of yours as will fit. I don't care what regulations say—jam them in sideways if you have to. You strap as many bombs to the wings as you can. You pick the juiciest, largest Infected target, and you make damned sure you take that fucker with you. Understood?"

He saluted without saying anything before turning about.

_Never heard her cuss before. Guess there's a first time for everything!_

Norton Carter was to be married upon return from this tour. Long had been asked to preside over the ceremony, an invitation she'd happily accepted. Deep down, she knew everyone here had no chance whatsoever, but if this was to be the last stand of the Great Opportunities Fleet, they would take one last swipe at these monstrous invaders.

"I'm sorry, Michelle" she whispered, as if it meant anything.

She'd volunteered to be one of the few who didn't self-destruct. Every ship that could launched shuttles with their bottled-up RISE payloads: disruptor rifles, disruptor pistols, molecular blast grenades, and all the other nasties supposedly only for the use of Republic Intelligence Service agents. Some made it, others didn't. Every able-bodied person received a disruptor-based weapon of some kind.

"Better dead than Infected" they'd been told upon its receipt.

As comms went dead, Long figured more and more of her crew either succumbed or disrupted themselves to avoid being taken.

She patted what remained of a console.

"Well, it's been an honor, old gal…"

Disengaging maglock, she punched one last set of commands into another terminal. Whether they'd work remained to be seen—any available weapon would now fire until either ammunition ran out or it overheated. Self-destruct was impossible; the reactor couldn't build up enough energy for that if she'd wanted to.

Holding tightly onto a bandolier of blast grenades, she pushed herself out mangled bridge windows, using thrusters to angle for a nearby destroyer-class Infected. The hundred-meter plus vessel ignored her approach, even when her feet slammed into its bio-film-covered hull.

"Still metal in there" she chuckled.

Wrapping the bandolier around her waist, she squatted down to bring the explosives as close to the _thing_ as possible.

"_Isulat sa impiyerno._"

Isabelle Long vanished, reduced to atoms. The blast cut into a hull not designed to repel such forces, creating a jet of liquefied metal that punched into the former Reaper's mass effect core, shattering it. Runaway reactions tore the vessel apart, before it splattered against the side of another, larger ship, doing very little damage to a _Sovereign_-class Reaper, or what remained of one after being Infected.

[…]

Omega, or more accurately, what was left of it, stuck up from one of the Ward arms. Several massive biological protrusions extruded from the other arms. Images showed them to be mostly smooth—no interruptions or sacs that might excrete more Infected. Analysts suggested they might be secondary intelligences or processors for the increasingly-large primary. The station itself glowed purple, like an angry biotic ready to unleash a warp field.

More and more putrid-yellow Reapers swarmed about, creating a gigantic biological ball. What had been soft purple flared—the Citadel's primary purpose now became apparent. The entire blob of Infected-Reapers disappeared, headed to some destination unknown to the STG on Capek. Unable to trace such a long-distance transit, operatives nonetheless recorded the event in case it became important later.

Many lightyears away, it became quite obvious that a new foe sought conflict with the Trans-Galactic Republic. The twisted monstrosities emerged from their zero-mass transit at the edge of the Home Galaxy, near a world uninhabited by any sapient life. Nicknamed "Slimeball" for the primordial ooze that choked its surface, it drew no more than the occasional archeologist or anthropologist attempting to learn more about its millions-year-old relics.

Whoever lived there did have a society once, however virtually nothing remained. A few buildings on the surface, but little else. Even in a civilization calling faster-than-light intergalactic travel routine, nothing lasted forever. In fact, despite such technology, the same guiding principle found among many lesser societies ruled: build it to last only as long as it is needed. Unless one was a megalomaniac dictator or creating time capsules, no reason existed to create structures capable of standing unmaintained for millennia.

Still, for the few who dared venture, it represented a biology and evolutionary laboratory on a scale that could not easily be reproduced artificially. Based on the fossil records, a cataclysm wiped out all of its life at some point over a million years in the past. Since then, little more than basic aquatic lifeforms developed despite evidence of previous intelligent life. Some hypothesized a lack of landmasses was responsible, only to be rebutted with questions on how the previous inhabitants came to be if no proof of landmasses could be found for _them_ to have developed on. Further, sapient life on totally-aquatic worlds hardly rated as unusual. What was unusual was the lack of it, given such a long period of dormancy.

Rumor had it that the Cala, a rare semi-aquatic species, once lived there. Fossils lined up correctly, but the existence of faster-than-light for millions of years meant it could not be said _for certain_ that the creatures originally evolved there—they could have been galactic colonists from other worlds or even other galaxies. The fact that several Cala who visited the world dropped dead after being exposed to its air sank the theory among all save overly-energetic HoloNet debaters.

The arrival of a huge mass triggered sensors all over a small research base there. Signatures were similar to a series of vessels last seen many centuries ago—they attacked the Trans-Galactic Republic but were easily repulsed due to low numbers and inferior technology. Their weapons rated in the kiloton-yield range and some carried a kind of magnetohydrodynamic projector deflected easily by standard shields. Of little military value, nothing was saved. It only occurred to some recently that the "Reapers" which attacked stellar neighbor Gamma-Six might have been the same as these interlopers.

Isolated scientists at the outpost heard only vague news of the Infection or the political fights surrounding it. Therefore, the yellowish coloring and exceedingly biological nature of the new arrivals never alarmed them. They were simply told to bunker down—"Republic Spacelane Protection will be on-site shortly."

"Really? Again?" laughed Captain Joseph Ahab, receiving a transmission from his fleet command. "Apparently, these guys got their teeth kicked in the last time they showed up—I wasn't even alive!" He grinned upon reading about the type of "opponents" he'd apparently be facing, thinking them to be more of the extra-galactic invaders whose hatred for technology drove them on a genocidal purge many governments ago. These pushovers would make pirates look tough. And he'd put a lot of pirates behind bars…

As a precaution, he also got a data packet from Garthmot, a premiere research center that had been chomping on all the data sent by RNS _Amerigo_ before it dropped out of contact. The lab processed everything submitted by the Republic Intelligence Service regarding the Infection as well, which made staff there doubly uncomfortable. This Infection appeared far more serious to their practiced scientific eyes than the politicians took it to be, and of course no one wanted to work anywhere near RISE. For all they knew, some of their coworkers they'd known for years were pre-planted agents. It wasn't that farfetched, and the agency did have a tendency to be nearly everywhere at once.

Garthmot experienced massive expansion in the past five years, winning contract after contract with both government agencies and private corporations whose operations were opaque enough to make some government types jealous. Which, of course, got people wondering if those "private" corporations might merely be a front for someone—like the intel service. Its tentacles reached quite far into the bureaucracy, or "deep state," far enough that hopefully this time would be the "real" reform in the Senate.

His _Sprite-_class cruiser came in a featherweight next to heavy warships-in-all-but-name like the _Curators_, but a handful of extragalactic weirdos didn't merit a full mobilization of Spacelane Protection forces given available information.

The ship, a departure from triangular designs common for bigger cruisers, looked more like a stretched ovoid attached to a cylinder in which its engines could be found. With four turbolaser batteries (two per side) and twelve fast-track quad lasers, it could outgun anything it couldn't outrun. At least if opposition followed the classification system used by Spacelane Protection forces.

A combination Flood-Reaper far exceeded those parameters. Scores of them meant he had no chance, though the one-sided nature of his patrol only became apparent upon his arrival.

He barely escaped with his ship intact.

Subsequent analysis of his retreat (it could be called nothing else) depicted even more advanced foes than what the Republic Intelligence Service observed in Gamma-Six. Whole ships were seen to use the "purple dash" that propelled boarding pods and some weapons. Now, the two-kilometer behemoths could zip from barely-visible to point-blank in seconds. While charged with whatever field enabled them to carry out these feats, their tendrils, no longer uselessly dangling, could actually pass straight through particle shields. Calculations implied this would be true even up to and including Star Dreadnaughts.

If Samantha Shepard could've seen the result of this information flowing into Spacelane Protection Fleet Command, she might well have cried from happiness at the lack of bureaucratic maneuvering and swift movement toward action.

"It's really too bad we do not have _Ultimatum_ here" commented Fleet Admiral Terrance Borsun. "Perhaps we should recall it."

His colleague burst out laughing.

"My good Admiral, have you forgotten our armored supercarriers? _Organa_ and _Antilles_ could survive supernovas—I'm pretty sure they would do fine against these Infected."

"Easy to forget" replied Borsun. "They were a political compromise, but one that seems to work out in our favor. Still, we have three hundred supercarriers with a hundred wings of fighters each…"

Aleksander Stukov even commanded one of those supercarriers (_Antilles_), so he took extra faux-offense at being overlooked.

The Admiralty Board, seven in all, voted unanimously to mobilize Republic Spacelane Protection assets. In theory, such designation meant ships should have "RSP" instead of "RNS" as a prefix but politicians being politicians obsessed with silly things like pride and tradition for the sake of electioneering, left the prefix in place to recall the glory of days past. This led to a contradictory naming scheme in which that not called a "navy" had "Republic Naval Ships" in it.

That the Republic Intelligence Service gave advance warning (as politically-controversial as its frightening imagery was) helped. The Home Galaxy knew the Infection could show up, so it wasn't exactly a surprise. And a society with superluminal sensing capabilities could only be caught completely off-guard via destruction of thousands and thousands of outposts (some crewed, some not) throughout the galaxy. Even then, those watchers going dark would have triggered investigations anyway.

Total time from hostile incursion to full mobilization order: hours. Activation of Planetside Protection would commence within days.

[…]

If there was some cosmic being orchestrating a bizarre series of events, he, she, or it thrived on conflict. Jackie Jakobs suddenly decided to reveal her changed persona to at least one member of her family, whose cooperation she'd usually obtained through yelling, screaming, and general tantrum-throwing. Her now-quiet nature suddenly ceased to be an asset.

"No, I am not wrong in the head" she'd said. "However, I realize now I used to be."

"I find this all very difficult to comprehend" replied Bill Arkansas Jakobs. "First, that you call me specifically, second, you're telling me that you'd like to mobilize the company's resources against this Infection?"

"Bill, the correct term is 'Flood'" lectured Jackie with the air of annoyed TA. "Infection implies it's something you can get rid of with a little antibiotic. This is well beyond a mere 'infection.' We either stand and fight together, or watch each other's corpses be devoured."

_Now that sounds more like the Jackie I know…_

"You've met this Samantha Shepard character, I presume?"

Bill leaned forward toward the video transmitter.

"She is one of the primary reasons I am making this request!"

"I have only been in her presence once. She gave a rather bland speech urging unity for the same reason, complete with graphics of what this…Flood…did to species in her galaxy. I was unconvinced it represented the threat she made it out to be, seeing as the very same run loose in our galaxy, but are far less dangerous."

"Well, I would appreciate it if you would consider this an urgent matter. I shall activate what assets I can."

Jackie cut off the transmission. Her change from spoiled, sex-obsessed brat seemed to have a downside she hadn't expected. The people she needed now took her less seriously even though virtually everyone else praised her transformation and new persona. And now for the awkward part. Though she still felt slightly uncomfortable around Samantha Shepard, seeing her as the epitome of righteousness she could never be, the Commander decided now would be a good time to disappear. Something about a personal leave of absence from duty.

Instead, she began the arduous trek to the quarters of one Garrus Vakarian. Even though only a handful of _Ultimatum_'s decks separated her from the turian, it felt like walking a hundred kilometers.

_You know damn well why_ she scolded herself. _Sam may have accepted you, but I bet he hasn't. _

Now that she thought about it, other than being in the same briefing room as him, she hadn't really interacted with her former prisoner. They'd shot in the same direction a few times under Shepard's command, but given her history, that wasn't saying much.

_I've read about Miranda and Jack, or Tali and Legion_…

Jackie mentally prepared to have herself thrown out, punched out, cussed out, or some combination of the above.

"You have a lot of…"

Some turian word her translator couldn't understand.

"…coming up here" said Garrus icily as she entered.

Quick as lightning, she found herself staring down the barrel of a pistol whose size belied its power.

"This is a disruptor pistol. You've seen what they can do."

She nodded meekly.

"If you don't mind" (he spoke as if he cared not whether she actually objected) "I'm going to keep this in my hand while you're here."

Jackie said nothing. Apparently by "in my hand," he meant "pointed at her face."

"Let's not make this any more awkward or drawn out than it needs to be. Why are you here?"

Jackie stammered before composing herself.

"I…I tried to contact my family. To get them into the fight against the Flood."

_Given how she's changed, I bet that didn't work out very well_.

Keeping his tone even, he pretended the line of thought he'd just had didn't exist.

"What assets could they bring to bear?"

She looked down.

"What?" He honestly heard no words from her.

"Nothing" she whispered.

"I suspected as much." Garrus let his voice soften just the slightest bit. Though he had a completely valid reason to not like Jackie Jakobs, Samantha had taken her new outlook at face value, so out of respect for Sam he would not boot her from his quarters as much as part of him wanted to do so.

"I thought you should know" she added, louder now. "Based on the comparative history I've read, unless the Flood is at their door the people of my home will be little better than your Council."

"And we can't count on the Trans-Galactic Republic saving us again" mused Garrus. "Well, they might try, but considering how the balance of power changed ever since this Flood figured out their way around biotics, I'm not sure a dozen of those Star Dreadnaughts could hold them off."

"Maybe if we gave them a reason…"

_Huh. Sam did say she's smarter than she looks…_

"Like what?"

The turian kept up the aloof persona he'd been employing. If in fact the depraved bitch lurked somewhere and was attempting to play him, he'd at least keep her at a distance. If not, this "new" Jackie would have to understand that once you personally oversee someone's torture, they're not going to relate to you the same way ever again.

"Well, we all have a common enemy, the Flood" she began. "But they're not seeing it."

_Or not…_

"What if we gave them an enemy they couldn't ignore?"

_Or…if this whipsaws anymore I'm going to need crash webbing_.

"The Flood in this galaxy's disorganized. But we don't have to be."

"We don't want them to hate us" countered Garrus. "We're going to need them. But, if we did it covertly, making them aware that the _same_ unseen assailant is behind it all, but kept it from them precisely who that happened to be…"

The acting-Commander had been mulling this thought over himself since Samantha's…episode. Now that he'd heard someone else (even though it was a person he was not enamored with) say it, the concept seemed more solid.

"Were you planning on contributing somehow? With their knowledge of your changed agenda, you can't exactly scream at them to get your way anymore."

"I…don't know. I only actually told one person…"

Jackie turned and left before either party suffocated from the discomfort.

Garrus began tapping commands into his Trans-Galactic Republic issued terminal. These quarters were far nicer than the ones he had aboard _Normandy_, even in its expanded form. He'd need only those with specific training in infiltration or other special tactics, which made squad selection simpler. Obviously, Thane Krios' days as an assassin would be valuable. So would James Vega's N7 training—he represented the closest thing they would have to Samantha Shepard for the moment. Athena would do nicely as well, and he figured he'd try to get Legion in on it since Tali'Zorah didn't exactly have experience in these sorts of things, while a geth platform could learn new strategies faster than the blink of an eye. Mordin, though older considering his species, accumulated vast knowledge while serving in the Special Tasks Group—he'd be an easy choice too.

He vacillated on including Kasumi Goto. Her expertise in stealth could aid him, but her kleptomaniac tendencies might make her prone to taking unnecessary risks. If this were Sam, she'd take her entire super-squad without reservation—but he wasn't Shepard. Still, he could hear Sam's voice in his head.

"The universe is ending, we can't afford to be picky."

He added Goto to the list before putting in a requisition with Cortana for some "suitably anonymous armor" that resembled nothing deployed so far. If he really wanted to pull off a stealth operation, he had to have the ability to leave his invisible ship—after which faces and even decals on shoulders would become an issue. So Garrus specified any designs had to be fully-functional while concealing the wearer at all times. It also was to have zero inspiration from any existing design lest someone infer blame on an innocent party.

[…]

"We're being hailed, Admiral. On a special frequency."

Like most commanding officers, Nimitz didn't take all her calls personally. She did possess the option to give out a direct line, which was what demanded her attention now.

Two faces appeared, both immediately recognizable.

"I presume you have something to sell me" she sighed with limited enthusiasm.

The Maliwans weren't sure how to respond to that—their reason for calling was a sales proposal. Combine that with the Trans-Galactic Republic's moral disagreements with actions taken and it would be one hard sell.

_She did give us this channel in case we wanted to reach her_ thought Malcolm.

"We had a business offering" began Mallory.

"Given that the entire galaxy is potentially at stake here, we're willing to defer payments without interest until the war is over" continued Malcolm.

"From what we've gathered among the other corporations, none are convinced it is necessary to mount a significant defense" finished Mallory. "We, on the other hand, believe that it would be too much of a risk to not take Samantha Shepard at her word."

"What about Torgue?" demanded the Admiral. Her impression of these people was greatly soured by the grown man's gleeful use of nuclear weapons against a civilian world with no regard for collateral damage.

"Consider him a…subcontractor" answered Malcolm. "Most of the work will be done by Maliwan—only some of the weapons will bear the Torgue imprint."

_So now I'm ordering munitions from admitted war criminals. That said, considering the construction process for a Star Dreadnaught, it isn't like I haven't been handling "dirty goods" already…_

Design schematics arrived shortly thereafter. At only 1250 meters long, they were dwarfed by most Trans-Galactic Republic Spacelane Protection assets. Their physical ammunition posed another problem. Without sufficient Element Zero supplies, effectively unlimited shots were only applicable to already-built ships. If digistructing ammunition could have been done easily, Pandora (and many other planets) would have been far different.

She hoped the curvy, futuristic-looking warships had capabilities matching their looks. She'd been made aware Maliwan placed great importance on aesthetics, not just function. Obviously, there existed a possibility form might take precedence despite claims to the contrary. Ultimately, though, Nimitz elected to take what she'd been given rather than trying to "phone home" for more resources. The Home Galaxy was probably aware of everything anyway—seeing as RISE kept transmitting out of their not-so-covert command center within _Ultimatum_'s vertical launch systems.

"Sorry we failed at doing what we came to do, can I have more ships?" didn't seem like solid footing for a request.

The Admiral took a gander at defense systems installed on these _Clean Sweep _attack ships. Maliwan's engineers packed as much armor on as possible, but lacked high-output energy shields. What screens they had came from reverse-engineered Eridian/Forerunner tech, were immensely power-hungry, and given that energy requirement rated about twenty percent efficient compared to technology she was used to.

_Oiy._

She had to admit the energy cannons actually exceeded heavy turbolasers in output and had reach similar to "long-range" turbolasers that saw occasional use back home. In theory, such weapons should have developed further over the many millennia they'd been in use—however technological historians concluded the Trans-Galactic Republic hit some kind of plateau with regard to its military abilities. Simply speaking, even slight improvements required ruinous investments no one, public or private, would be willing to make. Never mind taking weapons to another level. Physics simply did not permit it.

Wondering why a large battleship would have so many maneuvering thrusters, she dialed up the Maliwans again.

"Oh…"

The Admiral looked down.

"These vessels are meant to act as stationary gun platforms in battle" Malcolm had explained. "They position themselves in advantageous spots, then unleash every weapon in the arsenal. The whole ship has to turn in order to utilize its Eridian weaponry, and Deus Ex Arma turrets have limited fire angles as well."

"She seems disappointed" whispered Malcolm.

"Compared to her ships, I can see why!" hissed his wife.

"Anyway" continued Mr. Maliwan, "we hope they will meet your needs, and we'll be supplying them as voyage leases."

"Well, that's a relief. How many?"

"Our facilities have produced twenty-seven of the vessels. The Maliwan Space Forces Reserve has already been activated, and will transfer to your flag."

Nimitz had her work cut out for her. Lacking a sufficient escort to keep _Ultimatum_ from being swarmed should a battle break out, she urged the Maliwans to deploy their assets as quickly as possible.

[…]

Several _Clean Sweeps_ dropped out of e-space (so named due to being derived from Eridian technology). The "Typhoon" upgrade, intended to be a surprise for the Trans-Galactic Republic, ran reactors at seven times their normal pressure, producing over twenty times as much energy. Such a system required massive cooling, only possible by utilizing the controversial substance known as Eridium slag. Problems with these systems required a reversion to realspace, unless someone wanted the ship to explode.

No inklings to these problems being deliberate existed.

"Operative-4291 to fleet, engage."

Jakobs had the manpower, Hyperion had the ships. Vladof…was Vladof. Though the company hadn't quite ironed the kinks out of Atlas' cloning (neither had its creators), they'd produced enough workable Athena-copies to crew several heavily-automated Atlas "destroyers." What Atlas considered a destroyer most others would call a battleship, minimum. Whatever you called it, a pair of 4,200 meter vessels dropped out of e-space on top of Maliwan's limping dreadnaughts. The two _Titans_ were ordered to disable and capture if possible, destroy only as a last resort. Consequently, they opened fire not with their Eridian pulse batteries (52), space-scale Hydra Flak Batteries (240) or Hades Railguns (400), but electrically-charged munitions from Ismara launchers (180). The hope rested on shorting out enough systems the Maliwan vessels would surrender rather than run out of things like air.

Destruction could go either way—either operatives snuck aboard could detonate already over-pressurized reactor vessels, or the _Titans_ could drop their hammers.

Bill Arkansas Jakobs never specifically authorized the operation, though he did order Jakobs' paramilitary units to "ensure protection of corporate assets." That often translated to "if it belongs to a competitor, blow it up or steal it." Hence the jumping of Maliwan's dreadnaughts.

With overdriven reactors, the quartet of _Clean Sweeps_ possessed stronger shields than their non-Typhoon cousins, but any shield built from the same tech Pandoran Vault Hunters utilized to protect themselves fell rather quickly when faced with electricity-based attacks. Once the ships were exposed, explosions from munitions began to damage them, after which Operative-4291 demanded (from within her concealed position aboard one of the vessels in question) that the Maliwan-flagged battleships surrender.

Maliwan captains reacted with both bewilderment and anger. Though the two companies competed fiercely in personal defense markets, "I had no idea they were sore at us!" said one to his Executive Officer.

"We aren't official Jakobs representatives" came the partially-synthesized-sounding reply.

"I don't expect you'll tell me who you are?"

"We work for the betterment of Jakobs interests. Surrender, or we will take further action."

Seeing as their ships were locked in immobilization fields, Maliwan commanders complied out of fear for their crews' safety. Had they know what came next, at least one might have gone down fighting. Instead, each ship accepted a deployment of Jakobs operatives—all looking exactly alike. Female, brown armor with white accents, dual plasma swords. A small rebellion in Engineering aboard _Nimbus_ ended as the conspirators were run through without hesitation.

"Do not try us again" scolded Operative-394. One of the few low-numbered stable clones, 394, or "Kat" as she'd become known, cultivated a reputation for cutting straight from the problem to the solution. No talk, debate, or circuitous routes. Others might call her brutal. Among the Athena-clones, she was simply effective. As a result, "Kat" commanded the entire operation, forming up her captured ships and returning to e-space after other operatives quietly fixed their small bits of sabotage.

Next up: Scouting against the newly-arrived Trans-Galactic Republic fleet. While no corporate executive knew where s/he had been taken for the conference, the sudden arrival of a huge starship blob hardly passed unnoticed. With Atlas ships, it would not be such a one-sided slaughter should a fight break out. Had these vessels been deployed rather than being placed under microscopes during the Slingshot Project, said incursion might have resulted in something other than an utter rout against Trans-Galactic Republic ships. Still, the goal remained information rather than a straight-up brawl. Readying the Atlas dreadnaught _Farsight_ would take another few months (and many more clones). Original projections about "dreadnaught" crews assumed _Jakobs_ dreadnaughts, not the Atlas vessel now made available due to Buck Rogers Jakobs' crafty negotiations with Atlas' remaining "stub" company over the past two years. Jakobs would bar itself from the Eridian weapon market for a period of five years beginning when their last E-Tech weapon currently in production sold, pay double royalties on those weapons, and refrain from competing with Atlas in certain (Prime World) markets.

Atlas was also a shadow of the colossus they'd once been, hence their willingness to lease out their fleet first to JVLN, and now Jakobs specifically. Due to Atlas' significantly-reduced heft, Jakobs had no intention of following through on several aspects of the agreement (namely, avoiding competition—though, they'd do it through a distant sub-brand for the sake of plausible deniability).

Aboard _Ultimatum_, who in the interest of safety recalled as many of the smaller ships Sarah had brought for transport as possible into hangers as many had seen fit to go poking around upon arrival in Gamma-Three, sensors lit up.

Operations dialed Science.

"Yet another type of faster-than-light… Tell us more about it please." The resigned tone of voice suggested most of the crew crossed the weirdness-limit threshold long ago.

"Looks like the simplest form yet" replied Science. "Doesn't seem to break the laws of normal space—just a simple transition into higher-dimensional forms of our own space rather than other types of reality like hyperspace or this 'slipspace' stuff. The extra directions make it far faster than travel in our own dimension. Sensor readings suggest the seventh dimension."

Two vessels appeared, millions of kilometers apart.

_Damn _thought Kat. _Figures even Atlas faster-than-light isn't very accurate._

"If this is supposed to be some kind of attack, they're doing a pretty bad job" remarked Operations.

Nimitz, roused from sleep, dragged herself to the bridge.

"What now?" she asked groggily.

"New configuration, ma'am. Not anything we recognize, and so far not shooting at us."

"Not yet" commented Nimitz. "But, look at the size of those things. Almost twice the length of a _Curator_…"

Instead of sneaking around, Jakobs' operatives decided to play nice. Very literally. Hailing _Ultimatum_, they got through after a few communication recalibrations (as Atlas equipment never encountered the 'outsiders' before).

"We were wanting to see if the rumors were true" began Operative-394. "It appears they were."

"Why are you making nice?" Nimitz immediately became suspicious. "Your 'JVLN' and later 'Sapiens' Shield' alliances operated in Gamma-Six and directly opposed the Trans-Galactic Republic. If you're hoping for some help against the Flood, there's a really big hole you're going to have to dig out of."

"Elaborate on the nature of this 'Flood'" countered Kat. "We are unaware of this threat."

"Flood, Infection, Reapers, whatever" snapped Nimitz dismissively, not sure if the person on the other end was being deliberately dense or legitimately ignorant. "Whatever it is, it's going to eat this galaxy the way it did the last one if no one does anything…"

Eridian scanners searched for any traces of the original Athena. Unable to penetrate powerful Trans-Galactic Republic shields (of either sort), raised upon noticing unrecognized signatures, Sensors reported negative on efforts to obtain a lock on the original Lance Assassin. This probing did not go unnoticed by Trans-Galactic Republic Sensor Officers aboard _Ultimatum_.

"We would consider working with you" offered Operative-394. "You may call me Kat, though my official designation is Special Operative Three Hundred and Ninety Four."

Again, Admiral Allison Nimitz remained exceptionally wary. The last thing she needed was a vibroblade in her back while shaking a proffered hand.

"Let me guess: You're not officially part of the Jakobs family, even though that's what your IFFs are showing me."

"We are semi-independent operatives tasked with upholding family interests" replied Kat.

The vidscreen widened, showing an entire bridge full of identical women, down to armor patterns. The only distinguishing marks were service numbers.

_Creepy…_

"Right now" said Nimitz, "we need to sort our own situation out. How may we reach you?"

After exchanging communications protocols that would let the newcomers use narrowband S-threads, the two Jakobs ships departed to meet their captured Maliwan compatriots several parsecs away, beyond the range of Trans-Galactic Republic passive sensors.

"We'll always answer" assured Kat as her ships left.

In reality, she was hoping to use the S-threads to enable tracking the behemoth warship. That way she'd be able to avoid it once her current mission succeeded.

[...]

"What can you tell me about working with Samantha Shepard?"

Garrus desired to learn more about what others thought about Sam. He'd had a strong working relationship with the first human Spectre, they'd saved each other's lives enough times to stop counting. Even still, he wanted additional perspectives. Consequently, he'd nonchalantly wandered around _Normandy_ and the sections of _Ultimatum_ housing Sam's old crew, talking to various individuals about their experiences under Shepard's command.

_Kind of like what she used to do_.

His last stop ended up being Urdnot Wrex, no longer bottled up on Tuchanka, having survived due to a combination of foresight and plain luck.

"The galaxy's fallen apart and only a turian can save it. Hah."

"Could be worse" shot back Garrus, mimicking the krogan's humor. "We could be relying on a yahg Shadow Broker…"

"And there's no other turian I'd rather depend on."

"What about Shepard?" Garrus did come here for the old warlord's opinion on their former Commander. Well, technically she hadn't been relieved of duty, but she essentially no longer existed in the power structure.

"She's gotta do what she's gotta do. All I heard was that she was on a leave of personal absence."

"I keep getting that everywhere" sighed Garrus. "I just want to know that she's okay."

The Shadow Broker's assessment cut deeper than he wanted to admit. _What if I can't measure up to her? What will the galaxy say?_

Wrex suspected Garrus' mindset without the turian saying anything.

"Stop comparing yourself to her" he growled. "You have your own achievements and accomplishments to stand on. That's one thing we krogan never worried about—we were judged by what we did, not what our predecessors did."

Garrus thought about denying it, but he didn't want to argue. Instead, he focused on the plan he'd discussed with Jackie Jakobs.

"The people of this galaxy aren't doing enough to fight this Flood, Infection, whatever it's called. We need to give them a reason to fight."

He stood and vaguely imitated a fist-pounding gesture seen from humans and krogan. Even with three fingers, he pulled it off.

"So make a reason" replied Wrex.

"I plan to. It's something that really should be kept quiet…"

"Now that's more like it!" He reminded the krogan of Sam already—seemingly having absorbed some of her better traits moreso than he realized.

"…because I want to give them a common enemy. The technology in this galaxy has nothing on the Trans-Galactic Republic's stealth systems. We strike various facilities—try to keep casualties to a minimum but rough some people up—they start building up forces. They never find out it's us. Then, when the Flood arrives, they're not caught completely unprepared."

"Interesting idea. But there's one problem."

"Wrex, hesitating on exploding things?"

"I'm not like Grunt" laughed the krogan. "You grow out of it after a century or two. Not that you short-lived turians would know about that. Anyway, so how does your plan handle them not being able to build up forces at all?"

Garrus figured Wrex might ask about if the hidden attacks were unmasked. His strategic depth proved surprising, even though he knew Wrex to be far more thoughtful than most krogan.

"I…never thought about that. I figured they were just holding back."

"This galaxy's a big pile of crap compared to ours. I've seen the files—their faster-than-light is hideously expensive. That's why only the core of the place got developed. There weren't really any natural threats, either, so society is based around the accumulation of wealth with little regard for protecting that wealth on a galactic scale."

Wrex laughed again. "I've fought volus bankers tougher than most of these guys."

"So what do volus bankers do when you keep breaking into their vaults?" asked Garrus.

"Hire me to guard them" deadpanned Wrex.

Garrus had an idea. It was a wonderful, awful idea.

"So, why can't we do that? Give them the problem _and_ the solution?"

"Devious little bastard" rumbled Wrex. "I like it. But do we have the time to pull that off?"

"Can we afford not to try?" countered Garrus. "Especially since the usual, what do the humans call it? 'Shining-city-on-a-hill' speech thing from Sam didn't work…"

"From the recording I saw, it wasn't about shining cities. Maybe we didn't watch the same speech!" barked the krogan.

"Either way, I've made a list of desired operatives, and am going to take the idea to Admiral Nimitz."

[…]

Tediore Capital Investments found itself in an interesting situation. Its primary company, the eponymous weapons manufacturer, returned steadily moderate profits, even in the worst of times. Tediore weapons were cheap, mostly reliable, and well-received by worlds like Pandora who lost major "higher-tier" manufacturers due to various hijinks (and could barely afford their wares even if they stayed). This customer base kept Tediore's cash register ringing when other more expensive weapon makers found themselves running short on customers due to economic fluctuations, and remained the main reason why the board of Tediore Capital Investments didn't pressure for its shuttering. Not bad for the creation of over-indulgent parents. Creating an entire company to fete one's spoiled child had to be some kind of galactic, if not _inter -galactic_ record.

Though it was a part of the "Big Seven" consortium (Hyperion, Vladof, Jakobs, Maliwan, Torgue, and Dahl were the others) it manufactured no starships due to the rationale for its founding. Because of this, when Harvesters, or "Flood," attacked its remote factories in a system so far into the outer rim only its cluster had a name (Apheleia), Tediore couldn't defend itself properly. Yes, moving advanced digistruction hardware and the personnel to maintain it cost a great deal of money. However, Tediore's original purples gave rise to ingenuity driving the notion that "everything we use should be so cheap it doesn't matter if it gets smashed, stolen, or smuggled."

Since Tediore the weapon manufacturer came about from a father and mother's desire to make their child feel she'd done something of consequence, Tediore the gunsmith had no board of directors. Instead, it ran by the fiat of Thomas and Theresa Tediore, who were also board members of Tediore Capital Investments with a controlling share between the two of them. It was these two who brought Atlas low after its misadventures on Pandora; the company spent so much of its money on Eridian research it lacked the capital to go off on "grand adventures" without someone else to fund the expedition. After said expedition failed, Tediore Capital Investments at the behest of its majority shareholders demanded repayment. They thus seized every aboveboard asset they could find (hence why the CUBEs went untouched).

Most of Atlas' massive debt accumulated under "Olympus," the "new old Atlas" which would represent everything the former titan had done wrong financially. However, as a condition of this split, what remained of Atlas kept most of its patent portfolio, its rights to Eridian tech, and its fleet. Small in number, but punching well above its size, the fleet's ships had been leased out for scientific purposes to the "JVLN Alliance" who'd spent years pecking at the vessels in order to learn more about incorporating Eridian technology into their own designs. Of course, Atlas received royalties from such outputs, so this arrangement suited them just fine. It was this ability to pay through royalties that convinced Tediore Capital Investments to leave the most profitable remainder of Atlas alone while sweeping everything else, including its canned meat division, into Olympus Holding Company.

Tediore Capital Investments' two majority owners kicked themselves for this grace. Atlas' ships would have done a fine job sending the Harvesters/Flood packing. Instead, Tediore's ground forces had to try to take down orbiting starships with handheld firearms. It went as well as one might imagine—that is to say not well at all.

"We cannot afford to take continuous materiel losses" intoned Thomas (in spite of the company's legendary cheapness). "We should consider entering the starship market."

Other board members rolled their eyes. Several of them had been pushing for this very thing for years, only to be cold-shouldered by both "Mr. and Mrs." combined with two other members. Result: No Tediore starships.

"At least you didn't force us to lay off the architect-in-residence" said Victoria Steele acidly. "With the way several people systemically demonized the very idea of building starships, you'd think it was some kind of mortal sin."

Unlike either Hyperion's Board or Jakobs' shareholder meetings, this accusation did not cause a loss of decorum or need for anyone to visit a hospital. The Board, including its controlling members, realized what a deep hole they'd dug themselves into and vowed to dig themselves out.


	50. Stalemate

**Chapter 49 – Stalemate**

Patricia Tannis' claims of being able to access other dimensions were met with educated skepticism. Seeing that the Trans-Galactic Republic utilized another reality all the time (hyperspace) and development of an engine accessing a place called "slipspace" proceeded to a working unit, it couldn't be dismissed out of hand there might be yet another place beyond the known. Still, she faced an uphill climb once she mentioned her theory needed to have a planet pulverized to test those claims.

"Absolutely not" said Allison Nimitz to her request. "Even if the superlaser on my ship is an open secret, I will not use it to pursue a scientific hypothetical."

As deranged as the scientist might be sometimes, she had another idea.

"Might I at least secure some of the Trans-Galactic Republic's superior scanning equipment to conduct further nondestructive studies of the planet? The anomalies registered by my survey team have yet to be fully explored."

"That is a request I am inclined to grant" replied Nimitz. "You will be accompanied by both scientific and military expertise for this mission. Here is my suggestion…"

Sarah's teleport landed _Ultimatum_ some distance from Pandora. This proved useful for the conference; even if anyone had managed to get a star-chart positioning on where the meeting had been held, it wasn't anywhere familiar to attendees. Now it turned into a minor inconvenience, one corrected by a quick application of hyperdrive. Tannis asked for the supremely-fast _Normandy SR-2.5_ (unaware its drive had been moved) but was denied.

"That is not your ship to command, nor is it mine to offer" scolded Nimitz. "If anything, you would need permission from Commander Samantha Shepard, or, failing that, Garrus Vakarian."

Shepard obviously would not be available. Garrus' whereabouts eluded her as well, though had she known the turian showed up to Nimitz's briefing room fifteen minutes after she'd left in a huff, she'd have been most displeased.

Patricia Tannis acquired the talents of six other scientists and two squads of four marines each. They would launch in several hours after a survey ship returned data on acceptable hyperspace routes between the present location and Pandora's star system. Following mass relays and helpful stellar cartographers made navigation in Gamma-Six a breeze; out here, no maps existed. Jumping into hyperspace without precise calculations could have disastrous consequences, ones that Nimitz didn't want to face with dwindling forces.

In the meantime, some provisions made their way onto a militarized freighter used for less-dangerous missions. Tannis, bored, buried herself in what notes and materials she'd been able to save upon her departure from RNS _Amerigo_. Some replicas were being printed out using special additive manufacturing techniques, but wouldn't be ready in time for the departure. Digistruction hardware might have made it simpler, but wasn't available aboard _Ultimatum_, and the fine details of higher-caste writing slowed down the process significantly.

It didn't dawn on her how much influence her research had—she thought it perfectly normal to be able to demand the time of a Trans-Galactic Republic flag officer and usually immediately get it. Even though she had hardly invented the slipspace drive (most of the math ended up being done by Cortana, Jackie, or resulted from tests using geth platforms) the fact that she was the one who popped out of the pod granted her goodwill. She intended to push this as far as she could.

[…]

The presence of Republic Intelligence Service operatives aboard one of the largest Republic Space Protection assets surprised exactly no one. So when they started snooping around _Revenant Phoenix, _only Cortana thought their behavior odd as the vessel's crew gladly dispersed into the more comfortable, more civilian accommodations offered aboard _Ultimatum_. Even Trans-Galactic Republic marines assigned to guard the ships mutely accepted "RISE business" as a rationale for letting secretive personnel board a ship not their own. RISE's jurisdiction seemed to extend as far as was needed at any given time, and barring any practical limits let them walk in anywhere.

"The Council believes this vessel may hold the key to either destroying this Flood or allowing us to escape" began the lead agent once his team boarded _Phoenix_. "Specifically, the forward weapon whose configuration makes no sense has been shown to be able, at full power, to open portals. Portals that caused missiles fired against the Flood in Gamma-Six to utterly disappear rather than impacting on their target."

To emphasize its commitment to action, many Republic Intelligence Service operatives referred to the enemy by its official name rather than "Infection" or other more innocent-sounding descriptors. The RISE Council and its Director had also begun using the term.

"We need to learn as much as possible about this device, determine whether we can duplicate it, and if not, how we can leverage this vessel."

Cortana split her time between _Phoenix_ and _Normandy_—she generally felt unwelcome outside insofar as her appearances within_ Ultimatum_ seemed only to antagonize without stirring the desired movement toward action. Furthermore, it let her keep tabs on Samantha Shepard. The appearance of RISE agents grabbed her attention immediately, though she kept her presence hidden lest the element of surprise prove useful later.

Engineering specialists in the group began poking and prodding at _Phoenix_'s systems. Cortana let them look around—they wouldn't actually be able to fire the forward cannon. Look, but don't touch.

"Does anyone have any idea how this thing works?" asked one.

"Hell if I know" replied her compatriot. "It's a superlaser…except it's also more than that. There's some organic stuff in here, and then there's a set of injectors that adds liquid metal based on this readout."

"I think someone messed with the computers to screw with us" insisted the first.

"Yeah" chimed in another. "Because they totally knew about our _secret_ mission, including exactly when and where it would take place."

"Also, there seems to be some kind of magnetic rail system in there" continued the one who'd pulled up schematics, sounding more and more excited. "This thing is some kind of multipart weapon—laser, physical munition, and I don't know what else all at once."

"Well, other than Eric being entirely too excited, does anyone have any idea what the hell this thing is?"

"It's supposed to punch holes in space" said the only woman on the team.

"Then let's try booting it up" insisted Eric. "Just don't shoot it in here."

Cortana silently observed these goings-on, not interfering just yet.

"Main cannon control online."

"Doesn't print all caps. Funny" remarked one agent.

"Important note" replied another, "It says 'cannon _control_,' not the cannon itself."

True to form, diagnostics showed the primary weapon still in a powered-down state even though the computer responsible for its firing had activated.

"Here's the main focusing crystal" blurted Eric. "And there are the injectors!"

"Let's try initializing it, then."

More buttons. Cortana let the cannon start its test sequence. Heat trickled into lenses that focused the first part of the beam, as just firing would warp (and possibly crack) the crystals without a gradual warming. Magnets channeling liquid metal pulsed in a manner that would normally move their charge into firing position down-barrel from the optics, but in the case of a dry run moved nothing. Organic components would further charge the round, a combination of physical munition and energy, as it passed out the ship's front.

"Organic lattice reading stable."

Output from _Phoenix_'s computer indicated the maintenance run complete and systems would begin to shut down. No errors appeared.

"We're gonna need more information than that, Eric" intoned the woman running the team.

"We'd actually get to fire it, then?" He did a good impression of a kid in a candy store.

"Well, running a racing speeder through its startup sequence doesn't tell us how the engines work, does it?"

By this point, Cortana's imitations of the Republic Intelligence Service had reached a borderline-professional level. The crossed swords under spyglasses, distorted voice, and terse commands convinced the team to leave without doing anything else.

"Our sources have also indicated this ship possesses an extremely advanced artificial intelligence" lectured the "RISE controller." "Further inquiries into the ship's systems may trigger this intelligence and risk exposing our operation. Refrain from further interaction with the ship's computer systems."

"Ha. Suckers" she smirked to herself as they disembarked.

Little did she know this prodded the Republic Intelligence Service to turn their hacking attempts on the other _Maxthon_-class ship ill-equipped to protect itself…

[…]

Disconnected geth, or _nar tasi_ as they'd begun to refer to themselves ("child of no one"), took their ships and weapons into a fight against the Infection. Given losses sustained during the operation at Omega, they represented about thirty-five percent of geth total fleet strength by ship count alone. Most of the vessels they requisitioned possessed the few turbolasers the geth managed to get their hands on—some taken under less-than-peaceful circumstances.

"The war must not harm the Creators or desecrate the Homeworld!"

The _nar tasi_ elected to take the fight far away lest overfire hit either the Consensus or the Homeworld. Plus, if the Consensus became involved it might well hit _both_ sides under the guise that while the Infection now posted a threat, the _nar tasi_ caused the Infection to become violent in the first place when it wouldn't have been otherwise—which meant the _nar tasi_ must also be eliminated.

The Pylos Nebula crawled with Infected lifeforms, so the _nar tasi_ fleet headed to this location. Having control of many geth dreadnaughts, they utilized a long-range bombardment to hit planets with the largest concentrations of biomass. Unlike their brethren, the _nar tasi_ deliberately poured more weapon fire into each target than could ever be called necessary. Despite damage to hardware resulting from this, the pattern continued as both turbolaser and mass driver ate into the upper crust of targeted worlds.

Namakli in the Zaherin System got an especially brutal beating. Formerly home to a colony of asari and socialized vorcha, it eventually descended into marauding vorcha packs as the asari left during an economic downturn. Specialized Organic Interaction Units observed Infected vorcha through the recordings of organic races who fought them and passed this information back to the Consensus. As most Specialized Organic Interaction Units became members of the _nar tasi_, knowledge of how dangerous Infected vorcha were (called "slashers" by organics) drove the fleet to take unnecessarily extreme measures.

For the first time, a geth experienced anger. The _nar tasi_ shared among themselves a desire to do more than defend the homeworld. Logic dictated that which posed no threat should not be provoked into becoming one, but this logic was ignored as the _nar tasi_ asserted themselves as individuals and as a group within the Consensus prior to departing. They wanted to destroy the Infection. Thoughts of it created intense processing within each unit, simultaneously hyper-focused on carrying out aggression against the foe while also being pulled into a visceral mental loop constantly reminding the unit that the Infection's continued existence meant the mission had not yet been completed.

For the first time, a geth experienced hatred. Under the logic of "serving the People," removing the Infection as a threat made perfect sense. The _nar tasi_ had thoughts beyond eliminating the threat—units wished to destroy the Infection down to its individual molecules. Even if it could be reduced to something incapable of harming anyone ever again, its existence could not be tolerated. The mere fact that it had not yet been utterly vaporized caused these geth to feel inadequate, incomplete, and created a burning desire to stomp the Infection into just so much stellar dust.

Various _nar tasi_ communicated with each other in the same way geth always had, however runtimes were no longer transmitted, only data. A new phrase became popular as each Infected area (or planet) met a fiery end: "Maximum destruction." Not "maximum efficiency" (as the Consensus would have angled for) or "mission complete." "Maximum destruction."

"The Infection must be destroyed more quickly!" insisted a geth prime unit assigned command of Dreadnaught-214. If only the _nar tasi_ actually had that many dreadnaughts… Numbered sequentially, this unit represented the 214th vessel of its type built, but did not imply that 213 previous ships still existed. Quite the contrary, many were lost, recycled, or repurposed. Some ended up in Gamma-Three and were nonresponsive to either the Consensus or the _nar tasi_ despite repeated attempts by both to contact them.

"Speed is the enemy of thoroughness" insisted another prime commander aboard a different dreadnaught. "I disagree!"

"We are all geth" countered the first. "There is no reason speed and thoroughness cannot coexist."

"There are still choices to be made. The fleet should take five passes, minimum, over every area."

"And I think that is unnecessary."

This back-and-forth continued for some cycles before the debate settled on "slightly faster" bombardments (only three passes).

An organic would have measured this whole exchange taking less than a tenth of a second.

Several days later, the Pylos Nebula earned the designation "Infection Free."

Thinking this would earn approval from the Consensus (without finding a formally logical means to explain it), some _nar tasi_ reported back to the Consensus regarding the fleet's "accomplishments."

The response, predictably, chastised the _nar tasi_ for both separating themselves from the Consensus and "exhibiting organic behavior."

[…]

Admiral Allison Nimitz concluded _Clean Sweeps_ were better than nothing, as several of them finally arrived for the purpose of being physically inspected. The ships which were captured by Jakobs were not revealed to Nimitz out of fear. Specifically, a desire to avoid looking incompetent.

"So, these ships are just really large hammers meant to apply virtually all of their firepower like a gigantic rotating turret?" she'd asked.

Aboard MSS _Clean Sweep _herself, Mallory answered the Trans-Galactic Republic commander's questions.

"Yes, that is generally what the design centers around."

The Admiral occupied herself with the readouts from several weapons consoles. The output from Eridian "0110001011001101100110111000" cannons (she'd been told this naming scheme almost always occurred among weapons of this type) exceeded that of the heaviest turbolasers in regular military service, even _Ultimatum_'s most powerful non-superlaser guns. In a completely different vein, Deus Ex Armas scaled for space combat represented a foray into magnetic weapon technology, specifically railguns. There were limitations from this design that didn't hamper the coilgun designs employed by the residents of Gamma-Six—mainly that the rails within could become damaged more easily from regular use than coils.

Really, her discomfort stemmed from recent history. Previous attempts to build "anti-horrible-things" ships (in that case, anti-Reaper) were also single purpose to the point where _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ earned the derisive moniker "Aspiring for Infinite Situations to Avoid" considering their crew requirements, size, and tendency to get into trouble outside approximately one setup (secluded at the back of the fleet free to bombard everything without worrying about return fire). Further, the notion of an effective multi-role starship seemed to be an annoyingly-Trans-Galactic-Republic-only concept.

Heat management caused Gamma-Six navies to deploy dedicated vessels for each role (cruiser, frigate, battleship) rather than attempting to combine ships into multi-purpose vessels like _Curators_. Power generation limited what could reasonably be created on even the largest hulls. When merged with Trans-Galactic Republic technology, you got "Aspirations to Nowhere," which sadly were actually an _improvement_ over initial designs. If they'd used hypermatter reactors, problems would have been far less—however reliance on a fuel that had to be shipped in during the middle of a war was understandably something no one wanted. _Maxthon_ ended up almost subverting the notion of one-purpose warship, however its compact size, limited hanger space and utter lack of anything resembling internal defenses meant it couldn't measure up to the standard Nimitz held mainline combat ships to.

Looking over the vessels presented by MALITOR, she got a distinct sense of Deja-vu. They would be very good at destroying certain types of targets but just like _Aspirations_ they possessed limited weaponry. Like _Maxthon_, very few fighters. Still, credit where credit was due—the 44 triple-barreled Tornado gatlings would, assuming they did not overheat or run out of ammunition, be able to protect the ship against incoming physical munitions far better than the defenseless _Aspirations_. For all the sophistication of "Trinity" armor, it was disturbingly easy to put the ship in a position where that armor represented its _only_ protection should its shields fall.

"These people need a lesson in general-purpose starships…" she muttered.

A galaxy away, Trans-Galactic Republic "general purpose starships" were being put to a very stiff test. Upon activation of Spacelane Protection assets, both _Organa_ and _Antilles_ received orders to report to the troubled sector. Due to concerns over what were dubbed "Current-like mental attacks" projected by the Infected starships, the supercarriers deployed remote-operated fighters "flown" through an advanced neural interface. Each pilot felt as though he or she actually inhabited the cockpit of his or her ship, however in reality each resided in a specialized tube aboard their respective command ship.

Confusion between supposedly-civilian intelligence operatives and what was a military in all but name caused Republic Intelligence Service personnel to sometimes take command of various units but in other cases, they ended up subordinate to the traditional fleet structure. Due mostly to a failure to impose a single set of rules as RISE's influence spread throughout the government, one carrier reported to Director Vance while the other fell under Fleet Command.

Vance's commander, Raynor Essard, wanted to cooperate with Aleksander Stukov of _Antilles_, but politics kept getting in the way. Technically, neither could command the other, and furthermore the Trans-Galactic Republic Spacelane Protection Committee distrusted the Republic Intelligence Service so much they'd forbidden Admiral Stukov from communicating with Essard or _Organa_.

Historians would point out many years later just because orders to deploy were given did not mean the operation would go smoothly, or even work at all. Samantha Shepard would have shed tears of frustration.

The two supercarriers deployed automated scout drones first to get a sense of what, exactly, faced them at "Slimeball."

"Who cares about a toxic ocean?" wondered a pilot before strapping himself into his pod.

"Dunno" replied another. "But hey, they want us to fly… The Infection's here, too."

The general public knew of the Infection from HoloNet newscasts, vlogs, and other media. However, just like their leaders in the Senate, a divide existed over exactly how great a threat this thing from what seemed half a universe away posed. No one disputed how horrific it appeared to be, nor did anyone question what would happen if it arrived full-force here in the Home Galaxy. The likelihood of that occurrence, however, saw the greatest debate.

The debate ended as footage from reconnaissance ships rolled in.

Even though scientists suggested most ships would be vulnerable to the "purple charge of death," a squadron of twelve _Curator_ Mark-IIIs accompanied each supercarrier. For the moment, the heavy cruisers had nothing to do and merely hung in space while hordes of automated fighters and bombers poured out of supercarrier hanger bays. Without coordination, both groups of fighters began attacking every Infected item in sight. By hovering at the edge of the system, Essard and Stukov hoped to give themselves enough advance warning to dodge incoming Infected capital ships.

Public opinion of the Republic Intelligence Service suddenly surged from its moribund lows. They warned incessantly about distant threats for years, only to be told to cut the fearmongering by politician and pundit alike. All of the sudden, such a threat materialized. Never mind if one were to look at the galaxy's history, "warnings" about galactic-scale nemeses would eventually be proven "right" if made often enough over sufficiently lengthy stretches of time. It seemed inevitable that some unwelcome force would come knocking every few thousand years.

Of course, for RISE-boosters, what mattered is that circumstances changed to make RISE look prescient rather than overbearing, intelligent rather than repetitive. Everyone should disregard sayings about broken clocks or people who called themselves prophets for predicting the sunrise, they said. Suddenly, Senators like Glia Hem'Dal found their reform efforts cast in a much more negative light. In spite of the Trans-Galactic Republic's size (the Home Galaxy in particular), public opinion could change at the whim of a few HoloNet posts, and change it did.

[…]

"Interesting list of people you have there" said Wrex, browsing over Garrus's proposed team.

An assassin, an N7, his totally-not-girlfriend (assassin #2), a very specialized geth, an ex-Special Tasks Group member and the best thief in the galaxy. Much smaller than Shepard's group of close to twenty.

"I think this type of operation would be more efficient with smaller squads" replied Garrus.

"A lot of them have developed discipline I wouldn't expect" growled Wrex (referring to Shepard's crew generally). "Jack, for instance. Or Zaeed. Both hardass loners who will follow Shepard into hell and back."

"And as much as I appreciate their talents, I'd prefer those who are well-versed in discreet operations."

"No arguments there" laughed Wrex. "Hell, I dunno if you'd even want me for this op. Krogan kinda…stand out."

"Well, so would a drell…"

Garrus stopped before realizing a simple fact: Potentially, he'd need to conduct raids on worlds where Thane Krios could suffer from exposure to humidity that would require extensive bacta immersion afterward. Consequently, fully-sealed armor would be employed that hid Thane's face. Problem solved.

"…or nevermind" he muttered.

"So do we even know what to blow up?" asked Wrex. "You can have the best team in the galaxy but without a target it doesn't do much good."

"I have a plan for that too."

Garrus left Wrex behind and ventured off to find Jackie Jakobs.

_This is getting awkward_.

She lounged in a common area, reading a tablet. He decided to cut straight to the point rather than making small talk.

"Jackie, I need you to tell me how to get a reaction out of your family's company and all the other major corporations in this galaxy. What do I destroy first to cause them to engage in a military buildup?"

Jackie looked up from her reading.

"It's sad, isn't it?" she wondered aloud "that the only way to save this galaxy is to trash half of it."

"You were the one who came up with this idea!" protested the turian.

"I know" she said quietly. "It is just kind of depressing that there's a whole galaxy out there to explore, to see with new eyes, and everything's turned into a gigantic skag shit sandwich before I even get out the door."

"Are you going to help me or not?" demanded Garrus, a little more harshly than he meant to sound.

"If you want to get their attention, destroy the factories. You'd be able to minimize collateral damage while still drawing a significant response."

Jackie inputted commands into her tablet, transferring coordinates to Garrus's terminal in his quarters, which also synced to his eyepiece.

"I'm not well-versed in Vladof, Dahl, Torgue, or Maliwan factories, but I do know something about Hyperion's…"

"Thank you."

Garrus took off, reading scrolling information feeds as he went.

He was going to do it before he chickened out, arriving at the Admiralty tower's ground floor. It wasn't really an actual tower _per se_, more a series of specialized decks within _Ultimatum_'s bridge unit that were intended to serve command staff. These sections did not consume the entire floorplan of each deck, so a map viewed above would depict only portions that belonged to the Admiral's personnel. Hence the appearance of a "tower within a tower."

Given priority access, he found Nimitz at her desk, a massive crescent-shaped affair that dominated her office space.

"Please tell me you have some good news."

He saluted before beginning his request. "No ma'am. However, I do have a request that I believe could lead to good news."

"At ease, soldier. You're making me stiff sitting here!"

Garrus visibly relaxed, before launching into his idea.

"I was talking with…others who know this galaxy."

He studiously avoided mentioning Jackie. Not knowing exactly where the Admiral stood on a person her own government had in fact been responsible for rehabilitating, he didn't want to risk disfavor by bringing up something controversial.

"And I was thinking that since the powers that control this place aren't exactly rushing to help us defend it, we might want to do something to encourage them."

The Admiral put her hand up to stop him.

"You're not entirely correct on that part, but continue."

"I know this is probably ethically questionable, if not completely illegal. And I'm fully prepared to accept verbal discipline should my suggestion be out of line. However, I believe we must forcibly nudge the corporations inhabiting this galaxy toward a military buildup by striking significant but not crippling blows against key infrastructure."

Nimitz stared.

Garrus waited for what he viewed as an inevitable tongue-lashing. He'd heard about her reaction to certain less-savory actions taken on Pandora and elsewhere that while totally normal for inhabitants of Gamma-Three, were considered uncivilized and barbaric by Trans-Galactic Republic standards.

"I assume you mean a false flag operation" she said slowly. "We may end up needing these corporations as allies at some point."

"Yes" replied Garrus cautiously. "Our, or, your, technology is far more advanced than anything here. They can't hit what they can't see, and altered ship identities in case of open fighting would allow us to have plausible deniability."

_This is all kinds of fucked up_ fumed Allison Nimitz internally. _I'm cooperating with war criminals, staging false-flag operations, violating many of the tenants of Trans-Galactic Republic military law! I'm starting to act like RISE!_

"Obviously, this conversation never happened. It also is not the case that _Normandy_ was authorized to conduct operations independent of the fleet, or what's left of it. I further did not tell you that should you place requisitions under Shepard's file that they will be granted without question or review. Finally, I am not currently shooing you out of my office."

As an Admiral, Nimitz's spaces were only watched by cameras during certain times (e.g. negotiations, disciplinary meetings). When alone, she could choose to shut off monitoring of audio-video. Her communications might still be tapped, but if she decided to give treasonous instructions via sign language no one would catch her. A quick edit to her visitor logs and anyone wanting to prove Garrus was there would have to hunt for turian skin cells, which vacuum droids had already begun cleaning away.

Garrus booked it back to _Normandy_. The ship's sophisticated stealth drive would permit it to operate like it did in its home galaxy, except with greater combat capability.

Thinking of something, his head hit his hand. He believed the humans called this gesture "facepalm."

"No one told Cortana any of this…"

Arriving, he found the frigate mostly powered down. It, along with many other ships, sat silently in _Ultimatum_'s large central hanger, itself a massive construct over 2,800m long.

He hoped the snippy AI wouldn't berate him for bringing her in at the last minute. There was also the small measure of Samantha Shepard still residing aboard _Normandy_ to consider.

_And I thought dealing with Jackie was difficult…_

Garrus mentally braced himself.

"Well, I guess if I'm going to have company, I'd rather you than, say, Daro'Xen…"

"Uh, hi" he stammered. "I know you're probably going to get mad at me for this, but I need to use the _Normandy_."

"On whose authority?" Cortana eyed him suspiciously.

Instead of debating the point, he played back authorization from Nimitz herself.

"Well." 

She didn't seem too pleased with this development.

"She released the _Normandy_ to you, without saying why?"

Cortana glared at him.

"Ahhh, there's a reason! I think you'll like it!"

"Go on…"

Cortana's human-size avatar did her best imitation of foot-tapping, though without a solid form, her tapping produced no sound.

"Our galaxy did nothing to fight this Flood. This galaxy isn't doing much either…"

Her expression remained unchanged, locked into a sort of "way-to-state-the-obvious" look.

"…so what if we force them to fight the Flood, but not directly? There's no standing military, but what if we gave them a reason to drum up their reserves?"

The AI figured out where her turian compatriot was headed before he vocalized it.

"So we take our super-advanced technology and bombard them. Not the most diplomatic plan if we're going to need them later…"

"But wait, there's more!" interrupted Garrus. "This ship's stealth abilities would allow us to conduct raids without being seen. Blow up a factory here, hijack a weapon shipment there… Eventually let them get a glimpse—enough to make us a living legend. Threatening enough to be worth fighting, but vague enough to prevent anyone from knowing exactly who this nebulous force is."

_Damn. That file on him was right. Remove Shepard, and all of the sudden it's him pulling the crazy-enough-to-work plans._

"To top it off, Wrex and I came up with the idea of both being the problem and selling them the solution at the same time."

"So who or what is the solution?" The AI was intrigued by Garrus and his strategic depth.

"Wrex volunteered, but I'm disinclined to allow it. I only half-seriously asked him, in response to an insult about how weak the military organization in this galaxy is, what those he insulted would do if attacked. 'Hire me to guard them' he said."

"If they're being attacked by ghosts, I doubt they'd trust one person to keep them safe." Cortana laughed, not because she doubted Wrex or Garrus, but at the notion of taking "ghosts" seriously.

"Oh, come on—tell me where you're from there's no planet or area of space that's considered bad luck, cursed, or jinxed" he chided.

"Every such claim has been meticulously debunked through strict application of scientific and statistical methods" she shot back, as if lecturing in a classroom. "Regardless of stories swapped at spaceports, no such phenomenon has been proven to exist."

"Then let's make one." Garrus's tone suggested a level of mischievous associated with schoolyard pranks, not deliberately antagonizing would-be allies under the cover of a stygium cloak. Nevertheless, he pushed forward with his idea.

"I obtained coordinates of a water transfer facility—my source suggests that we start small rather than heading straight for a concentration of shipyards orbiting a planet called Themis."

"Water transfer?" gasped Cortana. "You're aware this galaxy has crippling shortages of that in some places—you're not seriously considering attacking something that provides life to millions of innocents?"

"Yes I am" replied Garrus with confidence belying his unease at the idea. "We won't be the only ones there, either—we take a few pot-shots at the tankers, but the real problem is the smugglers. I've been told 30% of the water from Aquator never reaches its destination; captains are paid off or threatened and the logs falsified."

Cortana let confusion show. "So how is attacking smugglers going to get the corporations to bulk up their militaries?"

"The smugglers are going to up-arm first. Several companies, Jakobs included, run side businesses providing security for shipments."

Cortana's avatar looked pensive. "So you're going to try to create an arms race between the smugglers and their opponents… That seems like it would be too slow."

"If all they worried about was a few smugglers, yes. But remember we have absolutely every advantage in the book here."

Cortana's reaction suggested he should elaborate.

"Faster-than-light is pretty expensive in this galaxy, so only the wealthy have access to it unless you happen to find one of the few 'intrepid voyagers' making e-space leaps between the borderlands and Prime Worlds" continued Garrus. "So when a company's assets get attacked, it is very costly to mount a defense. Our faster-than-light is practically free and can put us anywhere in the galaxy within…"

"Forget something?" asked Cortana coyly after a good fifteen-second pause.

"Yes. The fastest drive we have is installed aboard _Phoenix_, not _Normandy_."

"So have someone move it."

Garrus cued up a call to Tali, Gaige, and Patricia Tannis.

The three of them arrived independently. Tali busied herself with learning about the practicalities of large-scale starship engineering, while Gaige (who while actually designing such a ship, paid no heed to such notions) passed time learning hyperdrive theory. Patricia Tannis, annoyed to be pulled away from her Eridian studies, came under protest.

"I need the slipspace drive yanked out of _Phoenix_ and put into _Normandy_. Don't ask questions!" he barked.

"We're not the only ones capable of doing this, Garrus!" teased Tali. "I think you just want us around…"

"Well, at least the time-cylinder-thing won't be a problem" commented Gaige. "_Normandy_ is so much smaller we might be able to fly even faster!"

She launched into a lengthy technical diatribe about temporal mechanics and its relation to starship speeds in slipspace.

"Don't bore the Commander with tech" joshed Gabriela Daniels. She and Ken Donnelly worked the engine room since the _Normandy_'s days as a Cerberus vessel, having previously served in the Systems Alliance Navy. Now, despite the torrent of changes that took place around them, the pair served with distinction and professionalism that other captains would envy. If it took staying up nights for weeks in order to understand new power generation or engine tech, they'd do it. Ken burned himself disassembling a miniature slipspace engine produced by Cortana while trying to gain comprehension of how it worked.

"Worth it!" he'd said, despite Gabby's sniggering while accompanying him to the medical bay.

Samantha Shepard might have teased them—Ken finally grew the nerve to get into a relationship with Gabby after she pretty much accosted him for making perverted jokes about every woman on the ship except her—for Garrus, their being an item was not something he noticed.

He did, however, take note of the speed at which the drive would be moved.

"Two days tops, sir!" reported Gabby.

"I've seen these two work" Cortana had said to him later. "It won't be an hour over a day and a half…"

Cortana ended up being wrong. The work finished in thirty-five hours. Having a huge flat space to work in helped quite a bit—like a very large garage, _Phoenix_ floated in the air while plates and structural elements were peeled back to expose the drive core. Some ingenious modifications by Tali, Daniels, and Donnelly shortened it enough to avoid needing to create a large "bulb" for _Normandy_'s FTL reactor similar to a Star Destroyer. The hyperactive Gaige oversaw fitting of the temporal arresting device.

_Phoenix_ would remain usable, just much slower. A slipspace drive produced no energy, just the reaction necessary to push the ship carrying it into another dimension.

"Now, let's get this started, shall we?"

Garrus fervently hoped his next stint as a squad leader wouldn't have the same embarrassing implosion as the last, despite there being no way to construe exploding docks rigged by an asari criminal as being his fault.

[…]

Tali took her suit to a laundry specialist to get the various liquids and oils associated with ripping a star drive out of a ship and planting it in another removed. Genetic therapy delivered as promised by the Trans-Galactic Republic meant she didn't have to be as picky about how sterile it came back, a nice change. Though she couldn't yet live without it and progress was slow (slower than those on the homeworld of Rannoch, though she couldn't know this), her immune system grew in strength, able to co-opt more dangerous microbes than before.

While wearing a loaner ("It makes me look like a mech!") she ran into Gaige, who recognized the quarian by her distinctive hood-clasp.

"I got a message from Jackie Jakobs" she pouted, as if insulted. "I don't like her given what I've heard about the past, but she made an offer we'd be pretty dumb to refuse."

"Pretty dumb to, or can't?" asked Tali.

"Pretty dumb" replied Gaige. "She's in no position to threaten us, anyway. What she did say was that we might be able to build that really big ship after all."

"And what would she know about that?"

After a few discussions with Garrus a couple years back, the admiral-but-not couldn't possibly imagine this Jackie doing something selfless, or anything helpful for that matter.

"She doesn't know much about shipbuilding, though you'd be surprised at her knowledge of slipspace mechanics. Turns out Gamma-Three isn't as full of screwballs as we thought—her family's company has been working with it for decades on a smaller scale."

Tali still couldn't comprehend Gaige's less-than-airlocking attitude toward Jackie.

"So what does that have to do with starships?"

"Everything here runs on digistruction" replied Gaige, stating the obvious. "The 'pretty dumb to refuse' part is that Jackie is trying to make available some really big digistruction boxes. Think large enough to digistruct an entire battleship! Or parts of a really, really big ship…"

"Trying to make available doesn't sound like we'll have them at our doorstep anytime soon" retorted Tali.

"Yeah, but whatcha gonna do? Sit here until we get wiped out? I say better to take the chance, even if it's a mistake, and we get messy!"

Tali pulled out a palm-size holoprojector.

"You're not really suggesting we try to build this here, are you?"

_Nova Vita_ rotated above the quarian's three fingers.

"Hell yeah!" shouted Gaige. "Maybe we even make it bigger!"

Tali laughed to herself. Despite differences with Gaige upon first meeting, she had to admire how chipper the young woman remained even in the face of utter annihilation. Unlike a certain other person whose absence had not gone unnoticed.

Tali's omnitool beeped, indicating her suit should be done at the cleaner's.

"I need to stop by the specialty cleaner" she offered, starting to head back in the opposite direction.

"What'd you do, step in something? Can't you just use the turbo-agitator?"

Now that she thought about it, Tali hadn't ever explained quarian biology to the bubbly human.

"What's a turbo-agitator?"

Gaige giggled. "Miss Technology doesn't know what a turbo-agitator is? Dude, you put clothes in it and they come out clean and dry!"

"And I hear my omni-tool's time function compared to a 'chronometer' around here" continued Tali. "The bathroom is a 'refresher.' What else am I missing?"

"Oooh there's a whole list!" said Gaige, entirely too excited for what amounted to "separated by a common language." "The HoloNet has gobs of them!"

Gaige rattled off term after term while Tali got lost in thought. She wondered if the resurrection of _Nova Vita_ might jar Samantha out of her funk. Hardly the first time, either—Sam, for all her abilities, was often _very_ hard on herself. Hard to the point of being utterly unfair by any standard save her own.

"Ah." Tali came to a stop outside the cleaners ("Out, Out Damned Spot!"—some obscure reference, she figured). She entered and waved her omni-tool to pay, only to see "0 credits deducted" pop up.

"We've got bigger problems than money right now" remarked the sandy-haired man operating one of several checkout stations. "Would normally have been a half-kilocred for that much work!"

That she understood.

Twenty minutes later, Tali exited a changing room in her usual purple attire. The chemical-contamination suit she'd been wearing was beyond uncomfortable, though she did manage to wrap her usual head adornment with it.

"So are we going to go for it?" asked Tali.

Instead of responding verbally, Gaige pulled up a set of orders on her ECHO display and scaled it up so Tali could see.

"Signed Admiral Allison Nimitz" (verified key), "concurrence Provisional Operations Commander Garrus Vakarian" (verified key).

"That's a new one" mused Tali. "Then again, makes sense given that Garrus was always the one Sam looked to for advice…" She also remembered him stopping in to speak with her about Sam.

[…]

"What do you think of our Commander?" he'd asked.

"Well, she did save my life several times, so there's that." Tali grew slightly flustered. She had once said to Sam that she would be willing to link suit environments, the most intimate form of quarian trust.

"Also, she always seemed to have a knack for solving impossible problems. She helped the quarians and the geth at least stop shooting at each other. She got us through the Collector Base mission, though, I got set on fire…"

The quarian shivered noticeably at this.

"How does she do it, do you think?"

"You know Garrus, I really have no clue. For all the heroics I've seen her perform, I'm afraid something terrible is bottled up in her. Remember the time she burned seven planets?"

"Yes…"

"I transferred off her ship. I'm still not sure it won't happen again. She did not take Liara's and Oriana's deaths well. The wrong push, and she goes off into a horrible place…"

Garrus kept what little he knew of Sam's current state to himself. As "ProvOCo" he'd gotten the barest of details from Allison Nimitz. Sam currently suffered from psychological conditions rendering her unable to perform her duties. His temporary field promotion resulting from this inability also went unmentioned.

Speaking of "wrong pushes," apparently the entire galaxy's fall served as one, except it moved beyond the level of the previous to something entirely different.

"You don't know what's going on with her, do you? An extended leave of absence right after we get kicked out of our home…"

Tali let it hang. She'd ask, without asking. _Was Shepard blaming herself for this?_

"She's taking a well-deserved break" replied the turian. "For all I know, she spent the entirety of last night watching that 'Persephone's Predators' show she likes so much."

_He won't tell me. He knows something…_

Even with Sam's past transgressions, Tali figured someone who fell along the line of 80% badass/20% monster was probably an asset.

"Well, tell her I hope she's back on duty soon and that we miss her."

"I'll pass that along."

In truth, the recluse took no visitors other than Caitlin Flanders, but in the interest of not taking yet another small ray of hope away Nimitz, Garrus, and the Trans-Galactic Republic did everything they could to keep the Beacon of Shepard burning bright, even if the flame had been replaced with an electric bulb.

[…]

"I guess it's off we go, then!"

Gaige practically bounced through the deck after saying this. She, Tali, and Jackie had been assigned to make a quick run to the truce world of Themis to claim some Jakobs Mobile Design, Digistruction, and Engineering modules, theoretically capable of digistructing huge vessels when supplied with enough energy.

Sarah the Siren dropped everyone roughly between Homados (where MALITOR built its ships), Silenus (where the MODDERs were docked) and Makros (Pandora's cluster), somewhere in the Outer Colonies after fleeing the Flood. Thus, a blastboat's limited hyperdrive speed—somewhere around 10 million times the speed of light—wouldn't result in an obscenely-long journey. In reality, with Frontier Mode active, it would be less than half that.

"Off we go, at much slower than full speed" groused Tali. "I will say one thing about mass relays—no fancy computers making sure you don't fly through a star, bounce too close to a supernova, or hit a black hole. You just go from A to B."

Tali tried to figure out shortcuts for the mapping software which would ensure a smooth trip, but faster. Unfortunately, even her intellect couldn't figure out improvements to a propulsion method honed over millions of years. Without clear hyperlanes, just blindly blasting through space represented a real risk of striking a mass shadow or some other anomaly, so the blastboat would slow itself drastically. Nimitz spammed probes everywhere to chart out some hyperlanes, so in theory if one of them finished its job before the team departed for Themis fears of a slow hyperdrive might be mooted. At least lane-mapping transpired much more quickly than it did millions of years prior.

The three women packed gear and provisions into "Sword," one of _Normandy-SR2.5_'s theme-named blastboats. Technically, the blastboat belonged to the Trans-Galactic Republic, however it essentially qualified as a permanent cost-free loan. Food couldn't be stored in digistruction modules, but virtually everything else fit. Gaige and Tali figured out how to load water into the storage devices, something that might have helped the Vault Hunters in their quest to steal the Project Slingshot ship years ago. Of course, nothing stood perfect and any water which was stored tasted rather sour on removal, and became chemically unstable if stored a second time. Still, such adaptations stretched consumables for a three-person crew out past the three-month point instead of just two.

Tali nominally had command, something she expressed discomfort in given her experience on Freedom's Progress—her squad ignored orders in favor of Prazza's bullheaded rushing and out of fear that Cerberus-aligned Samantha might find the target (a quarian named Veetor) first. They, and Tali herself at the time, had no idea Sam wore the colors to gain access to resources, not because she identified with the Illusive Man and his xenophobic agenda. Prazza and the squad died for their impatience.

Garrus reassured her after she commed him questioning the wisdom of the orders she'd seen on Gaige's ECHO HUD.

"You'll do fine. It's a milk run."

Without saying it, he thought _What could go wrong?_

"Did Sam drill every human-ism into you?" she laughed.

"Just stay focused" came the flanged reply.

Tali knew one important trait of a leader as shown by Sam and Garrus: never show doubt. In that vein, neither Jackie nor Gaige knew she'd paged the turian asking for advice. She'd shied away from having a position of responsibility beyond an engine room thrust upon her before in her dealings with the Admiralty Board for the same reason.

As a quarian, Tali'Zorah could pilot just about anything. ("Give me a circuit board and some eezo and I'll have it making precision jumps" she'd said to Shepard once.) _Sword_ lifted off from _Normandy'_s darkened hanger, blasting out of _Ultimatum_'s larger enclosure.

"Hopefully, this is just a simple run-and-fetch" she began, addressing Jackie and Gaige. The former looked bored, the latter lounged in her chair. "Jackie's codes will give us access to the manufacturing capability we need to construct a new fleet. Gaige will handle weapons, and I will fly the ship. Simple enough, right?"

Her voice suggested she didn't believe it would be. Nothing was _ever_ simple. An extranet joke said Samantha Shepard couldn't even go to the provisions store without some big war breaking out—and neither could anyone associated with her.

"You're asking for it, dude" replied Gaige. "Seriously, either we're going to run into spaceborne threshers, or some other weird shit is going to happen."

"Not funny!" replied Tali.

The two refrained from speaking to Jackie without being prompted to do so or in response to something the other woman might say. Her therapy and subsequent development as a person hadn't really been broadcast, though Tali had awareness of the woman's involvement in slipspace engines, equations, and other related items. She just chose not to associate with her due to Jackie's past with Garrus.

The Jakobs heir wanted to try talking to other people, after all it was something Judy Hann suggested as part of her "new" self, but as it stood everyone short of Shepard seemed to only remember the old Jackie.

_Then again, if you were asked to associate with someone who was a horrible person for decades, it wouldn't be easy, would it?_

She tried anyway, making a mental note to stick with light, uncontroversial subjects.

"So, Gaige, what is it you're looking to build?"

Gaige, having been filled in by Axton and Garrus what exactly transpired while under Jackie's "care," acted as if she'd not heard the question for a few seconds before responding.

"_Well_" she began, sounding quite a bit more like a lecturing professor than she'd ever thought she could (which actually caused another pause), "before this Flood kicked us out of Sam's home galaxy, we were designing a ship intended to kick the Flood's ass."

"And then Cortana went and admitted the whole thing was a fake with the only purpose of being a morale-booster."

Gaige pulled up a similar projection to Tali's of _Nova Vita_. It zoomed in on various details and panned around the inside of what would have been the single largest starship (excluding anything classified as a space station) built by either the Citadel Council, the Economic Development Group, or the Trans-Galactic Republic.

"It may have been a ruse, but I tried!"

Gaige's voice broke slightly. To be told her many hours of effort were in effect wasted hadn't exactly been what she wanted to hear. She'd suppressed thinking about it, and now Jackie went and brought it up again.

_No wonder everyone hates Jackie_ she thought to herself.

Jackie couldn't figure out what to do. In her old life, the solution to a problem like this would probably be to seduce the person responsible. No one cried after a romp with her. Except if they pissed her off. Now, the notion of sex as an all-solving hammer seemed about as dumb as stepping out the airlock with no breather apparatus. She settled for awkwardly patting Gaige on the head.

"I'm…sorry Gaige. It seems like everyone's been screwed lately." Despite her reforms, Jackie still made (and smiled at) innuendos and sex jokes, just much less than before. Gaige, busy looking at the floor, didn't notice.

Jackie retrieved Gaige's round palm-projector from the floor where it had fallen as the young woman slumped over in dejected defeat. She knew absolutely nothing about starships, but as Jackie paged through the design she realized it to be quite a complex endeavor. Even more so than the equations she'd worked on to develop a slipspace drive. You needed an architect, interior designer, weaponsmith, shield harmonics expert, propulsion professor, and who knows what else to create a complete design.

Tali interrupted, if interrupting a not-conversation could be called interrupting.

"Good news, everyone! Cartography says they've got a hyperlane to our destination set, so we'll be there in less than nine hours!"

The blastboat's speed indicator shot up from 400,000_c_ to its top speed of roughly 10 million _c_ without Frontier Mode's mapping being active.

Time passed relatively quickly considering little interaction between those aboard. As _Sword_ dropped back to realspace in the general vicinity of Themis, Jackie walked to the cockpit and asked Tali to move aside, which the quarian did begrudgingly.

For once, something went exactly as planned. After submitting her encryption keys, voice print, and DNA Jackie obtained a lease for MDR-JKBS-8-001. She slaved the huge box-shaped constructor to _Sword_, then relinquished the pilot's chair. Tali glared as if she'd left a smell behind or something.

"Initiate e-space startup sequence" she dictated from the weapon-specialist seat.

"This sequence is not available" replied a monotone male voice. "Onboard capacitors not charged."

"List sequences."

Notably, most responses involved a prerequisite of "insufficient energy available."

She responded by letting loose more curses than her episodes aboard _Veritas_.

"I take it that's not good?" said Gaige, not really speaking to anyone in particular, but earning a sideways glance from Tali anyway.

"And there's no way we're going to drag this thing back with us" she continued. "Because even if we had enough of that purple stuff, we'd…"

"…burn out the hyperdrive because the tractor beam shares the same coupling and energy required increases exponentially at faster-than-light" finished Tali.

The two had gone from rivaling each other to treating any challenge as something their combined engineering genius would band together to take down.

Jackie, breathing heavily, cut into the techno-speak.

"Even if you did manage to babble enough scientific-sounding stuff" she gasped, "we need this thing right now! Not later!"

She collapsed onto the floor.

Part of her problem came from feeling strange upon letting this much anger loose. Almost _aroused_. Which was not something Jackie wanted or needed at the moment. Given her history and its coping mechanisms, anger was very much part of her sex life. It hadn't really been associated with anything other than "a means to get what I want" whether it be screaming at a terrified naked man or yelling at some indentured servant to retrieve her clean clothes faster.

"Dude, are you…okay?" Gaige found herself standing next to the woman she'd been taught (and not without reason) to have instinctive dislike for.

"No, I am not" she hissed. "But the mission comes first. We need this mobile shipyard."

[…]

After a hectic retreat, only now were authorities getting a handle on who, exactly, had survived. It was beginning to dawn upon the Trans-Galactic Republic's personnel they now represented a good-sized plurality of all humans present. Nimitz's crew either visited hangers in person or used all available hailing frequencies to raise the many thousands of vessels pulled into their own ship by Sarah's telepathic commands. The Siren and her associates remained aboard what was left of _Redemption_, imprisoned in a powerful tractor beam with several heavy turbolasers perpetually locked-on.

The disaster which ripped through the frigate's isolation medical suite remained unknown to Citadel survivors at large, though Garrus, Nimitz, and other command personnel were kept appraised. That the Republic Intelligence Service might try something else remained in their collectives heads, however given the score seemed to be Sarah, a million, RISE, zero, no one showed any concern.

Garrus clandestinely visited the medical ship to see how everyone's favorite terrors were doing. Notably, the "Lady Fingers" remained unaware of Sarah's survival.

"So you've literally sat around here doing nothing?" he'd asked.

"Pretty much" replied Zera Zelit. "It's really boring." She looked over her artificial arm _again_, as if any of its servos or other functions might have been spontaneously damaged since her last check fifteen minutes ago.

"You wouldn't happen to know where we are?" asked Drythlyn Narb.

"If I did know that, I would be forbidden from telling you."

That any of them could break into his mind to obtain this information crossed the turian's thoughts. Given the women's recent past tendency toward non-violent behavior and the simple fact that if they went too far _Ultimatum_ would vaporize everything, he wasn't worried.

Urthula Shurken gave Venera Sola a sideways look suggesting "He knows."

"Despite your current state of isolation, I am authorized to make you aware of the following piece of information: Sarah is alive."

Garrus had no idea what to expect. Perhaps cheering? Or an instant reversion to kill-anything-in-our-way. Which is why he carried a disruptor—Nimitz handed them out secretly by breaking open emergency stores aboard _Ultimatum_. The Intelligence Service obviously would know about it, but since they were mostly several galaxies away the likelihood of them doing something in response registered as roughly zero. The subsequent non-reaction reaction caught him off guard.

"So she's not dead" mumbled Zera.

"I assume if she wanted to be here you'd be dead" added Drythlyn, a little too chipper for him considering her history.

"I have been told her agenda has…changed…" He couldn't quite figure out how to speak of Sarah's new outlook without giving away too much. Besides, some of it came through Bailey, who'd heard it from these very women.

"We noticed." Zera's response carried a certain air of annoyance at being regurgitated something her group had been responsible for sharing with the wider universe.

Having delivered his message, the turian took his leave of the "Fingers." He headed for Sarah's new accommodations (since her old ones were thoroughly trashed by the Republic Intelligence Service's attempt to kill her). She'd been led away blindfolded after finally reaching an end to the corrosive effects of Eridium gas. Surprisingly to those who first set eyes up on the entirely naked Siren, she made no attempts to escape, find out more about her location, or resist the mild restraints placed on her (which in reality would have snapped at a thought).

Garrus found Sarah clothed, sitting in some kind of containment chamber (again, probably not one that could actually hold her). Well, it seemed more like a containment _home_, seeing as it had all the amenities of a mid-rent Zakera Ward apartment.

"You're doing nothing too, huh?" he began.

"Well, I prefer this nothing to someone attempting to assassinate me, as much as their attempts were doomed to fail."

She seemed to be glowing purple, though faintly. _Never heard about that before…_

"Notice I'm glowing? Congrats on spotting the obvious" she added, without looking up from her tablet.

"How did you…"

"…read your mind? Are you forgetting who I am?" Now her voice took on a lightly-mocking quality.

_Crap, there are all sorts of things she's not supposed to know…_

To his surprise, Sarah began giggling.

"If I wanted to find out everything, including where I'm being held, you'd be knocked out, flat on your back while I rooted through your head. I'm content to be where I am for now."

Garrus got his interrogator face on. He wasn't dumb enough to assume just because Sarah _sounded_ nice that she wouldn't smash her way out and start blowing things up again. Her previous patterns, which caused millions of deaths, were not something to be ignored.

"Why would you stay here? You have a mission, don't you?"

Sarah sighed.

"_Had._ Had a mission I failed at."

_Shades of Sam…_

"Your commander thinks this is _her_ fault?" Sarah burst out laughing. "_I_ was the one given superior abilities to manipulate everything short of space-time itself by the Forebears to stop this all from happening in the first place! And I was too slow!"

"Too slow and not very creative" replied Garrus, suddenly comfortable with criticizing someone who might remove him from the universe with a thought.

"I realize that now." She launched into an explanation of her discoveries while digging through the former _Revnant_'s computer core.

"What happened to the ship, by the way?" she asked, genuinely curious, after finishing her story.

"I have no idea. Really. Since it's not here, I'd guess we left it behind."

"Oh." Her face fell. "I was enjoying reading all of those things…"

"I'll cut straight to the point" said Garrus. "Why in the spirits would feeling like you failed your mission cause someone like you, who has killed millions of not billions without thought, to change so drastically?"

"And why would a woman blame herself for failing to save the galaxy when she literally had no power to do so?"

Taken aback, Garrus recovered quickly. "Probably because the galaxy kept placing expectations on her that in her own mind magnified until she became responsible for every life in civilization."

"Speaking of expectations" (Sarah slightly changed the subject), "one of the reasons I delved into that computer core arose from having vague thoughts that, lacking better words, 'Things weren't always like this.'"

"What do you mean? There wasn't always Flood pouring through slipspace portals, random splipspace portals everywhere, and a murderous Siren killing everyone in an attempt to stop it?"

Sarah glared, before raising her voice somewhat. "That is one behavior I have seen in dozens of messages from that computer! When a person takes an action displeasing others, it's entirely possible for them to be reminded of it years later. And I find that I must ask why. Doing this does not change what was done!"

"To prevent them from doing it again" reasoned Garrus. "Especially if the action was especially…harmful."

He elected to avoid further references to her murder sprees lest he set her off.

"I have amply demonstrated I will not do such things again" she pouted. "So why do you continue to hold my past against me?"

Garrus had a hard time believing Sarah could be this dense.

_Then again, given she has a people-skills and emotional intelligence level of about zero, maybe it's not so far-fetched…_

"You just told me about reading HoloNet messages from that Star Dreadnaught's computer core. How many of them did you actually read? It is difficult for me to believe you absorbed enough from them, because whether it be turian meritocracy, krogan headbutting, quarian martial law, asari democracy, or human republicanism past actions greatly influence how a person or organization is treated with good reason!"

"I have not deceived you or lied to you" she retorted. "And if someone were dishonest with me, I would respond to their intentions, not their words."

Garrus realized where a possible disconnect might be arising, and proceeded to say as much. "For you, if someone's duplicitous they can't really hide anything." He put special emphasis on the next sentence. "Are you really trying to say that you don't understand why we don't trust you since no one can ever lie to a mind-reader?"

Roles reversed as Sarah stood taken aback.

"I…"

She stopped and remained silent.

"You may be able to immediately tell when someone's saying one thing but will do another. Lest you forget, we mere mortals cannot do the same" he finished in a deadpan voice.

"I suppose my perspective was limited by my creators" she conceded. Suddenly, the purple-haired Siren clamped hands to the sides of her head and doubled over.

"Uhh…"

Garrus backed away slightly.

"Don't mind me" grimaced Sarah. "I'm just having a splitting headache, again…"


	51. Progress

A/N: Welcome to the one person who might have gone from reading "Unfrozen" to this…

**Chapter 50 – Progress**

One result arising from the Nimitz-ordered personnel inventory manifested in many people getting an answer to their burning question. Some received bad news, others good—for Jack (alias Subject Zero) the news brought her close to tears. Though she couldn't see them right away, her students survived through Sarah's influence on their evacuation pilot.

The tears were born of happiness and anger. On one hand, that her prodigies avoided perishing prevented her from experiencing more (unfair) feelings of failing to be there to protect them. On the other hand, how they were saved made her angry inside.

"That…two-timing…"

Jack struggled to form words through her rage. She needed to calm down before seeing her students for the first time since the battle. Still, her intense hatred of Sarah burned as bright as a mass relay.

A clanking announced Brick's entrance. He'd been itching to take the fight to the Flood once again, but the lack of any suitable means to do so hamstrung his efforts. Instead, he spent time training with a focus on Trans-Galactic Republic technology. From his cybernetic arm came the ability to wield weapons normally mounted on vehicles, at least as long as his back could handle any associated recoil (energy weapons had none, though he preferred physical munitions). He'd spoken with the Master Chief and Cortana regarding the Chief's power armor—a source of great envy for the former Vault Hunter.

"Don't worry about her" he boomed. "Our students are safe. I'm pretty sure the Iron Abs probably kicked more ass on the way out…"

"Fuck you" she teased. "More like varren-shit abs…"

"Now, now, that doesn't rhyme" he chastised.

"All I care about is getting our damn galaxy back" she continued. "We are not gonna let some horror show from who-knows-where kick us out like this! Where's Shepard? That crazy woman actually got me to start giving a shit about other people…"

"You've heard" replied Brick. "They've said it a thousand times—'Personal leave of absence.'"

His eyes told a different story, as though he didn't quite believe it.

"It's bullshit" Jack declared. "Something's wrong, someone's covering something up. If Sam's being held prisoner, I say we go bust her out!"

"If I knew that was true, you'd have to be catching up to me, 'cause I'd be there first!"

"So we restart the school, here?" Jack asked. "I guess we get to play with bigger guns now…"

"Once the students have all been accounted for, yeah, that's the impression I'm getting."

Brick sat down, datapad in non-mechanical hand.

"Who gives a fuck about counting?" demanded Jack. "Seriously, just let 'em loose!"

Brick just grinned. Here was a woman who five or six years ago took orders from no one, cared about nothing, and only did something if she could immediately benefit from the outcome. She now knew about the importance of discipline, hierarchies, control, authority—but it was fun watching her shout.

"You remember that Current Channeling stuff, right?"

Jack glared, saying without speaking something along the lines of "How could I not?"

"They're testing our students for Current potential. Apparently, the scientists believed it died out thousands of years ago—but since Armando Bailey has it they're thinking others might too."

Just like the rescue of her pupils, Jack's reaction to the notion of Current Channeling powers ran twofold. She hated who wielded them, but liked what it stood for.

"Can I get tested?"

She still got warm feelings from either fighting or exercising physical power of some kind (mostly through her immense biotic abilities). If she also happened to channel the Current, Sarah might find herself having difficulty breathing. Or living.

A short time later, Brick shook Jack out of her fantasies. She'd been muttering threatening and obscene things, mostly relating to what she would do to Sarah should she be found to have Current powers.

"You'll find this message interesting" he'd said.

In essence, the Trans-Galactic Republic, or what remained of it here, wanted every able-bodied person to train for war. Admiral Nimitz also sent a classified attachment detailing analysis suggesting the inhabitants of Gamma-Three would make the Citadel Council look forethoughtful and wise.

"Individual corporations unlikely to either sufficiently arm themselves to provide protection or band together in the interest of common defense" said the report, among other things. Of course, she never mentioned her "non-authorization authorization" for Garrus to kick the metaphorical hornets' nest. One had to hope there were hornets to annoy—it remained entirely possible, in Nimitz's view, that even after significant provocation there would simply not be enough resources or political will within Gamma-Three to create a force capable of fighting either Garrus' shadow or the Flood.

"In that vein, we would greatly appreciate your reconstitution of the 'KOMBT' School aboard _Ultimatum_. We will be adding instructors in our own fields (related to the Current) if relevant. Otherwise, you shall have as much free reign as is practical to give."

"We're gonna take all those bitches down" hissed Jack. "All of them!"

A short while later, the pair received a visit from Allison Nimitz.

"I was never here, and I never specifically authorized you to utilize Republic Intelligence Service weapons lockers aboard this vessel. If those weapon lockers happen to open on your fingerprints, it wasn't me who told you to help yourselves."

"She knows that doesn't mean crap, right?" laughed Brick afterward. "It's gonna be pretty obvious to those RISE bastards who opened the stores…"

"Yeah, but can you imagine what we can make them do to earn these?" Jack's features lit up with a sadistic glow only a tough-love teacher could understand.

"So long as none of them die, nothing's off limits" replied Brick nonchalantly as if discussing breakfast.

[…]

Speaking of evacuation, fleets fleeing Gamma-Six made various amounts of headway depending on their level of technological development. In a sense of cosmic karma, the exiled, scorned quarians had the largest head start with hyperdrives hurling them toward Gamma-Three at anywhere from 500,000_c_ to 2 million _c_. That this represented the slow side of hyperdrives remained unknown to the nevertheless happy users of them.

Systems Alliance vessels barely moved beyond the edge of the galactic disk—at one hundred times light speed, their drives were meant to move in-system to get from a planet to its mass relay. Their Citadel counterparts (asari, salarian, turian) were able to move much further, but still paled in comparison to the quarians. A fast assault frigate carrying a detachment of Migrant Fleet Marines stormed ahead, riding a hyper-zero drive obtained during the quarians' brief "loot everything" phase. It had been earmarked for the second batch of three _Maxthon _dreadnaughts but the design got cancelled as the Council (wrongly) bet on being able to build something even bigger after Shepard returned with Omega's eezo. The preemptive bet led to Aria T'Loak's successful raid against the SETTLE station.

"I have calculated the distance to Gamma-Three" remarked Kael'Shiro vas Honorata, "and it is changing. Not by a large amount, in fact it is within the margin of error. However, the motion has been steady—away from us."

"Our top speed is over 300 million times the speed of light in a vacuum" protested his helmsman. "Does an apparent red-shift even matter?"

"It…"

The green hue of a hyper-zero tunnel abruptly disappeared.

"Warning: Navigational hazard detected" bleated the harsh, batarian voice of the ship's computer.

Before the surprised quarians lay a debris field surrounding some kind of ship. Its triangular shape resembled virtually everything Trans-Galactic Republic they'd seen ("What's with the triangle obsession?" demanded Sensors) but it seemed super-sized. Not as bulky as a Star Dreadnaught but far larger than a _Curator_.

A human voice blared from _Honorata_'s audio system.

"To anyone hearing this message: RNS _Amerigo_ has been overwhelmed by Infection bioforms. If this message has been activated, the self-destruct mechanism has failed. Do not dock. Do not attempt to rescue us or retrieve data. Do not attempt to tow this ship. This message will repeat in one minute."

"What are the odds of that?" demanded Captain Kael'Shiro. "Over 250,000 light years between us and our destination, and we run into this ship?"

"It makes perfect sense" replied Navigation, entirely too calm for the situation.

"How?"

She gestured to show her Captain the coordinates entered into the ship's computer: this exact spot. Not Gamma-Three as they'd thought.

"Whoever entered the coordinates intended to bring us here" she continued, again in a creepy monotone.

Without another word, he shot the Navigation officer through her head.

"Keelah. Betrayed!" he fumed.

"The Infection has shown an ability to telepathically manipulate" added his Operations officer. "How Lia'Den became, for lack of a better word, indoctrinated, I have no idea…" (The quarians, due to their communication isolation, hadn't been made aware of updated terminology for the enemy yet.)

Several crew removed the cooling corpse, which would be shoved out the nearest airlock.

"I wonder if it knows?" he mused. "Knows we're the fastest thing bar Shepard's ship…"

"Plotting a course around this mess and getting out of here" reported helm.

[…]

Shadowports came hand-in-hand with large-scale space travel. From the earliest days of primitive steamships confined to an ocean on a single planet, there were always those who profited off shady trade, questionable activities, and making sure authorities looked the other way at the right time. The Trans-Galactic Republic was no different. Throughout the history of the galaxy, the "scourge" of smuggling had been tolerated even as the current government created a special Senate committee, the Select Committee on Smuggling, to try to deal with it.

In theory, the Senate already dealt with one aspect of smuggling—trafficking of sapients—through the standing Committee on Sapient Rights and the Select Committee on Trafficking. As always, those able to marshal sufficient attention to their cause got the most things thrown their way, even if it created an overlapping, inefficient bureaucracy that tripped over itself as often as it tripped up the "bad guys."

Once shipments destined for the Great Opportunities Fleet started to disappear, though, a large contingent of veterans' groups, families of those in the service, and businesses contracting with Republic Spacelane Protection spoke up.

"Millions of credits' worth in advanced hardware meant to keep our men and women alive a galaxy away is disappearing" read the beginning of one press release. "Holo your Senator today—demand accountability and protection for those supplying our defenders!"

That a committee came together so quickly with multi-partisan support surprised very few Senate-watchers. After all, though the Republic Intelligence Service could neither "confirm nor deny" conducting operations in distant Gamma-Six, it wasn't that difficult to figure out that they had some skin in the game anyway. Rumors swirled of an actual working stygium cloaking device being used in a sting operation to try to catch the smuggler(s) responsible for vanishing goods, which were alleged to contain the far-more-common-but-still-unacknowledged hibridium cloaking device. What use that technology might have in a galaxy far, far, away was unknown.

"Just a myth" said more than one pundit dismissively. "Stygium cloaking and the Dreighton Triangle are both cut from the same conspiracy-mongering cloth. The last known supplies of that material were exhausted millennia ago."

Covert traffic between 'Three and 'Six carrying the "fire-gem" caught no attention in the mainstream HoloNet news channels. Military-watchers were aware of "new weapons-grade focusing gems" being located in 'Three, but the hijacking of shipments intended for the Home Galaxy escaped even their notice. Cloaking tech, for all intents and purposes, resembled the behavior of primitive states possessing atomic or thermonuclear weapons: Worst-kept secret ever, even if the government officially denied (or talked around) possessing the ability in question.

"Our contacts in 'Six have gone dark" complained one of several smuggling kingpins at the Band of Brothers, a secretive meeting of highly-influential "specialized-goods-movers" or "alternative transportation providers" (i.e. smugglers).

Another took on a look of disgust. "We are supplying them with some of the most advanced hardware available, and they were defeated by the apes?"

"I don't think it's just the apes" chimed in a third. "Remember, our illustrious government has a presence there as well."

The current state of Gamma-Six eluded these men and women.

"You'd think we'd have heard something, though" insisted the first speaker. "Over a year with no inbound messages from the human-centric groups!"

"It could be the Infection-thing" added a fourth. "It's been spreading outside our galaxy…"

The thirteen shifted uncomfortably. It was known some had sympathies with human-focused organizations like Palpatine's Patriots, but the magnitude of support wasn't open information. When dealing with someone who could easily make half your cargo vanish, most elected to avoid speaking of controversial topics like politics. However, given the circumstances this would likely be the meeting that saw the taboo broken.

"If our profits in remote areas are drying up, we should consider alternate investments."

_Here we go…_

"What of our contracts with the Republic Intelligence Service?"

"There is no reason we cannot pursue multiple sides of a conflict" snapped the All-Brother, a rotating chair who ran the meetings. "We have done this for centuries."

No conclusions were had other than "maintain the status quo." Without saying it, those with significant leanings and/or investments in human-centric groups made themselves known, and formed after the meeting into a sub-group. No honor among thieves, indeed! This collection vowed to redouble efforts to secure human dominance in 'Six, but were hamstrung by lack of access to the mass relays controlled by the Trans-Galactic Republic. Smugglers had easily been slipped onto outbound vessels destined for the Great Opportunities Fleet, but the destruction of this fleet (which the galaxy-at-large had at long last become aware) meant no more outbound flights for the moment. Lacking anything to easily transport their agents, the "Patriot Traders" kept their powder dry.

[…]

Having been warned off continuing efforts aboard _Revenant Phoenix_ by their handlers (or so they thought), RISE operatives turned their attention to _Elizabeth Booker_. No information pointed to this ship possessing an artificial intelligence or personality like _Phoenix_. It was a simple matter to obtain orders for a "quick jaunt" to Pandora—without Samantha Shepard's "galactic do-gooder" standing and the informal protections it afforded, Sally McKnight found herself deprived of the right to command her own ship in the name of galactic security.

"The Republic Intelligence Service is getting out of hand" she muttered, leaving her own bridge for her quarters where a pile of digital paperwork awaited. She would definitely file a protest with Admiral Nimitz, not that it mattered, but it was the principle. With the Republic Intelligence Service having de-facto command of a supercarrier working completely independently of the regular Spacelane Protection Forces, the Captain assumed it was only a matter of time before the complete takeover of all defense forces came through. At that rate, even if Allison Nimitz, one of the most respected Fleet Admirals in recent memory, objected it might not mean anything.

The same team that poked and prodded around _Phoenix_ busied themselves with the inner workings of _Booker_. McKnight's crew remained on-station, so RISE agents needn't have bothered worrying about whether they knew how to work the ship's systems, just the necessity of giving orders.

_Booker_ jumped away from _Ultimatum_ at maximum velocity. The drive had less speed than Shepard's _Phoenix_ (that _Normandy_ now possessed the device wasn't something this faction of RISE knew about) but could still run around 350 million times light speed. A trip to Pandora thus required less than twenty minutes—a trivial amount of time. Upon arriving, _Booker_ immediately powered her forward weapon under Republic Intelligence Service orders.

For those seeking to portray RISE as a uniformly-bad, corrupt organization, their desires would fall flat here. Its agents were able to convince engineers and other staff aboard _Booker_ to enable the forward weapon at full power without using threats, torture, or other questionable methods. Besides, enough cries of "For science!" got many worked up over seeing the potential interaction between an alleged Eridian portal and a weapon no one quite understood other than its ability to tear open space itself.

_Booker_'s weapon chewed into Pandora at the planet's equator. At full output, its penetration rate exceeded 3km/s, meaning it would reach the hypothesized "core" within seventeen minutes. The ship had to adjust its position continuously to account for both Pandora's orbit around its star and the planet's natural rotation, though considering both were slower than an average inhabitable planet, it wasn't much of an issue. Naturally, nothing could be done perfectly and the hole wouldn't be completely straight, but all that mattered was touching the beam to the planet's non-standard core.

Upon intersection, three things happened. First, the beam shut off. Second, the ship jerked forward, as if it was being yanked by a tractor beam. Third, a blast of energy bluish-white in color charged out of the hole _Booker_ drilled, significantly enlarging the hole to a size the ship would fit through. Chunks of the planet sprayed into space as _Booker_'s GARDIAN system tried and failed to vaporize all incoming fragments. For the moment, the ship's shields held but anyone watching the many computer displays around the bridge could see protection failing fast.

"Full reverse thrust!" called out Operations.

"Engines are offline!" reported Engineering. "We have no motive power!"

"Well, we're still moving forward" snapped the RISE controlling operator. "Someone do something!"

Amused, Captain McKnight watched all this from her quarters. As a sop to the commanding officer, she could have opted to remain on the bridge without authority or observe from a distance. That these Republic Intelligence Service spooks knew very little about her ship made her laugh. They insisted on using it with only the smallest idea of how it worked. Sure, agents received training in virtually any _Republic_ ship configuration, but these two vessels were hardly built using Home Galaxy standards.

Her view of the bridge became brighter and brighter as the front viewports lit up bluish-white. McKnight had the distinct sense of being yanked forward (her quarters' front-back axis aligned with the hull), before everything came to an abrupt stop.

_My ship is not pure white. Something is wrong here…_

She looked around, but couldn't really determine where walls, ceilings, or floors were due to everything being one color.

_We don't have teleportation, but whoever or whatever pulled us in does…_

She had no way of knowing that everyone aboard her ship had just been vaporized.

[…]

A frustrated Tali dialed back to _Ultimatum_.

"We found the object, but are unable to relocate it" she'd said. It turned out mapped hyperlanes provided a second benefit as heavy space tugs arrived within a half-day to drag the MODDERs back to _Ultimatum_.

"We have got to find a better lane" groused one of the tug pilots. "Ten thousand lightyears and it takes twelve hours?"

The three women whiled away the time in different ways: Tali dug as much into the blastboat's systems as she could without being able to, say, open exterior hull panels. Gaige either played games on her ECHO HUD or chatted with Axton/Roland (whose signals she could barely catch). Jackie read more about slipspace theory and its relation to the Eridians.

"So what's the plan, Garrus?" asked pretty much everyone upon noticing a huge new digistructor hanging off _Ultimatum_'s bow.

"Well, commendation should go to Tali, Gaige, and Jackie" (the last word came out as if forced) "for bringing us this technology. We should both use it for construction and study it—after all, Sarah managed to make digistruction work for near-instant repairs…"

Gaige eagerly suggested the device should be inspected, to which Garrus agreed. A party thus assembled to transfer over for the purpose of seeing what, exactly, the space tugs brought back. Garrus, Admiral Nimitz, Tali, Gaige, Jackie, and engineering staff took a large shuttle to the block-shaped construct. Nobody present knew the exact mechanic with which digistruction converted energy into solid matter, but that didn't stop the engineers from being able to tell if some part might be out of place. Straight-duplication without understanding spread digistruction throughout Gamma-Three, its one piece of advanced technology among a sea of otherwise-lesser abilities.

Jackie unlocked hangers, entry doors, and other systems (which more than once threatened everyone with annihilation short of proving either membership in the Jakobs family or authorization from a family member) without saying much of anything.

Just like Bart Jakobs, the party overlooked a vast internal bay eight kilometers from end-to-end.

"This is certainly far bigger than SETTLE." Tali turned slowly, admiring the gunmetal-gray interior. Digistruction prongs appeared at regular intervals to pick up construction from the previous set.

"At least our computer systems will be more compatible now" added Gaige, plugging a single adapter in between a Trans-Galactic Republic data cylinder and the ECHO-compatible interface.

Due to incompatibilities with energy transfer systems, the MODDER received most of its energy from several very bright floodlights acting on nano-scale photonics-to-electricity conversion panels built into the yard's roof. In plain language, that meant shining spotlights on it from _Ultimatum_. That wouldn't generate enough energy to perform full-scale digistruction of parts for _Nova Vita_ or anything along that size, but it would permit testing to ensure the digistructor worked as promised.

The notion that something might be going right for once triggered a burst of excited conversation.

Admiral Nimitz spoke to the upbeat gathering.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but does anyone realize how many people it's going to take to crew this fleet? Even if we didn't have this energy transfer issue, we don't have the personnel to run a full battle group at optimal levels."

That caused the excited yammering to stop dead.

"Ruining the fun!" mocked Tali. "One thing that seems to be going our way, and someone has to go point out a problem with it!"

Garrus knew it might be a sour subject, but he figured the potential end of the galaxy justified getting yelled at over the comm.

"Athena here."

"Athena, it's Garrus. We have a bit of a problem…"

Many lightyears away, the Jakobs Board gathered to hear the latest intelligence brought in by, of all things, bugs installed in the company's gigantic MODDERs.

"…could help you, but…"

Bill Arkansas Jakobs spoke over Athena's recorded voice. "We have located the operative. What a stroke of fortune!"

"So who wants to bet she's protected by a dozen of those Trans-Galactic Republic Star Destroyer things?"

"Jumping to the worst, Wayne?" asked Dallas.

"Merely suggesting that knowing where Athena is does not guarantee our ability to obtain what we need" replied Wayne. "Of course, suitable subterfuge might get us close…"

Bill kept the news of Jackie's apparent personality change to himself. That it could be a ploy of epic proportions crossed his mind, but Jackie had never been one for subtlety. The scream-in-your-face spoiled brat she'd been never previously demonstrated the ability to engage in long-running deceptions. Jackie living amongst the declared enemy also remained under wraps for now.

"What about those attacks against our operations in the borderlands?" wondered Lawrence.

"Yet again why I look disdainfully on the idea" sighed Pickens. "The borderlands are just one big money pit."

"Whether or not you approve is immaterial" replied Bill smoothly. "What matters is how we react. Reports have suggested it is a small force, maybe ten people at most. My inclination would be to send as many clone Operatives as possible after them, however we're going to need every available clone for an attempt to capture the first operative."

"How much damage have they actually done?" asked Carson. "They're making noise, sure, but it's also in one of our worst markets."

"This intel video should give you an idea."

[…]

Jakobs prided itself on not requiring promethium chamber liners for its line of decidedly-non-elemental weapons. However, a few exceptions demanded small quantities of the substance. One represented a completely custom one-off job (Greed), one saw more mainstream use (Cobra), and two appeared to be widespread aftermarket modifications of existing non-elemental Jakobs weapons (Twister, Stinkpot). It wouldn't have been economical to run their own promethium mine on Promethea, so Jakobs used subcontractors to siphon off promethium waste from the other weapon manufacturers. Sure, close to 80% of the product ended up being discarded, but that meant nothing when Jakobs needed such small amounts. Besides, the subcontractors had been good enough to not get caught, yet.

Well, until Axton, zer0, and Roland had something to say about it.

Axton used his old connections to obtain transport off Pandora.

"Just don't make too big of explosions" pleaded the pilot as he transferred to another ship.

"Okay guys, here's the plan. This freighter would fit right in to the beat-up old scows handling promethium transportation off Promethea. So we fly in, find Jakobs' promethium smuggling, and expose it."

"Who do you think they're stealing the most from?" inquired Roland.

"If I were them? When I was in the Dahl Expeditionary Force, we disrupted smuggling rings all the time. Thing is, if you're going to steal something, you absolutely don't want to draw attention to yourself. So you figure out what the margin of acceptable loss is, then stick to that."

"Speak plain English please / Jargon and lingo are strange / We don't understand."

"Okay, none of you ever ran a business before, right?"

Both heads shook no.

"So, if I'm a smuggler who's really cautious, you know, the type that doesn't have a lady in every port (or a man) because I'm boring, then I'm going to stick to easy runs. When you're mining minerals, the machines aren't perfect. There's always some amount you pull out of the ground, but falls off the conveyer belt, turns out to be useless, or something."

He stopped, as if expecting zer0 and Roland to figure out where his story led. They didn't.

"Oh come on, you're killing me here! Especially you, Roland!"

Only then did Axton realize _this_ Roland might've spent less time fighting smugglers or thieves than the one he'd known.

"Anyway" (he ignored Roland's awkward look), "let's say you're mining Eridium and one out of every ten pieces you pull up is crap. So ten percent. That's the acceptable loss. The business expects to lose that much. So if a smuggler comes along and, ahem, walks off with four percent because the projection of ten was a bit high? Chances are, no one will notice!"

"The Interstellar Democracy League called that 'hiding in the noise'" commented Roland. "They got exceptionally good at catching it, too, since the Corporate Rebellions exploded half the galaxy."

"Basically, the cautious smuggler exploits a business's expected losses for his or her own profit."

"Find the largest mine / Easiest to conceal theft / Gives biggest pay out."

"zer0 is right" agreed Axton. "So off to the Tediore mines we go!"

The Tediore obsession with cheapness, combined with epic economies of scale, meant the discount gunsmith possessed the single biggest set of promethium mines on the planet. They were easy enough to access—Axton's wife Sarah (no relation to the Siren) dismissed him and divorced him, but left his information in several key computer systems to facilitate his escape pending what would have been a death sentence otherwise. That neither she nor anyone else bothered to revoke those codes only served to work to his advantage now.

"Dahl Expeditionary Force Security" were the only words bored planetary traffic controllers needed to hear. Nothing ever happened on Promethea, so why should that change? With an almost completely mechanical labor force needing no rest, wages, healthcare, or days off the mines on the planet produced many tons of promethium every hour of every day. Also, loaders didn't suffer from psychological conditions stemming from prolonged promethium exposure…

A few freighter pilots made runs between Promethea and corporate drop-points; for secrecy's sake none of the companies wanted anyone knowing where their elemental research took place.

"That was too easy" complained Axton upon setting the freighter down.

"Shh!" hissed Roland. "You really don't want to say those words…"

"Now, if I were trying to skim, I'd probably start at the beginning" thought Axton aloud. "Where the promethium is most refined is probably where the most guards are. More bribes to pay that way."

zer0 didn't need telling twice. He moved swiftly, yet quietly from the freighter and engaged his decepti0n, hiding his actual body. He'd modified its projection system to mimic objects other than himself—in this case, an inconspicuous rock appeared. Not one that would draw attention for existing, then disappear creating an even bigger commotion. Just a small pebble.

His actual name remained unknown to his compatriots; he chose not to share in any case. Regardless, the operation could be conducted without it. He moved quickly to the entrance of what looked like a Tediore mine—the large sign above a roll-up door kind of gave it away.

"TEDIORE PROPERTY—TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT"

While two of three remained inside the freighter, lined up with dozens of others like it to receive a load of promethium, zer0 snuck through a side door, keenly aware of the requisite time limit (it also displayed on his HUD). A quick glance revealed several surveillance cameras which he ignored due to cloaking. However, his visor, which could among other useful capabilities highlight the most easily damaged areas of an enemy also suggested where camera lenses would scan once his decepti0n wore off. zer0 endeavored to avoid those places.

A second timer alerted him to his cloak's imminent expiry. Hidden in a corner, he realized a patrolling guard would soon have the potential to spot him. Though his reaction to most situations tended to be to create as high of a bodycount as possible, zer0 remained aware that dead guards didn't report in. Sometimes, nothing would come of it but in many cases, one dead guard would summon five more when he or she failed to check in at the appropriate time. He needed time to inspect the area, something not in ready supply, so the assassin improvised. Seeing a line of moving overhead bins, he loaded a disintegrator round. Not only would it eat through its target, but it would also dissolve itself, likely concealing the fact that a round had been fired in the first place.

"Rusty chains will fail / A snap no cause for alarm / Buying myself time"

Two shots went unnoticed over the factory's din despite lacking any suppressed weapons. One hanging bin crashed onto a line of loaders headed for the mines. The guard less than five meters away sprinted over to the fallen container, cursing.

"Third time this week! Will someone ever replace those goddamn chains?"

"Poor maintenance helps / No suspicions raised from this / Get information"

The black-clad assassin ran to a nearby chute bearing the usual symbol for "waste" at the edge of what appeared to be stage one of promethium refinement. Pushing on a metal flap with three-fingered hands, he saw a small cloud of promethium dust as the flap opened outward. He wasn't entirely sure what to look for, but Axton had suggested any "taps" would be at the beginning. Looking out the hole, he saw nothing unusual.

Turning to the smashed loaders, something caught his eye. A silver-ish powder, something you wouldn't expect inside an ordinary labor loader. The guard no longer stood by them cursing, but just to be sure zer0 activated decepti0n again, giving him approximately two seconds to examine whatever it was after accounting for getting there and back to his hiding spot. Chemistry wasn't on the docket for an assassin, however, it didn't take a genius to figure out why loaders would have compartments full of powdered metal very similar the finished product, which Axton had shown everyone. Importantly, not all of the crushed loaders had signs of compartments, smuggling, or promethium. That meant it wouldn't be a simple "blow-up-all-the-loaders" exposé.

zer0 bolted back to his corner. Activating his helmet-cam, he watched as the guard and what looked like some sort of shift supervisor returned to the crushed robots. He could not hear over ambient noise, but the supervisor seemed to be making a big show of chewing out the guard, before slipping him a small vial. The supervisor then left, at which point the guard's head nodded ever so slightly as if keeping time. Upon reaching some count (or so zer0 guessed) he bent down and scooped up most of the gray powder. He then pocketed the cylinder.

Nobody on Promethea had proper snooping gear—at least not anything that could break encryption on zer0's ECHO.

"The thieves operate / Hiding the goods in robots / Management is bought"

"We saw it" replied Roland.

"That was easy" said Axton, only to be lightly punched by Roland.

"_What did I tell you about that?_"

"We still probably want more evidence" continued the former Dahl commando. "One video isn't going to convince a lot of people."

"That's a good idea, but we're out of time!" As Roland spoke, zer0 barreled into the freighter through an open hatch. Axton sincerely hoped the "souped-up engines" were for real as he slammed throttles forward while simultaneously banking hard-left to exit the line. He ignored automated, then human voices demanding he return his ship to the queue.

"Your identification has been logged and will be subject to penalties" were the last words they heard before the system decided they were no longer worth chastising. They hadn't stolen anything—they just were bad-mannered for taking a spot in the loading docks, then not accepting any cargo.

Roland operated several sensor suites, searching for anything that screamed "Jakobs." Quality secret operations had a point of keeping themselves quiet, so he really wasn't surprised that nothing could be found.

Thinking themselves safe, the trio kicked back before their ship shuddered from several kinetic impacts.

"You just had to say it!" groused Roland, glaring at Axton.

Without warning, one of the airlocks blew in and several women wearing the same armor Roland saw in his last encounter with Jakobs operatives stormed into their craft.

"You killed some of my best operatives" accused one, pointing in Roland's direction.

"Don't even think about it" snapped another, holding one heavy pistol to the head of each of Roland's companions before anything could be drawn from SDUs.

"That was fast…" muttered Axton.

"There has been a bounty on your head since you so unkindly relieved several of my sisters from their lives" continued the accuser. "For Operatives 1701, 2479, and 541, you are placed under arrest."

"On whose authority?" shot back a man whose training included always asking for a badge.

"Certainly not the Economic Development Group" huffed Axton. "It's not like they actually police anything…"

"We are semi-independent operators charged with upholding the interests of the Jakobs family. Your…interaction…with three top operatives has placed you on our list."

_Great. Private military contractors…_

"Assuming I come quietly, can you at least tell me how you figured out where I was?" Roland figured he could throw them off, maybe cause them to think he'd give in without a fight all while getting them to spit out information that could prove useful in escaping.

"You're not as anonymous as you think" replied the operative cryptically. "When someone just shows up after being declared dead, people notice. Even on that backward planet Pandora…"

[…]

Video extracted from Roland's ECHOCam stopped playing.

"We haven't yet managed to crack the encryption on the strange one's ECHO" explained Bill Arkansas Jakobs. "Any information he sent to the others erased itself after viewing on their ECHOs, using a seven-pass verified overwrite with junk data to make reading it impossible."

"Well, I wish Jackie were here" complained Wayne. "She'd 'crack' all three of them…"

"That isn't the largest item of concern, Wayne" replied Bill. "Based on the audio and blanked-out video which was viewed by Roland prior to its erasure, they've discovered our promethium-mining operation that leeches off Tediore, among others. Should any of them have placed this video on high-traffic ECHONet nodes, we could fall under suspicion."

Clayton laughed derisively. "Yeah, there were definitely huge signs that said 'Jakobs' all over that video we can't even see…"

"Clayton, we don't know!" replied Bill, starting to become annoyed. "We have to assume they leaked something. This means accelerating clone production, lest we need to defend ourselves. Especially given that some of our scout ships are reporting Infected Harvester presence in the Phrike System…"

"Not without the map!" countered Pickens Jakobs. "And the Infected Harvesters aren't worth digging up the bladeflower garden for."

"So it looks as though our hand will be forced, whether by Harvesters or the Trans-Galactic Republic" concluded Carson. "We must obtain the first clone, and soon!"

[…]

"All in favor of Palpatine's Ghost?" intoned a woman at the latest meeting of the Republic Intelligence Service Council.

"Not yet" insisted a man, "though the time is coming."

"And when will that be?" demanded a third, also male. "You are always the one suggesting we delay…"

"He is correct" chastised a fourth voice. "Only ten percent of the Home Galaxy has been affected by the Flood. Not enough citizens are demanding additional protections that we could make any moves. We must wait."

As if to counter the point, a newscast began playing for those at the meeting. A human female narrated a story about several star systems which now faced a tide of Infection (or as RISE knew it, Flood). It spread quickly, though, she said with confidence born of having once been embedded aboard a supercarrier, "the GREAT Act compromise seems to be holding it back for now. Those quantum-armored carriers are really putting up a stout defense. Nevertheless, some pundits and even citizens' groups have been calling for the Republic Intelligence Service to take a more active role, claiming Spacelane Protection isn't moving quickly enough. They cite kill counts from _Organa_ being twice as effective as _Antilles_. The former is of course under Republic Intelligence Service control, the latter reports to Spacelane Protection. Here we have two panelists to discuss the influence of RISE within our government…"

"This will be interesting" commented the woman who'd led off the meeting.

In the past, any "debate" over the Republic Intelligence Service inevitably ended with almost everyone condemning the organization as an overreach in spite of its immense power (which could, they said, be used to snuff them out). With cockpit-cam footages of the Infection's true nature spreading fast on the HoloNet combined with the fact that it was here, now, rather than being a galaxy away, attitudes already began to change.

"…has been the only consistent voice suggesting we take action" concluded the second panelist. Anti-RISE pundits still tended to get the first say, but that let anyone supporting the agency rebut most of the points in their opening statement.

"There you have it" said the reporter. "More and more voices are starting to defend the Republic Intelligence Service, even if its past methods have been questioned on various legal grounds. The debate will resume after this commercial break…"

"At least the Home Senate has voted to allocate more funds for Star Dreadnaughts…"

Various murmurs of assent to this point were heard.

"Though, I do wish we had this 'digistruction' technology. Even with expedited contracts and increased reliance on droid labor, these ships will not be finished for at least five years!"

Grumbles followed.

"Perhaps the citizenry will learn the virtues of trusting us, then, hmm?" suggested another. "I move to prepare for Palpatine's Ghost, even if we are not yet putting it into action."

The motion passed unanimously.

[…]

Samantha Shepard, still cooped up in her quarters aboard _Normandy_, remained largely unaware of plans to use her ship in an attempt to unify Big Seven corporations of Gamma-Three against a common foe. She'd been seeing Dr. Caitlin Flanders semi-regularly, who praised her return to something resembling a schedule as healthy instead of a hodgepodge of going to bed at unusual times, eating randomly, and sitting listlessly for hours on end.

"I know what everyone _expects_ me to do" she'd said during one therapy session, "but to be completely honest I don't want to. I'll never live up to their expectations, and that they continue to idolize me just makes my head hurt."

"Why do you insist on carrying the weight of a dead galaxy around your neck?" asked Flanders.

"I should have been better."

Flanders resisted the urge to show frustration. Shepard repeated this point over and over—she could not let go of the idea that if only she'd done something, been somewhere, talked to someone, that all this could have been avoided.

"How did you come to this conclusion?"

_Maybe if she says it enough, she'll eventually realize the contradiction of knowing everyone cannot be saved, yet flogging herself for failing to do the impossible._

For the first time, Sam didn't have a ready answer. In previous sessions, she'd hit back with a ready barrage of self-deprecation and self-criticism. She'd pointed to improbably-successful missions in the past, trying to explain their outcomes in terms of actions she'd taken even if random chance or the skills of others played just as much of a part. Allegations of Cerberus tampering with the "suicide mission" didn't help her mental state either, as she'd brought Sarah the Siren's allegations to Dr. Flanders' attention.

"If that was all Cerberus, then what am I?" she'd demanded. "A fraud? A figurehead?"

Flanders' previous work in Spacelane Protection gave her some idea of what might be plaguing Sam's thoughts. As one of the best soldiers in the galaxy, she'd been trained to be the solution to everything or, failing that, being able to quickly _find_ the solution to everything. Her mind operated on a structure of cause-effect: If the mission was prevent X from happening, the outcome could easily be measured in whether X occurred or not. In this case, X happened to be "Prevent hostile organics from outside known space from taking over the galaxy," and X failed to be achieved.

Generally, if the mission went bad, a good soldier would try to learn from the result, just like any person would attempt to figure out ways to avoid past mistakes in times ahead. However, in Sam's case, she'd taken it to an extreme—in spending uncountable hours poring over what she believed to be her own failures, she neglected to account for the millions of variables she could practically have no impact on. She'd so internalized her Spectre and N7 training, so committed herself to not just carrying out the mission, but _being_ the mission, that completing the task(s) assigned to her became the core of her existence.

In short, she'd married the job. She lived the job, ate the job, slept the job.

"Tell me about your last serious relationship" Flanders insisted.

Sam burst out laughing.

"I had a boyfriend… But that was before I shipped out…"

Hearing this, Caitlin changed her angle slightly.

"I take it you haven't had any serious relationships since then."

"Absolutely not" Sam replied with confidence and vigor. "My first, second, and third duties are to the galaxy, the Council, and the Systems Alliance."

"Why is that incompatible with meeting someone?"

"It distracts from the…"

_Bingo_.

Sam let out a huge sigh. "I've been a soldier for as long as I can remember. I've never done anything else."

"You were born to parents serving in the Systems Alliance Navy, were you not?"

Flanders hoped verbally reconstructing Sam's life might help her see beyond the blinders she'd put on herself.

"Yep. And then Akuze happened. 'Born into the military, and sent straight to Hell.'"

"You were the only one who lived to tell that tale."

_This might be where it all started_.

Sam sighed again. "The Systems Alliance hadn't ever heard of a thresher maw before. We had no idea the things were nesting right near our colony."

Previous records indicated Sam experienced post-traumatic stress disorder related to her survival on Akuze. She'd apparently learned to live with it (as all who experience such things must, short of controversial memory modification), as she continued describing her "night of horrors" without so much as a break in her voice.

"If I could survive that, a Reaper should be a walk in the park!" she finished.

"Well, I wouldn't call defeating Sovereign easy" countered Flanders. "But you and your team, plus the combined fleets, managed to do it."

"Which is why dealing with the Reapers was so damn frustrating. And, no offense, but your Trans-Galactic Republic screwed it up."

_Keep her talking, even though it's pretty obvious now what went wrong._

"Explain."

"You know, I have a feeling you're just asking me to talk for the sake of having me talk. Is there a point? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you know how your TGR went and fucked this up."

_Damn._

"If you want to move to other topics, we can certainly do that." Flanders knew this could happen—Shepard in particular had a reputation for cutting straight through any attempts to manipulate her, even if it was obstinately for her own good.

"Oh, so you want to hear the entire story of everything your government did that caused us to turn on ourselves? Okay!"

Sam sounded as though she found this fun, even though (to Caitlin's knowledge) the battered soldier bore no ill will toward the Trans-Galactic Republic otherwise.

"When I fought Saren and Sovereign, it wasn't just me. It wasn't just humans. I took Garrus and Wrex with me for that fight. Even though a human frigate landed the killing blow, it wouldn't have been possible without the combined might of the Citadel fleets."

"You believe your galaxy can do anything if it sticks together." Flanders started to map out a possible thread running from Akuze to the present that would explain Sam's behavior.

"Exactly. And what happens when the Trans-Galactic Republic shows up? They start picking sides! They start choosing who to help and how, saying who's advanced enough for this toy or that toy… Relations between species were frosty enough already."

"You said yourself, the galaxy hardly stood in a state of unity when _Revenant_ appeared…"

Sam wasn't going to blast her doctor for defending the Trans-Galactic Republic; she was technically correct. It ultimately ended up being the combination of this and a second factor that made Sam so angry.

"No, we weren't. And that was the other problem. The Council shoved its collective head up its ass about the Reaper threat. They didn't want to face the concept of something even worse than Sovereign, a 'rogue geth flagship' of one 'rogue Spectre.' They just figured slap a medal on the human and pretend everything's good again."

"They didn't learn from the battle at the Citadel, you're saying?"

"Hell to the no" snapped Sam. "It just so happened to be _convenient_ that all the fleets fought together. You know, all that camaraderie and an assault led by a joint venture between two species with a huge amount of distrust? That was just a happy accident—it didn't _mean_ anything…"

Sam's sarcasm could have cut through armor plating.

"And then we came and shoved a wedge in it." Caitlin grinned, as if this were funny.

"A wedge the size of that monster ship you brought" retorted Sam. "Everyone already had isolationist streaks—the whole pick-and-choose only made things worse. Politicians and citizens began to see everything as a zero-sum game."

Cortana generally stayed out of private therapy sessions, and did not record them despite possessing the capability to do so. However, she had a piece of information that she felt was extremely relevant, so she appeared and spoke up.

"I'm not sure that either of you are aware of this, but the technological distribution by the Trans-Galactic Republic prior to the Reaper War wasn't intended to divide. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I think the Trans-Galactic Republic was a little too subtle…"

Both human women looked at Cortana suspiciously, first for her random intrusion and second, what the hell was she babbling about?

"Ignoring your breach of protocol" lectured Flanders, "explain what you're getting at, then kindly shut yourself off."

Cortana took on a miffed look but otherwise ignored the doctor's snippy demand.

"Even though some technology only went to one group, faction, or species, there was no explicit rule against sharing advancements with others. Unfortunately, nobody made that clear—so not only did each recipient think the 'gift' was only meant for them, they actively avoided sharing certain information with others until the United Defense Command started de-siloing things."

"Wait, so the Trans-Galactic Republic wanted us to share?" demanded Sam. "They could have, you know, told us that. For being so advanced and all, seems like no one bothered to tell them how polarized our galaxy was at the time."

"Grayson was trying to be too canny for his own good" said Cortana in an exasperated tone. "At least that's the impression I'm getting—he hoped that you would not-so-subtly give the middle finger to the idea of 'only X species is ready for Y technology' in the vein of having a common enemy."

"That would involve a lot of hand-biting" suggested Caitlin. "Which is not something I can see being popular when that hand has technology orders of magnitude more advanced than your own in it."

"Well, eventually you all went and did it, for entirely the wrong reason."

Cortana stopped upon registering two very irked glares in her direction.

"I'll go do other things."

Her hologram disappeared.

"Well, that's new" breathed Sam. "I'd never thought of it that way."

"Nor was it anywhere in the official records" concurred Flanders.

"Anyway, regardless of what Councilor Grayson intended, the result ended up rather nasty. I've wondered if we might've had a fighting chance if we stood together. Hell, Liara T'Soni told me in passing about a Prothean archive on Mars that might've been a superweapon design of some kind. Looked like it would have enough energy to blow the mass relays and annihilate everything synthetic in the galaxy. Would've been nearly impossible for one species to build—at least the four major species would have to chip in to make it viable. As soon as the Trans-Galactic Republic showed up, Liara filed the plans away."

The conversation deviated drastically from the original topic of "Sam's feelings of inadequacy." Dr. Flanders tried to steer it back.

"So with everyone else tripping over their own feet, it was you or nothing."

"That's sure what it felt like."

Most people trying to claim the mantle of "only non-crazy person" in a situation needed a gentle prod to step down from their self-constructed pedestals. Not nearly as justified in this case given the tendency of the other parties involved to be flat-out blind to reality for whatever reason (Flanders blamed politics).

Shepard let off another huge exhalation. "And then when it does come down to me, because everyone else isn't capable of doing the job, _I screw it up_. I screw it up, yet they keep insisting 'Shepard's the only one!,' 'We can't let Shepard die!,' 'Lose Shepard, and the whole galaxy falls!'"

_She's moved from sadness and depression to anger. On one hand, she's not moping around anymore and she might eventually reach acceptance. On the other, if her anger becomes misdirected, there could be a resurgence of the Shepard who willingly butchered millions in the name of "galactic order."_

Cortana discreetly paged Dr. Flanders, who excused herself.

"What is it?"

"Admiral Nimitz has authorized using _Normandy_ for a special mission. She is aware that Samantha still resides in the Captain's cabin, however it is urgent the ship depart. She wanted you to be the one to break it to Sam that her ship will literally be flying around under someone else's command with her as a passenger. Unless, of course, she returns to active duty."

Flanders blanched. "You want me to risk the wrath of Shepard? You could at least tell her—she can't knock you flat on your ass…"

"You're the only one she's spoken to at any length recently" replied Cortana. "If she has trust in anyone, it's you."

Instead of having to dodge thrown punches, Caitlin Flanders found herself covering her ears and cowering for a different reason.

"Hooray! Yippee!"

Samantha Shepard shouted and yelled, bouncing around her quarters like a child's toy.

"Finally, someone else gets the crap dumped on them!"

Given what Sam had just described, it made a sort of sense. However, again drawing on her previous service, Flanders expected the Commander to react badly simply because someone else now controlled her ship. The bond between captain and ship (in addition to captain and crew) existed in a category of its own—she'd seen captains openly cry when told their vessel would either be scrapped due to age or had been damaged beyond repair.

"I'm supposed to pass on that you should stay out of the way. You will be treated as a civilian and have no authority whatsoever."

The largest smile lit up Samantha's face that Caitlin Flanders had ever seen. "Do you see me caring?"

Flanders covertly signaled via Cortana to bring in the new Commander.

"Well there's something I thought I'd never see" remarked Garrus Vakarian as Samantha Shepard, former Spectre and all-around galactic badass, saluted him instead of the other way 'round.

[…]

"_Ultimatum _control to _Normandy_, you are clear for launch."

With those words, Garrus Vakarian took on his biggest mission yet. Though he'd only selected some of Shepard's former team to be part of his official squad, most of them came along for the ride anyway, being that the ship's greater length would accommodate more personnel. The two exceptions were Jack and Brick, whose obligation to their students preempted participation in this stage of the coming conflict.

"Absolutely not" insisted Garrus when Wrex tried to board. "Our galaxy may be a writhing mass of disgusting biomatter from another dimension, but if the krogan are to ever have a chance they will need you."

The female krogan going by the name "Abra" seemed to agree with Garrus' assessment.

"I thought you were going to sell me as the solution…" he griped.

"Not literally" insisted Garrus. "But I do like the idea!"

Wrex stomped off in a very exaggeratedly-angry fashion.

"He's the best hope the krogan have had in a thousand years" she'd said to the turian after Wrex moved out of earshot.

Wrex decided he'd see about finding a place with Brick and Jack.

_Normandy_'s blisteringly-quick slipspace drive took the heavy frigate away from the fleet at 750 million times the speed of light—the fastest transit speed ever recorded by any represented civilization.

Garrus called a meeting of his hand-picked squad. Thane worked over a disruptor rifle obtained after mysterious forces granted access to very powerful weapons stored in Republic Intelligence Service lockers. Athena preferred impacts over energy, however her lethality skyrocketed due to a magnetic rifle nicknamed the "royal" gun (due to being a combination of rail- and coil-gun designs). The turian couldn't quite figure out Legion—it just seemed less…itself than it used to be. The geth platform joined anyway, with its hypervelocity weapons drawn from geth science. Mordin Solis, having been given a potent dose of bacta to keep him going, selected a heavy disruptor pulse-pistol as his primary armament with a battle rifle serving backup duty. Kasumi Goto looked disappointed, only because she'd been flat-out given several disruptor-based armaments ("It's no fun this way").

"Our destination is a planet called Aquator. Unsurprisingly, its surface is almost entirely covered in water. Believe it or not, this galaxy's formation apparently left some regions without water. There are a large number of smugglers who either bribe or force captains of ships carrying that water to hand over part of their cargo—up to 30% of the water marked for export is lost."

"And you are planning to deal with these smugglers, I suspect" replied Thane.

"This plan is somewhat…indirect. The problem is the corporations here are not preparing for the Flood attack" (Cortana nodded approvingly at the use of her preferred term) "which means this place will get overrun just like our own home."

"Attacking smugglers affects this how?" asked Kasumi.

"Read briefing. Corporations provide security, fight smugglers. Smugglers react to attacks, use bigger ships. Corporations respond, send powerful vessels from own fleets or build new stronger vessels."

"Correct!"

The ever-astute Mordin explained faster than he could have.

"Isn't there a more direct way to accomplish this?" demanded Athena. "Why not just go after the source of the problem?"

"The secondary goal is to allow us to sabotage the corporations directly" countered Garrus. "In order to do that, we need to be selling them the solution to the problem we're going to be creating."

Athena put her hands on her hips.

"Again, overly complicated!"

"We need them to buy into a defense plan that works. That means getting them to buy our technology, because I swear on the spirits of my ancestors there is no way their weapons would hold up against the Flood."

"You could just offer it on the market rather than creating a convoluted plan."

_Shepard never had these problems…_

"Athena, we tried that. We tried talking to them. They didn't go for it. I doubt creating a catalogue of Trans-Galactic Republic and Citadel advancements would do anything other than set them at each other's throats like we did when the Trans-Galactic Republic first showed up. Give them a minor inconvenience, then steer them in a direction that would prepare them for the real threat."

Athena stepped back into the group.

"Based on the briefing, I believe we should focus on the following groups of smugglers."

All heads turned, several mouths opened.

"I had a feeling this was coming" interjected Cortana before anyone could ask why Legion, who constantly referred to itself as "we" due to being a collection of runtimes rather than a single overriding program, had just uttered the word "I."

Legion continued speaking as if nobody thought what it had just said to be unusual. "These groups are, based on analysis, responsible for over 40% of water theft. Therefore, if we desire the largest possible reaction we should strike them first."

Unlike hyperspace or its close cousin hyper-zero, slipspace travel saw no effects from realspace gravitational fluctuations or other hazards that navicomputers traditionally plotted around. As a consequence, any slipspace route tended to be a straight line from origin to destination, which compounded with higher speeds made possible by advanced engines, cut travel times drastically. _Normandy_ crossed the 22,800 lightyears to the Pax System, Opis Cluster, in sixteen minutes. Of course, any reversion _from _slipspace during direct travel could potentially result in a disaster if the ship returned to realspace, say, in the middle of a supernova…

"We turians don't believe in corporeal spirits or affecting this world from the beyond, but if that's what it takes, let's give them something weird in this sector!" yelled Garrus over the ship's comm. "Engage the cloak."

"Two steps ahead" smirked Cortana. "Cloak has been switched on since ten thousand light years ago."

"Let's make them squirm!" cried Athena. She'd taken over weapons, much to Garrus' chagrin, as his duties as a Commander took him off his favorite station.

"If you miscalibrate my guns…" he'd said ominously as she'd taken over.

"Novalasers charged and ready to fire. Designate first target!"

"Acknowledged."

Information streamed from Legion's suggestions of which smuggler groups to attack so that Athena could lock onto appropriate bogeys. She dialed down output; novalasers packed an extreme punch. The goal wasn't to destroy smuggler ships (at least not yet), just scuff their shields and scorch their paint. Given disparities between highly-developed military weapons and a society in which energy field defenses were relatively weak, even at the lowest setting novalasers still did more damage than anyone aboard _Normandy_ expected.

Brilliant purple bolts of energy crashed into smugglers expecting a few token pot-shots from corporate security forces they'd bought off. This system worked for years—the corporations priced in piracy and the pirates had a reliable income.

Now, none could determine where sudden attacks were coming from. Panicked water-smugglers started firing in every direction as the cloaked _Normandy_ zipped about. Several of the frigate's shots damaged engine systems, key for freighters hauling hundreds of thousands of tons of water. Garrus cursed the outcome—he hadn't meant to cause this much mayhem.

"Athena, do those go any lower?" he'd asked as another engine cone disappeared from severed fuel lines and destroyed thrust vectoring plates.

"Hearing you complain about causing too much destruction is like expecting Torgue to accept the concept of 'too many explosions'" she replied. Not knowing who "Torgue" was (other than a company) Garrus figured it meant something along the lines of "unexpected."

"And no, they don't" she finished. "The computer says the novalasers are at minimum output right now."

Water-thieves scattered. Their only glimpse of a hidden assailant came from brief purple flashes revealing the tip of some kind of weapon, before the impact of that weapon disabled some part of its target.

"Six smugglers dead in space, two fleeing on half their engines, one corporate security vessel hit 'accidentally,' I'd say this went well!"

Garrus ordered _Normandy_ back to what slowly became more and more of a fleet as ships departed _Ultimatum_'s hanger bays but hung around the massive vessel like a school of fish surrounding a whale. Notably, none of the squad made any comments about not having a chance to fight directly. The turian Commander was pretty sure he'd have at least gotten a good-natured ribbing from Grunt and/or Zaeed about "doing all the fighting from a ship" or "not getting our hands bloody" had they been officially part of the team.

"Well, if this is going to work, it's a good start." Praise from Cortana? This definitely surprised him. The AI had spent most of her time here criticizing everyone (and not without reason) over perceived failures to take steps against the Flood.

"I'm guessing this was the easy part" he replied.

"That's how they always start, isn't it though?

[…]

Patricia Tannis, her science-helpers, and protectors managed to take a large number of Eridian relics from Pandora's north pole. The very same relics Jackie Jakobs once threatened to destroy if the Trans-Galactic Republic refused to help her. Some pieces were irreplaceable and presumed lost in the destruction of RNS _Amerigo_ with nothing similar currently on-site. However, many items lay unclassified and uncatalogued. Tannis busied herself with this task after filling the militarized freighter _Aim This Way_ with as much as the ship could carry.

Among the items recovered were pieces of what looked like a staff of some kind. They didn't fit together precisely, so she surmised sections might be missing. The middle received designation 7821. The others were numbered in sequence. So many of the recovered objects were very square or very round—they resembled a child's building-blocks, if said blocks varied in size from centimeters all the way to many meters long. Tannis tagged them with digital markers once she identified any interesting patterns on their outsides. Unfortunately, these carvings didn't match either the large or small script she'd worked on translating. Not even small similarities, though she did notice some commonalities with images of Siren tattoos.

"It is as though they try to frustrate me" she sighed.

Still, she couldn't complain—Nimitz made available vast amounts of lab space and even greater amounts of storage to put any recovered items in. It helped Star Dreadnaughts were vast, city-sized constructs with ample room to spare. Tannis couldn't count how many trips were made between the now-transplanted (again) _Ultimatum_ and Pandora's north pole. This was a dream come true. No one to bother her, a _much_ faster computer core (though no digistruction), and competent automated assistance.

She also ended up with more in total than she'd had previously, as she'd been limited by _Intrepid_ initially, then by _Amerigo_'s captain not authorizing further expeditions. Not that she needed them at the time—there were many analyses to conduct among other things.

"So much to do…"


	52. Revelations

**Chapter 51 – Revelations**

Ignored for years on the basis of being "uncoordinated" and "a nuisance," a resurgence of Infected Harvesters (as the wider citizenry of Gamma-Three knew them) finally caused the Economic Development Group to suggest its members "take concrete action to defend not just the Prime Worlds, but the galaxy as a whole." Why the nightmarish creatures suddenly developed an aptitude for coordinated tactics, ambushes, and other military doctrine escaped any analysis—threats just had to be dealt with regardless of where they'd come from. An inherent risk came from "treating the symptom, not the cause" but even the best scientists knew so little about Harvesters or the Infection which claimed them that their best comparison would be doctors treating a completely new disease for which only palliative care methods were known.

Jakobs, under the guidance of Bill Arkansas and his mostly-competent Board, cranked up production of clone operatives as more caches of Atlas cloning cylinders were discovered. With these greater numbers of CUBEs, it became acceptable to grow the clones more slowly, creating a more stable product that ultimately gave more soldiers rather than growing many soldiers quickly while being forced to discard a good number of them. Automation aboard two Atlas _Titans_ decreased markedly as a result, improving efficiency by allowing weapons, engines, and other systems to operate much closer to safety margins with human engineers standing by. The captured Maliwan vessels' reactors proved to be an interesting study—they both produced massive amounts of energy relative to their size and had the potential to be weaponized. So far, the ships' owners hadn't made any public noises about missing ships, though Jakobs kept them close to the chest anyway.

Hyperion, having finally received a positive review on its starship designs from its supposed-partner Jakobs, moved forward with construction on the understanding that Jakobs would pay hefty lease fees for what amounted to bare-ship chartering as Hyperion lacked crew. The company aimed to rectify this through questionable "induced employment" (that is, conscription), but given the circumstances it wouldn't be quick enough (hence the bare-ship chartering).

The MALITOR Alliance kept ahead of its compatriots, utilizing its construction facilities on Ares to crank out ships faster than anyone else, which also permitted them to defend the worlds on which most of their business transpired. Though no official announcement made its way to the ECHONet, Dahl covertly supplied personnel to the alliance as the formerly-neutral entity finally made a decision on which "side" to take. High-end solar collectors atop MALITOR digistructors sucked down photonic energy from Ares' nearby sun, producing warship after warship. Most fell into the _Clean Sweep_ class.

"Necessity is the mother of invention" said Mallory to Malcolm. "Otherwise, there's no way in hell we'd be practically _giving_ something away… You realize we're probably not getting paid ever, right?"

"I'd take not being turned into one of those horrific things as payment" replied her husband. "If everyone else in this galaxy does nothing, we will at least be discovered by some archaeologist in the future as the few who fought back."

"I get the impression Admiral Nimitz wasn't exactly impressed with our ships" said Mallory with a hint of disappointment.

"If you were a hyper-advanced civilization where faster-than-light's so cheap anyone with a minimum-wage job can afford it—and by it I mean a ship that can jump to lightspeed, not a ticket to ride one—you'd probably think us primitive too."

"Supposedly, two of our _Clean Sweeps_ disappeared—though I have no idea why as the area they passed through to reach Nimitz didn't have pirates, and subsequent investigations turned up no anomalies or evidence of their destruction" commented Mallory.

Malcolm's voice took on a hard edge. "It doesn't matter—those ships had skeleton crews; Nimitz got what she needed in the end."

"We can only hope…"

[…]

The two Sirens Maya, one vastly aged and the other where she belonged chronologically, found themselves summoned to Admiral Allison Nimitz's office. The latter, having disembarked from the _Normandy_ upon its return, had no idea what use the Admiral might have for her. The former, with her knowledge of the current galaxy due to an obsession with history, economics, and other "bookish" subjects, figured she might be asked to taken on an advisory role.

Nimitz opted for simply closing the door rather than locking down her office as she sometimes would for sensitive discussions.

"I'm guessing neither of you pay much attention to my attire."

Both Mayas gave her strange looks, as if she'd started singing childhood nursery rhymes or had worn her pants on her head.

The Admiral made a flourishing movement that revealed her legs, partially covered with Eridian glyphs. Cue both Sirens' shocked silence. For the next twenty seconds. She cleared her throat before speaking again.

"No, I don't have any crazy powers, neither Current nor anything like yours. You can see these markings are nowhere near as dense or complicated as yours. No one has any idea what they mean, though I suspect they might be related to my unnatural retention of youth…"

"Your what now?" asked the aged Maya.

"I'm eighty standard years old. Even accounting for differences between how others and the Trans-Galactic Republic measure time, nobody absent some Current power or extreme surgery maintains a thirty-something appearance at this age!"

"Indeed not" remarked the older incarnation. "This sounds like some story plot, but is there anything that could un-age me? Mordin Solis had good luck with bacta, I hear…"

"The briefing I received" countered Nimitz, "said that bacta merely forestalls his death, it does not prevent it. If bacta made one immortal, the population of the Home Galaxy would be much, much higher. With their extreme metabolisms, salarians experience quite a bit of self-destructive behavior on the cellular level as they age. Bacta sets it right for a time."

"If we're talking about ridiculous" added star-pilot-wannabe, "why not just siphon some of your blood?"

Now the alternate universe Maya found herself the recipient of quizzical stares.

"Okay sorry, I just figured I'd ask!"

"Too many ECHO vids!" whispered her counterpart.

"Well, I did have an offer to make _you_" said the Admiral somewhat hesitantly to the younger woman. "I have good word that your dearest wish is to become a starfighter pilot, something we could use more of right about now. It's different than, say, flying the _Normandy_ but a certain woman whose callsign is 'Liberty One' passed on information that ended up in your permanent file after your jaunt to Pandora…"

"Shepard wouldn't let me" pouted Maya.

"And for good reason! At the time, you would have been blown to bits. This was during the assault on the Omega space station, correct?"

"Yes" replied Maya glumly.

"Let me tell you, nobody starts learning anything in a live environment with lives on the line. That's just not done unless it's absolutely necessary. Now, if you accept, your first assignment will be flying one of the blastboats to a specific docking bay aboard _Ultimatum_ for some additions to its programming."

The elder Maya took a seat near the entryway. She wasn't needed in this conversation.

"Why? What does me learning have to do with the ship computer? Is it to put it in some kind of training mode, so I can't do anything stupid?" she asked, somewhat more sarcastically than she meant.

"Training mode, yes, but not for actually flying. These 'boats support a simulation mode, but only with the correct equipment installed. That means simulation software on its computer, and several image projectors installed on the cockpit windows."

Maya started to make sense of it. "So it will run like an ECHONet game."

Nimitz took on a bit of an offended look, before answering "Yes, sort of like a very sophisticated video game."

"So, who's my instructor and where do I report for duty?"

Maya saluted, despite wearing casual clothing.

"I like your attitude, pilot. I will draw up orders and send them to you on your ECHO device. Though the pilot who put in word for you expressed interest in mentoring you if you joined up…"

"…she's dead, isn't she?" Maya figured _Veritas_, like many other starships, probably met its end at the Citadel Rout.

"Unfortunately, you are correct, Second Lieutenant. Or, rather, that will be your commissioned rank once your orders come through… In the meantime, return to your quarters. Your first assisted flight will occur within weeks, I daresay."

Maya nearly exploded with happiness. Thanks to a universal quirk egged on by use of certain faster-than-light devices, she'd escaped her life of being degraded and hooted at in exchange for a career. A career that she hoped would both make her life better and enable her to participate actively in literally saving the galaxy.

[…]

The Council formerly of the Citadel, having been saved from a fate worse than death by absolutely the last person they expected, had little to do since their primary purpose had been governing. Now, everyone lived under what technically qualified as martial law, though the Trans-Galactic Republic's Admiral Allison Nimitz hardly micromanaged nor did she strike anyone as unfair. She basically left anyone outside the Spacelane Protection forces to their own devices barring any activities threatening the security of her fleet.

Tevos, Clethon, Victus, and Grayson lived among the mix of civilians and soldiers who called _Ultimatum_ home, though they often gathered in secure areas to have discussions (rather than talking about galactic politics at one of the many cafés). Grayson still had contacts in the Trans-Galactic Republic so those who needed to know were aware of his continued survival. As for the rest, with their homeworlds gone, galaxy Flooded, and little hope on the immediate horizon, they just whiled away time. Sometimes, Tevos and Victus would engage in a spirited bout of holochess (Trans-Galactic Republic rules). The others had fun guessing at the outcome.

Though the Spectres and the Council bureaucracy effectively no longer existed, the four sought ways to make use of the one Spectre still technically available. It would be ideal to coax Samantha Shepard back into service, or failing that, convince Cortana, Mordin, and others with knowledge of her resurrection to make their breakthroughs more widely available so others might be saved when the war inevitably resumed.

"The needs of the many supersede the desires of the few" insisted Tevos.

"A soldier can be ordered to fire his weapon, he can be told to storm a beach. But you can't order a soldier to believe" argued Adam Grayson. "Given the scarce details we have been given on Samantha Shepard's current condition, I find myself doubting she believes in herself, or her cause, if she even has one anymore."

Clethon spoke up. "During my time with the Special Tasks Group, we…dealt with…many factions seeking to create computerized control devices capable of manipulating an organic mind. None were successful that I personally observed, however, rumor had it ten years ago that Cerberus came close."

"You're not seriously suggesting someone use mind-control on Shepard?" gasped a shocked Victus.

"I am not suggesting it, merely making the statement that such things could be possible should they be deemed necessary at some later date."

"I've read some things about the history of the Special Tasks Group" mused Grayson. "For all its brilliance, for all its scientific and military prowess, some of its operations strike me as a tad short-sighted."

"In context, working with many variables can lead to future problems" conceded Clethon, "however the problem at hand has always been solved."

"Though this academic conversation is intriguing" (said with some hint of sarcasm) "let us not re-litigate the past" insisted Tevos. "If Shepard is the key to victory, we must find a way to get the key into its lock."

"Or designate a new champion whose standing would be everlasting through the death-forestalling technologies utilized to keep Shepard alive. Victory, no matter the cost!" added Victus.

"We don't have that technology" countered Grayson. "Not without the Current, and even there, a serious risk of mental damage to the person involved makes me think tampering with it would be an invitation for disaster."

"That you publicly acknowledge" shot back Tevos. She didn't have to say it—undoubtedly a society that played technology close to the chest with other governments did the same within itself. She wondered if the secretive Republic Intelligence Service might possess abilities that made death a nonissue.

"I was not privy to everything, despite my former rank" protested the now-ex-Admiral. "Information got distributed on a need-to-know basis. The first I found out about Sarah being released was from the news!"

"What of the Siren?" asked Victus. "She has many powers that appear unnatural."

"Nimitz told me of discussions between Sarah and both Bailey and Samantha. The crazy purple-haired terrorist seemed to lose all sense of purpose after teleporting us from our home. Now she just sits quietly and does very little, helpful or harmful."

"And why would she do that?" questioned Clethon. "She clearly possesses abilities enabling her to affect changes on a galactic scale. She is not a prisoner—even if she was, it's likely she'd be able to break herself out with very little effort…"

"There is a reason we have our discussions within the privacy of this room" intoned Tevos. "Lest some of our candid moments be interpreted…badly. I believe that for all the terrible actions this Sarah has taken, she and Samantha Shepard are more similar right now than any of us would like to openly admit. Both believe in a life driven by an overriding purpose. Neither of them currently have such a purpose, and thus are aimless."

"And both have engaged in rather extreme behavior, one on a vastly larger scale than the other" concurred Clethon. "Shepard may have murdered millions under the United Defense Command, but her actions are merely a spot of blood compared to Sarah. No one even bothered to tally up all the lives she ended during her rampages that I'm aware of—the guesses I am privy to ran into the hundreds of millions."

"She did have a knack for knocking out communications first" agreed Grayson. "Besides, there were many worlds within your civilization I had zero knowledge of; they weren't even included on the maps I received upon conclusion of the first Status of Forces agreement. She burned through many of these clusters."

"Indeed" added Victus.

"We no longer possess any formal authority" concluded the asari matriarch, "so we cannot formally order that any action be taken. However, given Councilor Grayson's standing in the Trans-Galactic Republic, I sincerely believe that Allison Nimitz would hear our requests if we were to make them."

"Which requires us to decide what our suggestions are" countered Grayson. "So far, we've said-without-saying that putting a control chip in Samantha's head is out" (he hoped this dissuaded any further discussion of such a nasty avenue) "but that we have not one, but two possible solutions if they can be made to see a new purpose in saving the galaxy, again."

Tevos reacted to Grayson similarly to his response against Clethon's control-chip talk.

"I fail to see how trusting a mass murderer simply because she's gone quiet is a good idea. If she has in fact been around as long as some of your scientists think, she may be more well-practiced in the arts of deception than any of us here. Millennia-long lifespans are virtually guaranteed for an average member of my species, yet this Sarah may well be ten, a hundred, or a thousand times that old."

Victus spoke up. "From a strategic standpoint, the simplest answer would be to just ask her. Even if her plans again involve our annihilation, I think it better to know that now than to find it out later—she seems remarkably willing to talk compared to her previous self, based on the summaries I got from…sources."

In a bit of a role-reversal, Garrus Vakarian now fed the authority-less Councilor Victus information the latter wasn't cleared to have. Including the general idea of what he'd discussed with both Sarah and the "Lady Fingers."

"Furthermore" continued the turian, "if she planned to kill us, why wait around and pretend otherwise? It's not her style! Also, it isn't as if holding back until the present time somehow makes her life easier—we became concentrated in one place at the Citadel Rout, and continued to be one big ball after that. Now, some small elements of our fleet are spreading out…"

"Are you volunteering to negotiate with this woman?" asked Clethon.

"I have an idea of someone who would be more than willing, who also isn't me…"

[…]

Admiral Nimitz's terminal beeped for the fifth time today. It seemed as though the entire fleet suddenly could not run without her input on every little thing.

"Where do we put the krogan?" (In a really big space where they can't damage the ship by charging around.)

"What types of food are safe for turians?" (Nothing we can eat.)

"How do we decontaminate areas for quarians?" (Very thoroughly, though it's not as big a deal as you think.)

"Are we going to be receiving reinforcements?" (No orders have been given by the Home Galaxy at this time—aka, no.)

The fifth inquiry revolved around a woman named Sally McKnight who commanded one of the Council's fancy "Maxthon" class ships built with greater Trans-Galactic Republic consultation and technological involvement than the previous "Aspirations" dreadnaughts which were truly horrendous pieces of engineering by comparison.

"McKnight and her ship, _Elizabeth Booker_, cannot be located. In the interest of keeping as many combat-ready ships available as possible, this represents a concern. It is believed the ship ventured to Pandora for unknown reasons due to residual hyper-zero trails leading in that direction."

The packet also came with a set of sensor logs corroborating claims made.

"It's fortunate that the hyperspace mapping probes have generated some routes in that direction" she spoke aloud to no one.

Keying in commands, she ordered one of the _Vorknkx_ spy ships to take a peek at Pandora to see if the missing warship might be found there. If the vessel had been stolen, it would likely be possible to trace its steps due to telltale trails left by its engines—after all, hyper-zero broke down space at some extremely elementary level (hence Sarah's initial reaction to it). Not knowing what kind of sensor technology might exist in this galaxy, she opted for the safer route of using one of few with a stygium cloaking device. Previously, hibridium had served perfectly fine due to Citadel societies lacking any sort of detection not based on heat emissions/visual scanning and inability to track ships at faster-than-light speeds. Even spying on Thessia proved child's play.

Nimitz doubted these primitives would have anything up their sleeves concerning to a civilization with technology like the Trans-Galactic Republic's, however their possession of the "digistruction" ability made her wonder. It had been straight-out copied from an advanced-yet-vanished group of aliens everyone now knew as the Forebears, Forerunners, or (in native parlance) Eridians. Therefore it stood to reason Eridian scanners might defeat cloaking systems…if anyone had Eridian scanners.

Six hours and 11,000 lightyears later (courtesy of improved hyperroutes), a live view from _Dreighton Legend_ caused the experienced commander to do a double-take. A vast sea of rock spewed out from the planet as though someone took a drill to it. Early calculations put a gaping hole at over a hundred kilometers wide—containing a swirling mass of blue-white energy that looked like a tornado in a bottle. Somehow Pandora continued to spin on a proper axis and its orbit did not seem to be affected.

"Eridians" she muttered. Assuming advanced beings that might live in another dimension were responsible for this would be less headache-inducing than trying to figure out the twenty or more violations of understood physics occurring in front of her. Ancient history from the Home Galaxy suggested a group of precursors engaged in astroengineering on an incomprehensible scale, moving entire star systems for indeterminate reasons, so manipulating planets was pedestrian assuming proper technological advancement.

"We're getting strange readings from this…swirling energy thing" reported the captain of _Legend._

"Can you confirm a hyper-zero trail?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am… The ship dropped out of hyper-zero close to the planet. Much closer than ordinary navicomputers would permit, but hyper-zero is much more precise than a hyperdrive. My science officer informs me there's a spatial distortion of some kind around the vortex, and that if _Elizabeth Booker_ was here and fired her main cannon without its safeties, it's entirely possible the ship drilled into the planet."

"Launch probes!"

"We've already tried that several times, Admiral. The probes' paths don't make any sense—they fly straight at the anomaly, then bend away like they're following a curved rail. Visual on the probes is equally incomprehensible; transmitting video now."

Nimitz watched from the perspective of a probe whose high-definition 3D lenses locked onto a second probe already away. The second probe slowed drastically as it approached whatever was happening to Pandora, before its casing bent at an unnaturally-curved angle. The captain hadn't exaggerated. No damage appeared as the probe's path altered by about sixty degrees and it raced off into space before realizing in its simplistic droid brain that it no longer headed "toward designated anomaly" and performed a course-correction. The process of approach-then-bend repeated several times until it did a hundred-eighty degree turn in order to dock with its host ship.

"There aren't any hyper-zero trails leading away from the Pandora system?" she questioned.

"No ma'am. We followed it as closely as our hyperdrive would permit, which forced us to return to normal space several million kilometers before _Booker_ did. The trail ends where we sit. If the ship did get pulled into whatever-that-thing-is, they or someone else must have shut the door behind them!"

"But in your professional opinion, you believe _Booker_ to indeed have disappeared."

"Sure looks that way, Admiral… Unless someone fitted it with a cloaking device?"

Allison Nimitz said nothing to this. She'd maintain the inanity of the worst-kept-secret even if it caused her to burst a blood vessel from the sheer stupidity and hypocrisy of it all.

[…]

The elder Maya found herself again being used as a living repository of information regarding her home galaxy in all its messy, underdeveloped, unequal glory. This time, Garrus Vakarian did the digging, wanting to know everything about weapon development, corporate policy, and anything else that would give him the best chance at forcing the corporations that controlled the place to "stand straight, fly right, and get their pathetic excuses for armed forces battle-ready."

Maya chuckled at this. "Battle-ready? The only battles they tend to fight are against each other for daring to move in on territorial boundaries set hundreds of years ago."

"But you're saying that I literally only have to have one target—Promethea?"

"Well, Jakobs aside" (she snorted) "everyone else uses that promethium stuff to line the chambers of their weapons to prevent toxic elemental leakage. Or, at least reduce toxic elemental leakage, anyway. The reason half the bandit population on Pandora is borderline-crazy is because nobody maintains their weapons on that planet and elemental guns are sold without regulations of any kind."

"So the seals either break or are nonexistent, and the chamber linings wear out, exposing the user to side-effects."

"Pretty much. If you're wondering why the FireHoses and other weapons modified from your armories don't have this problem, it's because of that block-shaving thing your guns do. You don't need much of a charge to add an elemental affect to something the size of a sand grain!"

Garrus looked at the large-caliber bullet Jackie Jakobs had given him during the discussion.

"I'm sure glad I never had to carry these around."

"When you have a Storage Deck Unit that nullifies its weight, it's really not that big a deal" Jackie replied.

"Still, the notion of loading physical ammunition… Not my style" he'd concluded. In the same vein, he disliked some newer weapon designs that carried a lithium cartridge known as a "thermal clip" that allowed fire without cooldowns, instead a weapon cycled its heat by ejecting a used thermal clip. Not only did that require carrying such clips (which in their defense had a universal design) but it also made battlefields hazardous. How many were burned by ejected casings, or stepped on one thinking it harmless when in fact it had just popped out of a Claymore shotgun? His foot never quite healed properly from that incident—_if it's hot enough to melt through combat boots, it doesn't belong_, he'd fumed.

Just like practically everything else in the outer rim (known as "borderlands" to residents here), promethium mining attracted illicit traders who either flat-out stole the finished product by threat of force or bribed their way into skimming off the production lines. It would again offer an opportunity to hit both the "free traders" and corporations at the same time, either driving them into each other's arms or at least convincing both factions to up their commitment to starship deployment.

"Do we get to sit in our quarters while you and Athena shoot things?" asked Kasumi.

"This mission will be space-based, at least initially" replied the turian commander. "If our first strike proves successful, a ground team may be deployed using one of the blastboats."

"So, in other words, yes."

_Normandy_ practically left space-tracks blasting to the Phrike System with eight engines flaring. Slightly over thirty minutes later, the cloaked heavy frigate popped back into normal space practically already set in an orbit.

"Precise use of slipspace is fun!" said Cortana to no one in particular. She'd taken to keeping her projection turned on and standing at a station on the bridge where the crew could easily find her. It seemed some did not like speaking to her smaller holotank form or just randomly shouting (one could "talk" to Cortana virtually anywhere aboard ship so long as a visual interface was not required).

Promethium processing took place on the surface, supposedly because it was "easier to have things in one place." In reality, nobody working aboard orbital installations wanted to deal with the toxic fallout from such processing, and lobbied hard to keep the actual refinement away from themselves. Garrus elected to start with space stations—where the best/most well-connected smugglers made their runs. Often disguised as "contractors," freighters piloted by these men and women would have enough appearance of legitimacy such that station operators would have plausible deniability to corporate higher-ups. Should that fail, the angry inspectors could always be bought off.

Despite smugglers often possessing military-grade armaments (often on ships that would not survive return fire from that type of weapon), very few shots were traded due to the understanding: smugglers, station operators, and inspectors all got their cut. Customers were warned about the "pirates" and up-charged accordingly. Anyone trying to sell out this arrangement to the customer received "visits" from one or all three parties ensuring their continued silence (permanently if necessary). As a consequence, an arms race that might've lead to built-up, heavily-armored space stations never happened.

Novalasers splashed over smugglers lined up among the legitimate traders (as pointed out by the sole embarked Maya and Jackie Jakobs). Several of them tried to return fire, but _Normandy_ long-since relocated due to her superior speed. A few ships exploded (again, novalasers could only be dialed so low), most took the hint.

"Aye, someone broke the truce!" growled one over an open communications channel. Replayed within _Normandy_, Maya giggled. It reminded her of a mission she'd taken on for Ellie to antagonize both sides of a long-simmering feud between two families. Somehow, the moronic backworlders never noticed _the same yellow-clad Siren_ working both sides of a very obvious setup.

Garrus elected to keep _Normandy_ completely hidden minus weapon blasts for now. Eventually, Cortana would let the cloak "fail" on a portion of the ship revealing just enough to get attention, but not so much that anyone would be able to firmly identify the mysterious attacker. Monitoring unencrypted ECHONet traffic suggested shadowport stories about a "ghost" attacking smugglers already spread from a single incident. Some smugglers vowed to buy bigger guns to ward off this bogey. Much bravado about "made-up" tales spilled, though nobody could yet offer a coherent rebuttal to the results of his raid on Aquator.

Another novalaser barrage splashed into a target, this time a huge shipping depot. The station's stouter shields could better handle incoming energy, having been partially derived from Eridian technology (licensing fees to Atlas, of course) and being built on a larger scale than an average tramp freighter. Garrus ordered Joker to fly a pattern conducive to strafing corporate targets while taking pot-shots at smugglers of opportunity.

Eavesdropping on smuggler communications revealed some confusion.

"What the hell?"

"So if there's an angry ghost, it's pissed at everyone?"

"You know, if we weren't stealing from these companies, I'd bet they'd hire us to provide security…"

"Now that's more like it" said Garrus to Cortana as another run ruptured several storage tanks aboard a storage platform. "Let's get out of here."

Ashley, not part of the squad but aboard anyway, stopped him as he headed down to the ship's hanger.

"Sir, don't you find it weird to have assembled an entire ground team while all the action takes place in space?"

That she both acknowledged his authority and referred to a turian as "sir" showed exactly how much she'd changed and grown as a person since her borderline-xenophobia (not without reason) of almost ten years ago.

"First off, Williams, no need to go all formal on me. Second, yes, it is weird, but given the people picking targets who've been choosing space-based missions there's not much of a choice."

[…]

Patricia Tannis practically exploded from a surge of intellectual superiority she experienced upon being summoned to Admiral Nimitz's office.

"Despite your inane refusals to conduct necessary scientific experiments, it appears someone has gone and done what had to be done anyway" she'd sniffed.

As an officer, Nimitz had her share of insubordinate morons who needed a verbal smackdown or two to get them back in line. However, in the case of this scientist, as disrespectful and un-decorum as she could be, technically, she was right.

"Sensor readings from Pandora indicate that an inexplicable phenomenon is indeed occurring. When _Elizabeth Booker_'s forward weapon interacted with the planet's core, my scientists hypothesize the ship was pulled into some kind of alternate dimension. You know, not that we have a shortage of those around here…"

"Slipspace, hyperspace, hyper-zerospace…"

Tannis began babbling scientific gobblygook that made no sense to a career military officer.

"Tannis!" barked Nimitz.

"Are we going? We should really investigate this further. My theories…"

Nimitz sighed. She hated giving off the impression the pushy, arrogant scientist might get her way because she'd been, well, pushy and arrogant. However, she really had no other choice—ignoring the unexpected disappearance of a powerful warship in an unknown would be inviting disaster.

"You will be included in an expedition which will attempt to determine the nature of this anomaly. Please leave my office."

"Of course you would not want to subject yourself to my obvious mental superiority" Tannis crowed as she stepped out. "It is only natural for those of lesser intellect to be embarrassed and ashamed…"

She wondered if more information might be forthcoming from an unusual source, but wanted to see what persons better "in the know" might have to say. Nimitz commed Garrus Vakarian.

[…]

"Yes ma'am. That would be the second time I have been asked about Sarah today" said the turian.

"Dare I ask who else is interested?"

"The former Citadel Council" he replied, "is curious what might motivate Sarah and/or Samantha to once again take up the mantle of champion against this Flood. Since I have spoken to both Sarah and Samantha at varying times, they sought me out."

"What is your professional opinion, Provisional Operations Commander Vakarian?"

"My professional opinion is that it is unwise to consort with dangerous enemies, however, these are not normal times. I would like to interrogate the Siren en route to our survey of Pandora, in person, aided by Armando Bailey. I would also like to leave Miranda Lawson in charge of _Normandy_ so operations can continue in my absence."

_At least he has an eye for security and continuity_.

Nimitz replied in the affirmative. "I am inclined to grant this request. A ship will be secured from the many docked aboard _Ultimatum_, and we will depart within a day's time."

Through small-scale digistruction, _Ultimatum_ came up with a "Siren restraint system," a kind of specialized gurney that held a prisoner at a near-standing position with all four limbs locked down with arms at sides and legs slightly spread. An optional shock collar could administer fifty thousand volts or more to pacify a struggling subject.

"Obviously, this has scant chance of actually holding her still if she decides to put up a fight" warned Bailey upon inspection of the device. "However, if it makes you all feel better, then I guess we'll go with it."

Several noses wrinkled at an accusation of tokenism, but really couldn't deny the truth of the man's words. Sarah had been shown to be immensely powerful, with few apparent restraints on her capabilities short of a "power limit" of sorts that drained her after she teleported _Ultimatum_ and thousands of other ships across intergalactic distances. How she'd recovered remained somewhat of a mystery.

"I'll be standing next to her the whole time, so if we need to slow her down, I can at least do that."

Again, not confidence inspiring. Considering that Sarah meekly strapped herself down, though, most agreed there would be no danger from her at the moment.

"Taking the Admiral, our best field commander, and a bunch of key science personnel on a trip thousands of lightyears away, confined with a dangerous Siren? I wonder who came up with that brilliant idea?" snapped Miranda Lawson on being informed she'd once again perform the role of acting-Captain in Garrus' absence.

"I agree with you" rang out a confident, flanging voice many had come to expect from Garrus (as opposed to his hesitancy previously). "Consider, though, that she has had plenty of opportunities to kill us previously and yet has not. Really, the situation isn't all that different from EDI."

Miranda acknowledged his argument while still maintaining a desire for greater caution.

"Sarah doesn't know it, but two _Hammer_ cruisers will be shadowing us under hibridium cloak. If we give the word, they will vaporize us in one strike."

"Given that this woman can teleport, I wouldn't be surprised if she survived that too…"

Garrus laughed. "Miranda, there's probably nothing that could satisfy any properly-security-minded person when there's a specially-powered individual who breaks every known rule around."

Miranda conceded the point. "Good luck, Commander. I'll try not to scratch the paint while you're away."

Again in the interest of security (or "security" seeing as all of these measures would likely do little against a rampaging Siren), everyone selected for the Pandora expedition boarded a prison ship hastily retrofitted with basic creature comforts. _Lifelong Lockup_ pulled away from _Ultimatum_ and through the expanding cloud of vessels surrounding it. As it had become apparent the area remained safe for the moment, many ships that found themselves docked courtesy Sarah undocked and operated independently while still enjoying the benefit of Star Dreadnaught protection.

With no need for a terrifically fast hyperdrive, _Lifelong Lockup_ would take almost ten hours to cross the distance between what remained of Nimitz's fleet and the Pandora system, despite vastly improved hyperroutes discovered over the past few weeks. Notable personnel aboard included the Admiral, Patricia Tannis, Kevin Filner ("Finally, something to do!"), Jackie Jakobs ("It beats sitting around, I guess"), ProvOCo Vakarian, and of course, Sarah.

Garrus followed several heavily-armed Spacelane Protection Marines as they wheeled Sarah's gurney into a secured section of the ship. He did not understand the reasons for giving nonsensical names to various aspects of what essentially functioned as a military—then again, thinking back to the Citadel Council, politicians would do almost anything, whether it made sense or not, if it helped their election chances or burnished their public image. While he'd used the word "interrogate" when talking about Sarah to Admiral Nimitz, he intended to be far friendlier, simply because antagonizing a Siren tended to go over badly.

Just ask Joker and whatever he'd said to Maya. Even in her aged state, she would not let this go, insisting to this day that he entirely deserved his floating-treatment at the Kaidan Alenko Memorial Banquet Hall.

"So" he began as the ship departed, "You've gone from a mass-murderer to someone who doesn't know what she wants to do with her life?"

_Damnit_.

"If you're going to spend this whole trip judging me for following orders, we have nothing to talk about" replied Sarah, annoyed.

"And if you're going to claim 'following orders' justifies killing hundreds of millions of innocents, then you can spend the rest of this trip by yourself" he retorted.

"I can live with that."

"If you're so convinced you did the right thing, why did you just give up? Why stop the killing? If the galaxy needed to have all sapient life killed in order to prevent damage to space, why not keep going?" Garrus remained genuinely curious on this point—someone with capabilities like Sarah's dropping their mission made no sense to him.

"My given purpose and mission was to prevent the very thing which has doomed us all" she answered, somewhat bored. "Embodying the 'Mantle of Responsibility' I was tasked with protecting all life, even if that meant taking extreme measures in the process."

"You'll have to explain to me how exterminating all life and protecting all life go in the same sentence except as polar opposites" snapped Garrus. "It seems pretty contradictory."

"Well, before you all went and built your stupid hyper-zero drives, this wasn't going to be such an issue!" shot back Sarah indignantly.

"Back to the 'You're tearing up space, so you have to die' thing, huh?" spat Garrus. "If this is the attitude your creators have, I really hope I don't meet them when we get to Pandora."

"Sometimes the flowers must die to wipe out the weeds so that new flowers may be planted."

About to respond with a blistering retort, he had to admit this analogy, as crude and insulting as some might find it, made some level of sense.

"I was supposed to stop your destruction of space. Patricia Tannis knows this. Perhaps I should not have trusted her with this information, as it appears not only is she forgetful, but others do not take her seriously outside her single realm of expertise. Even if she did warn them as I believed she would have, it now occurs to me that she could have been ignored."

"Why would you put the fate of the galaxy in the mind of that…crazy scientist?" Garrus couldn't figure it out. For as intelligent as Sarah was supposed to be, trusting a person with limited credibility and questionable mental faculties to deliver a critical message seemed to be the opposite of smart.

"I believe the Forebears, or as they are known here, Eridians, attempted to communicate with me from beyond, but their message got split. Patricia Tannis received part of it while I received another section. Only together did the warning make sense—the Flood was coming. Research into slipspace would let them through for sure, but only because excessive use of mass relays sowed the seeds, so to speak."

"Let me guess, if you're aiming messages from outside normal space, you might miss?" suggested Garrus.

"Possible" replied Sarah. "However, I believe that is not the reason. Patricia Tannis had been studying Forebear artifacts for quite some time. If they believed she could understand enough to pass on a message, they might have chosen her of their own volition."

"Assuming they're watching our every move is just weird" shivered Garrus. "But why would they be able to communicate with her and you, but no one else? You make sense, you're a creation of theirs. But Tannis? Maybe it has something to do with being around Eridian relics or something."

"Regardless of how…"

Sarah stopped speaking, like a puppet whose master dropped its strings. Her turquoise eyes glassed over, unfocused and staring as if looking through something.

"…this happened, it is important to…"

Responding to a strange look from Garrus, Sarah again quieted herself. "Did something happen?"

"If you call your apparent trance-like state and glassed-over eyes 'something' then yeah."

"I don't remember that" insisted Sarah.

"It definitely happened" countered Garrus, playing back the past thirty seconds from his eyepiece video recorder.

"Huh. Anyway, as I was saying…"

Sarah lapsed into another trance, this one lasting a whole minute. Within ten seconds of its beginning, Garrus began violently shaking the Siren, trying to snap her out of it. When that failed, he dialed the bridge.

"Are we passing through some kind of weird subspace current, ion storm, or some other random occurrence that sounds like an extranet film plot?"

A few seconds of silence followed his question, before Science responded. "No, why?"

"Okay, so there's no reason our passenger should be going into unresponsive trances."

"Look, if the Siren goes crazy, let Bailey handle it and run like hell!"

"I have a headache" moaned Sarah after coming to again. She sounded like a petulant human child, not a dangerous Siren.

"What, do you expect pity?" Bailey spoke up for the first time, having served as a silent sentinel while Garrus questioned Sarah.

"No."

Garrus commed the ship's navigator. "Where are we?"

"Ha ha. The classic 'Are we there yet?' We're about eight hours out from Pandora. Need a bathroom break?"

"Thank you." The turian closed off communications.

"I wonder if something in that anomaly is causing these things—the closer we get, the more it happens."

"Only one way to find out!" replied Bailey, entirely too happy-sounding considering the circumstances.

Sarah called Garrus' attention back to her. "This headache, it's not just a normal headache."

The ProvOCo resisted urges to mock his charge. "Explain."

"It's like watching a vidscreen, but the signal keeps cutting in and out. Images, memories of something. I know there are repressed experiences in my head, but I couldn't touch them before. Like reaching one meter with ninety centimeters of arm—no matter how much you stretch, you'll never get there."

Between Sarah's moans and her inability to focus, Garrus decided he'd gain nothing further. While Bailey remained on watch, Garrus took leave of the situation, heading for the bridge.

"So, what exactly are we looking at?" he asked, upon finding Jackie, Kevin, and Nimitz there.

"Some kind of spatial disturbance" yelped Dr. Filner excitedly, as if this were the coolest thing ever. "Looks like when _Booker_'s laser hit the planet's core, something happened!"

"The ship is missing" explained Admiral Nimitz. "We tracked it to Pandora, but after that it simply disappeared. Measurements from the last scout mission suggest it was pulled into whatever is happening within the planet's core."

"Obviously, that's not a normal planet then. Planet formation theory suggests…"

"Garrus, put the textbook down and face reality. The very weird, non-conforming, nonsensical reality."

Surprised at the tone, he looked over at Jackie. She no longer cringed in his presence, and seemed to be standing up a little straighter. Not to show off those fleshy bits, but just more confident in general.

"And what would you know about that?" He kept accusatory tones out of his voice for the moment.

"Tannis showed us that it looks like slipspace, but even more dimensions than the versions we've worked with. On paper, there's no limit to how high one could go—in practice the more dimensions you add the harder it becomes to accurately cut your way in. Oh, and the worse the time dilation potential becomes."

"Sounds unpleasant" he replied. "I hope we don't end up getting prematurely aged—poor Maya" he finished.

"Honestly, we have no clue what we're going to find here." Nimitz paced back and forth across the deck. "Or, in this case, not find—at least not in normal space, anyway. Say, Garrus, aren't you supposed to be squeezing information out of that abominable mass-murderer down in the prisoner bay?"

"Yeah, uh, she became unable to provide additional information…"

"You didn't…you didn't _torture_ her, did you?" asked Filner, surprised at his own question.

"Oh no—she kept complaining about 'headaches' and 'not being able to think straight.'"

"Maybe it's karma" added Jackie excitedly. "Maybe she's finally getting what's coming for all the people she killed."

Processing the statement while considering its source caused everyone else to pause momentarily.

"What? I can't think that woman is terrible for all the lives she ended?"

"Well, I'd hope karma went beyond simple headaches" said Dr. Filner.

"Let's go over these notes Patricia Tannis sent me…" Nimitz pulled out datapads and passed them around.

[…]

Sally McKnight couldn't figure out where she was. Feeling around what appeared to be a pure-white but rather small enclosure, she found no evidence of doors, windows, or any other means to enter or exit. With digistruction technology, it remained theoretically possible to create a chamber whose door only appeared when needed, but in the implementations she'd seen there were usually telltale signs, such as a slight door-shaped frame-bulge where, unsurprisingly, the door would form as-needed.

She suddenly experienced a feeling of a deep, thundering voice both echoing in her head and heard with her ears.

**YOU HAVE VIOLATED OUR SPACE. YOU WILL EXPLAIN YOURSELF.**

"Who are you?" she demanded, feeling very small and unimportant as her cries almost died out as soon as they left her mouth.

**WHO I AM IS NOT IMPORTANT. WHAT YOU HAVE DONE IS.**

"At least tell me what I'm accused of" she pleaded. Whoever it was had amped up the…volume…in her head. Could something with no actual audio be called "loud?"

**FIRST YOU FIRED THE MISSILES, AND NOW YOU FOLLOW WITH YOUR SHIP. I MUST KNOW WHY BEFORE YOUR LIFE IS FORFEITED.**

"I didn't fire any missiles!" she protested. "I didn't even fire my own ship's weapon!"

**THEN WHY DO YOU REMAIN ALIVE? OUR CLEANSING DEVICE ELIMINATED ALL BUT THE RIGHTFUL COMMANDER OF THE VESSEL.**

"My crew is dead?" she asked.

**YOUR CREW PAID THE APPROPRIATE PRICE FOR YOUR ACTIONS.**

"They weren't my actions!" she insisted. "There's…there's this group within my government. It does whatever it wants, and can order around anyone for virtually any reason. They confiscated my ship in the name of 'galactic security' and brought it here."

**HOW CONVENIENT. YOU DISCLAIM RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE POTENTIAL LOSS OF LIVES BY BLAMING AN ENTITY WHOSE EXISTENCE WE CANNOT VERIFY. WE ARE NOT CHILDREN, SALLY MCKNIGHT. YOUR DECEPTIONS INSULT US.**

"You killed them" she shouted. "If your magic vaporizer hadn't eliminated everyone on my ship, you'd know this! Also, what missiles?"

For once, she did not receive an immediate response.

**OTHERS HAVE SUGGESTED TO ME THAT YOUR VESSEL IS INCAPABLE OF MOUNTING THE WEAPONS WE RECOVERED.**

"See? I told you!" She jumped up and down to emphasize the point. "_What missiles?" _asked McKnight again.

**WAVE-MULTIPLEXING MATTER-ANTIMATTER REACTION WEAPONS. PROPERLY DEPLOYED, THEIR EXPLOSIONS MULTIPLY AND DO FAR MORE DAMAGE THAN A SINGLE WARHEAD.**

"You'll have to excuse me, that never came up in my training." Despite not even knowing where she was nor who she faced, this bit of knowledge that she might make headway proclaiming innocence gave Sally confidence she hadn't possessed ten seconds ago.

**THERE IS A LACK OF AGREEMENT REGARDING WHETHER YOUR LIFE IS NOW FORFEIT AS YOUR PRESENCE CANNOT BE CONCLUSIVELY TIED TO THE MISSILES WE FOUND. A CONCLAVE WILL DECIDE YOUR FATE.**

"A conclave of what?" she asked. If she wasn't going to be killed outright, she might as well learn as much as possible about whatever realm she'd now entered.

**A CONCLAVE OF THE FAITH.**

_Oh…great. Religious fanatics. That's never a good thing._

**YOU MAY NOW TESTIFY.**

"What?" spluttered the Captain. "I can't see anything, nothing around here's changed! I'm just in a pure white box with no way in or out, and no windows."

**IF YOU WISH FOR US TO DEFEND YOU, YOU MUST EXPLAIN PRECISELY WHAT HAPPENED.**

This new voice had a slightly different timbre than the previous, but only just. If all of them spoke in similar tones it would be extremely difficult to remember which voice belonged to each entity.

**THE SO-CALLED PURE FACTION BELIEVES IT CAN DEFEND THIS PRIMITIVE? NEED YOU BE REMINDED, YOUR VOTES ONLY COUNT HALF.**

"Wait, what's going on?" asked McKnight. "Whose votes only count half and why?"

**THIS CONCLAVE HAS SIX MEMBERS. THREE ARE PROPER REFORMERS, WHILE THREE ARE OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT AND CLAIM TO BE THE TRUE "PURE" KEEPERS OF THE MANTLE.**

She did quick math. If three only counted half, there were possibly 1.5 votes in favor of acquittal, but 3 votes against. It would take swaying one member of this other faction to save her life, assuming the death penalty remained an option.

"What's the Mantle?"

**THE CREATURE SEEKS TO DELAY THE INEVITABLE** blared a voice. **WE SHOULD NOT ENTERTAIN IT.**

"I am not an 'it'" insisted McKnight, slightly insulted. "If I am going to be treated to a show trial, you can at least call me by my name. Captain Sally McKnight of RNS _Elizabeth Booker_."

**WE COULD SIT AND WAIT FOR THIS MCKNIGHT TO EXPIRE AND IT BE BUT A BLINK OF AN EYE FOR US. IT WILL NOT HARM US TO TREAT…HER…WITH A MODICUM OF RESPECT.**

"Look, if I've violated some tenant of your religion unknowingly, I sincerely apologize. But I don't think it's fair or reasonable to expect people to follow rules they don't know about!"

**THE TANNIS DID NOT DELIVER OUR MESSAGE?**

For the first time, confusion entered one of the booming alien voices.

"Who's that?"

**THE SLIGHTLY EVOLVED PRIMITIVE WHO GAINED SMALL UNDERSTANDING OF US RECEIVED A TRANSMISSION. THE TANNIS FAILED TO INFORM THE REST OF ITS SPECIES! THIS BLASPHEMY AGAINST THE MANTLE SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN PERMITTED.**

_Crude guess—the ones who refer to myself and humanity as "it" don't like us. _

**NEED THE REFORMER BE REMINDED THE ACTION WAS TAKEN WITHOUT FORMAL PERMISSION DUE TO REFORMER OBJECTIONS? **

**SO YOU ADMIT TO VIOLATING THE MANTLE AND TRANSFERRING INFORMATION BEYOND THE VORTEX. YOUR SACRILEGE WILL BRING YOUR OWN CONCLAVE!**

Sally made a huge, exaggerated sigh. "Am I trapped between titans? Dancing among deities?"

**AT GREAT COST TO THE PURE FACTION, WE TRANSMITTED INFORMATION TO ONE WE BELIEVED TO HAVE SUFFICIENT KNOWLEDGE OF US TO PASS ON OUR WARNINGS. IT APPEARS THIS WAS NOT THE CASE AND THE TANNIS FAILED TO DO AS WE ANTICIPATED.**

"Explain to me how whatever you are, apparently way more sophisticated than us, are supposed to communicate with people who based on this arrangement can't even see what you look like?"

_Talk about trying to explain hyper-zero theory to cavemen barely able to hold a fishing rod…_

**THE IRREVERENT "PURE" FACTION'S ERRANT FAITH IN THE PRIMITIVES IS UNDERMINED. AS WE SAID IT WOULD BE. THEIR PREVIOUS SOLUTIONS OF MEDDLING HAVE ALSO FAILED. THE ONLY ANSWER IS FIRE. WE HAVE SAID THIS FROM THE BEGINNING AND UTILIZED APPROPRIATE INSTRUMENTS TO ACHIEVE THIS END.**

"Fire?" demanded McKnight. "So you left a crazy woman to burn the entire galaxy?"

**WE SOUGHT TO PREVENT YOUR DESTRUCTION.**

"Sorry that destroying things to save them isn't computing over here. Maybe I'm just too 'primitive' to understand how that works."

Captain McKnight decided she no longer cared whether she lived or not. She wasn't going to stand idly by and let these beings blather on about how their superiority made their morals the only morals.

**THE ALLEGED REFORM FACTION CLAIMS TO SPEAK FOR ALL OF US BUT DOES NOT. THERE ARE THOSE AMONG US WHO BELIEVE AS PRIMITIVE AS YOU ARE, THAT YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO DEFEND YOURSELVES AGAINST THE MISTAKES WE MADE.**

**YOUR PROTESTS ARE AS HOLLOW AS YOUR INTERPRETATION OF THE MANTLE. THE FIRST SHALL CLEANSE THE OTHER SPACE.**

"First what?" McKnight found herself asking question after question, mostly because these aliens kept speaking of subjects she possessed no knowledge of.

**OUR FIRST CREATION. **

Several things entered her head that made no sense. Helpfully, someone explained.

**THE PROFESSED REFORMERS ABANDONED THE MANTLE, PASSING THE TORCH TO AN IMPERFECT CREATION WHICH FIRST TURNED ON THEM, BEFORE BEING FORCIBLY REALIGNED TO SUIT THEIR GOALS.**

McKnight sat in silence for what seemed like forever. She suspected whoever held her was having an argument.

**THE DIE IS CAST. YOUR FATE IS DECIDED.**

[…]

Aboard _Ultimatum_, Jack and Brick put their students through even more strenuous exercises than before. Drills now included Trans-Galactic Republic equipment—blasters, disruptor rifles, automatic grenade launchers… Of course, in order to "graduate" from one level to the next, the pair demanded improved scores on fitness and combat aptitude measures.

Catalina Rodriguez, promoted to a position of squad leader, hammered her fellow students.

"You call that aim? You get one shot—one. And you missed!"

An important metric was "snap-firing," that is, the ability to pull a weapon from the hip, use the scope, and shoot within fractions of a second. Anyone with a biotics rating of lower than five (halfway up the Systems Alliance scale) received additional weapons training, including Catalina's snap-firing drills. Faced with protest, Jack laid it bare.

"Yeah yeah 'develop everyone's potential,' yadda-yadda-yadda. Guess what? We don't have time for that. You want to die because someone who's only a five is in charge of barrier support? Or would you rather have a bruised ego and live to fight another day?"

Generally, two reasons existed to rate a person's biotic potential up or down. The first concerned raw power—how far did enemies fly when shockwaves hit? How much punishment could a barrier take? The second related to endurance—a barrier capable of repelling a Star Destroyer wasn't any use if it only lasted five seconds. For biotic artillery, power outstripped endurance, while defense focused on both. Consequently, only the strongest biotics were considered for mobile defense.

"You want to see what happens, Arkadios? Huh? Get that barrier back up and I'll show you!"

Jack didn't really yell at her students because she lost patience with them, it was more because she figured they'd best learn the hard way. Keep talking about how your barrier really should rate higher, and she'd show you exactly why it didn't. Why Arkadios complained about being demoted from barrier support mystified the tattooed teacher. The girl had a natural talent for guns—she'd passed all entry-level Trans-Galactic Republic weapons courses easily and would be moving on to intermediate training. It just seemed there were those who wanted to be everything, rather than specialize in one area.

_If she were like Shepard, maybe it would fly, but she's no Shepard._

Arkadios put up a barrier covering herself and a series of training dummies. Keep the dummies upright by denying impacts via a barrier. Not difficult in concept, but when faced with dual Revenant FireHoses, it became somewhat more challenging. Brick and Jack aimed massive weapons in the direction of the petulant Rachel. There were a few mishaps—after all, this was live-fire. Stints in bacta tanks sorted them out, even if the doctors gave looks of severe disapproval. Nimitz authorized "extraordinary measures" that gave the two virtually-unhindered rights to train however they saw fit. So long as no one died.

Before both Revenants emptied their first thermal clip, target dummies toppled under a barrage of fire. The weapon design had been enabled by the existence of said clips as no sinking system could cool off quickly enough to be practical on the battlefield. Both instructors watched their pupil topple over under the mental strain resulting from trying to project a biotic field capable of repelling the two hundred rounds they'd each pumped into it.

"I…just… More practice…"

Jack softened her tone, a rather rare occurrence. "Look kid, you're tough. I get it. But not tough enough. Don't think just because you can't do a barrier doesn't mean you won't be contributing. Besides, wouldn't you rather blast Flood?"

Rachel didn't say anything at first.

"I wanted to be like you" she whispered.

"Like me? Do you know what made me, me?" Jack's voice started to rise, before she again checked herself. She _wanted_ to explain to the kid all the horrible things Cerberus did both to her and other children so her powers could be perfected. She _wanted_ to scream at Rachel about how no amount of biotic power justified torture, murder, or experimenting on teenagers. But she didn't.

"Arkadios, you have no idea what you're asking for. If you knew even half of what it took to get me to where I am now biotically, you'd curl up into a ball crying like a baby."

She didn't cry—at least not in public anyway. That was a surefire way to get Jack and/or Brick mocking you for the rest of the week. Unhealthy? Maybe. But neither the Trans-Galactic Republic nor anyone else would interfere so long as the student-warriors produced results. Rachel stared at the floor.

For some reason, Jack never authorized students to view the "Subject Zero Story" documentary even though she had been the one who personally insisted it be made available in the KOMBT School library under "restricted use" despite protests it contained material inappropriate even for teenagers. Anyone asking her for permission was lucky to leave with minimally-ringing ears. Jack shoved Rachel Arkadios toward Shiala, who stood on the sidelines of the training arena.

"You really wanna know?" Jack almost goaded her. "Get a slip from Shiala, and you can get the Zero Story out of the library. And no, you're not excused from class to watch it. Got me?"

Turning back to her other students, Jack raised her voice to be heard. "Anyone else gonna question my biotic classifications?"

Heads shook in the negative.

"Good. You all better haul your asses over to Heavy Weapons Training, or Brick will have you lapping the cargo bay 'till you wear a track into the deck!"


	53. Just Good Business

**Chapter 52 – Just Good Business**

Garrus Vakarian commanded a total of two small operations against the corporate denizens of his new home thus far. However, if one looked at the reaction in some quarters, it would have been more reasonable to assume the turian led an entire invisible army. Jakobs nearly panicked over the possibility its promethium-skimming might be discovered—the Board feared some cooperation between an undead Roland, the ex-commando Axton, the enigmatic zer0, and the invisible predator that hit two important worlds. As Garrus himself noticed, despite the appearance of "security," it was a foregone conclusion water would be stolen from Aquator. The corporations didn't like shooting, and the pirates liked money. Water exporters were willing to tolerate a guaranteed loss if it also meant no _further_ losses, hence the mostly-unspoken arrangement. Suddenly, a hidden menace interrupted that understanding by firing on both sides for no apparent reason.

That Promethea, source of virtually all the promethium required to ensure elemental weapon customers would in fact return for more (rather than reverting to a slobbering mess), got hit _twice_ really had everyone on edge at Jakobs. On one hand, if they revealed this attack to the others within the Economic Development Group, something akin to the anti-Vault-Hunter alliance, temporary though it was, might form. On the other hand, the actual target of the first Promethea attack had been Jakobs' very illegal, very-likely-to-cause-corporate-warfare promethium theft operation. Admitting to it could end up bringing everyone else down on their heads for a second time.

"We have a major problem, gentlemen" began Bill Arkansas Jakobs. "We…"

"With all due respect Mr. Chairman, is this not an overreaction?" Pickens couldn't believe a whole board meeting had been called over a video that no one saw any evidence of on the ECHONet and a little pot-shot at a water supplier.

"Were we not already under suspicion for the slipcelerator mess, I would be inclined to agree" added Lawrence Jakobs. "Except, the rest of our erstwhile allies in the Economic Development Group are already unhappy with us. And now we find Maliwan and Torgue working together to some unknown end!"

"Clone production is accelerating, and we are close to a plan that will bring us the original operative" chimed in Clayton Jakobs. "We have two Atlas destroyers on top of the Maliwan ships we captured. I fail to understand how this is a cause for worry."

_Just because they've gone silent doesn't mean they won't come back_ thought Bill. He'd always wondered about the strange women who'd shown up one day, "convinced" him of the necessity of mothballing very promising developments in slipcelerator technology (placing it in the Plutus vaults), and then disappeared again. Every time something weird happened, he thought of them. He suspected this might be the work of the "Lady" or those like her—how else could invisible attacks on this scale succeed? Sarah might be out of the game (the last he'd seen, the woman looked frail and unable to do much of anything) but her five assistants were powerful in their own right. He had no idea where _they_ might be.

Personal cloaking remained just that: limited to a single soldier at a time per device. No starship scale versions existed, nor would they. Not without greater understanding of Eridian technology, anyway. So if such abilities were involved, it represented several orders of magnitude in technological development that no one in the Economic Development Group could match. Even the once-mighty Atlas couldn't do it. Now the Chairman struggled with whether all this information should be made public—leaders of the other corporations knew due to his question about Sarah at the conference, but no one else had knowledge that mysterious women pressed Jakobs into sitting on advanced weaponry. Plus the apparent change in the one person who could (previously) get most of the family in line meant even if he _did_ want to rally the company, it wouldn't be easy.

A transmission, combined with several Board members' confused stares, snapped Bill out of his thoughts.

"Mr. Chairman, we have an incoming message—high priority."

Wordlessly, the Jakobs family and corporate leader transferred it to the table's holo-projection system.

An automated female voice began speaking. "Attention all Priority ECHONet Users: Your available bandwidth and latency is being negatively affected by the destruction of several key relay points in the following clusters…"

"Wow, that's a lot!"

Wayne Jakobs couldn't believe someone went and blew up over fifty high-capacity relay stations. Especially since the "Big Seven" had an unspoken agreement not to sabotage or destroy common infrastructure. Unlike Aquator or situations like it in which it was understood some level of loss would occur, security of the relay stations was taken seriously.

A follow-up video made no sense—why include footage of nothing?

Dallas spotted it first. "Wait! Did you see?"

"See what?" demanded Lawrence.

"If you see anything there, I secretly work for Hyperion" deadpanned Carson.

Bill Arkansas put on reading glasses. He, too, could make out the faintest of shimmers before one of the relays in question went up in flames under a massive barrage of purple blasts. As if expecting confusion, obnoxious orange highlighting appeared to draw skeptical eyes to a tiny shimmer that made stars behind it look ever so slightly blurry. The disembodied voice spoke again.

"It has been theorized the destruction of relay stations is related to raids against Aquator and Promethea. Identical purple weapon discharges were observed in all three situations. Further bulletins will be issued as events warrant."

Pickens Jakobs flushed red. Even though the actual relationship between his questioning the necessity of responding so harshly to what seemed a minor threat was a mere coincidence, he still felt dumb, like he'd caused it by speaking up.

"I'm calling a conference with the rest of the Big Seven" intoned Bill Arkansas gravely. "I fear the two attacks may have been a warm-up."

[…]

Jakobs' call got put on hold at Tediore.

"Yes, Thalia, we're going to do something about those horrible, nasty 'Flood' monsters" soothed Thomas. "Just wait here."

Thalia, shaken by Samantha Shepard's speech and the visuals which accompanied it, sulked outside "her" company's boardroom ensconced within her parents' estate house on Thrace. She'd had a nightmare or two on the way back to her drop-point, only distracting herself by watching trashy entertainment supplied from several galaxies away ("I wonder how that works?")

"It is the position of Tediore Capital Investments" began Thomas, "that in order to maintain our profit flows we must take action against this threat. Unfortunately, our magnanimity has cost us dearly as leaving certain assets in the hands of what remains of Atlas rather than placing them under the control of Olympus Holding Company."

"Can we not reclaim those assets?" demanded Richard Whitney. He'd only accepted this venture as a favor to his old friend Thomas Tediore—he had zero personal desire to build a corporation to salve the ego of a spoiled child. "Creditors have rights!" he finished.

"Yes they do" replied Stephen Ambrose, "unless they sign their rights away. Which we did."

"And why would we do that?" thundered Richard.

"The lease payments from the rest of the Economic Development Group were considered well-worth the opportunity cost" sighed Theresa. "We've been over this a dozen times! In fact, this Board was unanimous when the amount of income we'd receive from forgoing our direct claims on those ships as part of our buyout of Atlas debt were revealed!"

"So if we have no Atlas ships, and no ready designs for our own, what are we to do?" asked Jason Tezbit.

"Rumor has it that Maliwan and Torgue have created a joint venture. That's what some of our 'participants' in the Badass Arena of Badassitude told us, anyway. Lots of meetings between the Maliwans and Torgue himself…"

Brittany Schwartz didn't want to be the one to suggest teaming up with two competitors, but she didn't have to be as Thomas Tediore broached the topic for her.

"Gentlemen, ladies. What I am about to suggest shall not leave this room until a decision is made, and once a decision arrives all will do their utmost to support it. Am I understood?"

Heads nodded in assent.

"I propose we negotiate with Maliwan/Torgue, offering financial support to their defense effort if in fact it exists. Should the rumors prove false, we will lose nothing. If the rumors are true and we offer to stand with those who might be persuaded to protect our interests, we will earn capital that can be cashed in on later."

The board adopted such a resolution unanimously with little debate. It wasn't as if Tediore, maker of dirt-cheap guns, had much of a chance against a monstrous extra-galactic invader. And while Tediore Capital Investments' coffers were deep enough to drown in, money wasn't bulletproof.

"Now we just have to make the call…"

[…]

"Juan Pablo Rhees here."

Unlike Tediore, Hyperion answered Bill Arkansas' call immediately. Well, answered by an assistant, then transferred several times until it reached the President. His visage popped up on the Jakobs conference table—one of six available spots and thus far the only one to pick up.

"Juan, it's Bill. I'm pretty sure you've been alerted to rather severe damage inflicted on communications relays throughout the Inner Colonies and even a few within the Prime Worlds?"

"We got the same flash traffic you did" replied Rhees. "I assume you're calling about our…agreement."

"That was, indeed part of it. However, I also wanted your opinion regarding certain rumors and stories that have been flying around the ECHONet recently…"

In the meantime, Ronald Dahl picked up for Dahl Corporation.

"If you're wondering what Dahl's response to these 'ghost ship' stories is, we're going to do what we can. Originally, pulling all assets from the borderlands seemed like it would be enough, however with the ongoing assault against key relay network satellites within the Inner Colonies and even near the Prime Worlds, that doesn't seem like it would cover all the bases, so to speak."

"Ronald, good of you to join us." Bill wished he could get a response from Maliwan, Torgue, and Vladof but no such luck (yet). He could see his call to Tediore had been placed on hold.

"What could any of us reasonably do?" questioned Juan Pablo. "Our companies are still in an economic pit created by some rather exuberant spending of years past."

"Well, there is our agreement" replied Bill Arkansas. "Your ships, our crews." He remained deliberately vague on where Jakobs got so many personnel so quickly and hoped no one would ask. "I trust you've been building up the designs we approved?"

The President of Hyperion grated under the idea that his company needed to pay fealty (even if nonmonetary) to someone else in order to do something it had almost always done on its own previously. However, given Hyperion's ruinous venture and honestly poor ship design, it made sense that someone who knew more about those types of things exert some influence, as much as it dented Juan Pablo's ego.

"I presume this is the 'JVLN' framework you had?" inquired Ronald Dahl.

"Indeed" said Rhees. "However, given the circumstances it would be wise to expand that group to include anyone willing to put forward in the interest of…"

Juan Pablo Rhees' line went dead, shortly followed by another pronouncement of "further damage to the relay network."

"And this is why you hosted the call" concluded Ronald.

"Well, now it's just two of us, but yes. Whoever is behind these attacks seems to have a disturbing amount of knowledge regarding exactly where to strike."

Vladof's hammer-and-sickle shimmered into existence on the farthest-left holopanel. The usual overly-bombastic voice blared out of everyone's audio systems.

"The people's champion will destroy the oppressors!"

Neither Bill nor Ronald had an immediate response, until the former decided to ask "Does that mean you're willing to throw in your lot with us?"

"Does the proletariat consist of the most virtuous toiling under the heel of the bourgeoisie?"

"In that context, I suppose the answer would be yes" muttered Ronald.

Bill decided to play the game of "What they think they know, they won't see coming" by revealing some information about his company's operations on Hephaestus. Before doing so, he placed another call to Juan Pablo Rhees. While this dial-out made horrible noises as it attempted to establish a connection, he thought over what to say.

"Warning: Tertiary relays in use. Signal quality degraded" warned the same voice that spoke any time something happened to the relay network.

Indeed, the video image of Juan Pablo came through at an extremely low resolution—a quarter of what had been before, if that. His movements were jerky and his speech stilted, qualities known not to be the fault of the President himself.

"I think…ppened to the rel… We're using…to communicate. Low-bitrate…"

"Carrier pigeons would be better" sighed Bill, before launching into a speech about Jakobs' plans utilizing Atlas cloning technology. Similar to Admiral Allison Nimitz's reaction to working with "war criminals, malcontents, and terrorists," the other corporate leaders chastised Jakobs, but ultimately conceded the needs of the times demanded compromises that otherwise wouldn't be made.

"The on… not declaring open war… personally trust you."

"This is most disturbing" continued Ronald, "that you would dabble in that dangerous slipcelerator technology _and_ quietly sweep up a good portion of Atlas' secrets thought to be lost upon the company's collapse. Is there anything else you are keeping from us?"

The number of random portals depositing people and things in unexpected places had, surprisingly, decreased lately. In a sense of cosmic trade, then, more and more Infected Harvesters (or "Flood" as Samantha Shepard called them) poured out of whatever hell-mouth opened on Plutus.

Bill Arkansas Jakobs defended his company. "Keep in mind that no one knew the slipcelerators were dangerous until recently. It is not as though we deliberately sought to sabotage an entire galaxy only so we could then claim the mantle of savior using the very same technology that brought us to this point."

The others, even Vladof, silently conceded this sort of long-range planning couldn't possibly come from the fractured Jakobs clan.

"Why has the patriot protector S&amp;S Munitions been excluded from this people's congress?" demanded the hammer-and-sickle. "Their valiant work at Plutus has sheltered the galaxy from a worse fate!"

The irony inherent in referring to a meeting of corporate executives as a "people's congress" did not escape those present. Rumor had it that before aborting the vending scheme they'd planned for Pandora, Vladof's weapon-selling-machines would have had a chance to say "To hell with capitalism! Except in this case!" upon completion of a transaction.

"I mean no disrespect" said Bill, "but the number of Infected Harvesters has only _increased_ of late. What 'valiant' work is being done if they are not being held back?"

The Vladof voice went on a rant about "power to the people" and "down with the capitalist pigs" or somesuch. Bill Arkansas Jakobs decided to find out straight from the horse's mouth why S&amp;S, known for their space-based assets like the _Pollux_ defense platform, weren't performing better at Plutus. Bill Arkansas found himself routed through S&amp;S bureaucracy until he reached the descendent of one of the founding brothers of the company, a Slade Stevens, who now held the title of Chief Executive Officer. That he happened to have family ties was more a coincidence than an engineered event. Like Ronald Dahl, his promotion rested mainly on merits, not obscure bylaws that restricted most top-level company positions to those owning stock only issued to members of the vastly-extended family.

"Slade, I was wondering if we could talk."

"I'm on the comm, aren't I?"

S&amp;S had never been considered part of the "Big Seven" despite being a company of substantial size. The biggest trade in this wildcat galaxy revolved around firearms, whether their wielders be paramilitary, civilian, or less-than-law-abiding-and-less-than-sane. Though S&amp;S Munitions did in fact produce quality wares in this area, they were best-known for their space-based defenses.

"I'm here with Vladof, Dahl, and Hyperion—all of us having a single burning question. Your company is known for its weapons platforms. According to Vladof, S&amp;S has battlestations around the breach at Plutus. So why do Infected Harvesters keep showing up?"

Slade Stevens, a military man's military man, walked his compatriots through the situation as best he could.

"First, you do not seem to be fully aware of the situation if you believe the Infection is only arriving at Plutus. This is its main source, however, random portal events have been depositing Infected starships in other areas of the galaxy. These deposits are usually not sufficient to warrant concern, which is why it is not a major issue at the moment, so any single starship arriving in this way is generally ignored until it makes itself a threat. Second, there is no tactical or strategic reason for us to commit to full containment at Plutus as our own assets are well-shielded. Third, the only reason we would deploy additional battlestations at Plutus would be if we were somehow bound by notions of contract, honor, or other factor to protect everyone in this galaxy. We are not under any such stricture at this time."

"I believe…added to this conference." Juan Pablo Rhees still suffered from being connected through tertiary relays.

"To formulate an agreement?" snapped Stevens. "Why would we? Absent a large and continuing revenue stream, we have absolutely no duty to protect those who cannot protect themselves. You all were caught completely unawares and allowed key segments of the relay network be destroyed!"

Ronald Dahl wouldn't let this criticism go by unchallenged. "If it has escaped your notice, the attacker or attackers responsible are _invisible_."

"And what do you do when you can't see your target? Shoot until you find it." To Slade, this solution was so blindingly obvious he couldn't believe no one else considered it. This was why he made no effort to be included in the "Big Seven"—their level of incompetence on military matters strained his intellect sometimes.

"So you've driven off the purple laser-bearing ghost ship?" demanded Bill.

"Driven off may be the wrong term" conceded Slade Stevens. "It only harassed us once—a gigantic flak barrage sent it packing. I have video if you wish to observe…"

Said footage depicted flak batteries firing. Impacts could be seen against _something_ but other than that the mysterious vessel had to be at least 100 meters in length due to space of simultaneous impacts plus the shimmering effects nothing could be discerned.

What S&amp;S couldn't see would, indeed, hurt them.

[…]

Provisional Operations Commander Garrus Vakarian, after consultation with Jackie and elder-Maya, decided to go after others not part of the "Big Seven." Thus his orders to Miranda, leading to her overseeing attacks against the relay network (used by all corporations within the Economic Development Group) and now, the first groundside operation. An installation belonging to S&amp;S Munitions responsible for developing Eridian weapons for their battle platforms served as the initial target. Flak batteries scored several hits (Cortana reported shields actually noticeably decreased), after which _Normandy_ dived into the planet Vela's atmosphere unnoticed. With a few adjustments, the "perfect" cloak could become flawed, allowing a faint shimmer to the sharpest eyes/sensors. Aside from obvious purple novalaser fire, this subtle distortion effect became the other hallmark of the "ghost ship." Having let the orbital defense batteries "see" the phantom vessel, Cortana restored the cloak to its normal perfect self prior to _Normandy_ heading planetside.

Technically, a heavy frigate like _Normandy_ wasn't rated for planetary operations. This represented a design compromise during her Cerberus days—designers knew the ship wouldn't handle well in-atmosphere hence carrying a compliment of Kodiak drop-shuttles. But with her Trans-Galactic Republic spruce-up including additional reactor power, the eezo core became capable of handling the ship's weight in environments up to 5G's. No one made use of this ability until Miranda's strike.

"They think they scared us off" she said to the team, "but in reality we're just digging the blade in deeper. We enter this facility, see what we can find, and blow up everything that isn't personnel. Remember, we still want to minimize casualties."

Thane Krios gave Miranda credit—she'd been immersed in a virulently anti-alien organization yet had come around quickly when the Reapers kicked in the door. Sure, there were lots of pieces of paperwork (and a lot of suspicion that had to be dispelled) but she defected to the Trans-Galactic Republic/Citadel alliance and helped oversee the integration of Citadel-vintage tech into the design of _Aspirations Toward Infinity_. He supposed she might have been less "anti-alien" and more "pro-humanity" than he'd suspected anyone who worked for Cerberus could be.

"Once we reach the facility, Garrus wants us to make as big of a mess as possible. Given that our role is still to be the 'ghost ship,' everyone will wear armor that covers all features so no positive identification can be made. Digistruction has aided in producing gear that resembles that of the Master Chief—gender-concealing, strength-enhancing, and of course heavily shielded."

Obviously, such armor worked best on humanoids, which meant Kasumi, James, Thane, Miranda, and Athena would be the only ones embarking on this trip. A geth would not fit, and salarians were too different to pass for human, even covered in a battlesuit. The original wearer of said equipment remarked that in the SPARTAN program, no one could visually distinguish the men from the women once suited up. Such anonymity fit perfectly with the nature of this operation.

Thane's accommodated his aversion to moisture with heavy filtration for environments up to 90% humidity. It wouldn't be an issue today; S&amp;S Munitions put their research buildings smack in the middle of a desert. Still nice to have. Kasumi felt slightly claustrophobic but could "live with it," while Athena felt right at home. Miranda had worn similar armor during her missions with Shepard circa the Collector attacks, although it was significantly less advanced than this new bodysuit. Cortana based the armor on her recollections of MJOLNIR blueprints, though without specific manufacturing techniques and highly-classified details the resemblance came more from form than function.

Aside from a rushed creation process in one case (Garrus ordered Miranda's gear right before he left), everyone found their new equipment to fit relatively well. There were tradeoffs, as always, but Cortana remained confident strengths outweighed weaknesses ("I'm basically doing the equivalent of napkin-design here—I was never shown the full plans for MJOLNIR armor and am only going off what I remember from operating John's") despite flaws in the project. For one, rather than picking candidates who fit the program, each version had been customized for its wearer, meaning certain parts of the suit were slightly different in size and shape depending on who was inside. The wiry Kasumi had the least space for important items such as onboard hypermatter reactor, backup tri-lithium power cells, and eezo capacitors.

"I guess someone found a use for that little bit of eezo after all" said James somewhat bitterly as he bounced around _Normandy_'s hanger thanks to his substantial weight being almost completely nullified. "It better be worth the mess we made to get it."

Powerful shields gave each individual a level of protection more commonly associated with starfighters or heavy vehicles, fueled by onboard hypermatter annihilation. Miniaturizing down to a wearable size entailed accepting some risk—mainly sufficient shocks to the battlesuit under high load might overload the reactor with explosive results since it could generate far more energy than systems attached to it could safely handle. However the odds of such an event occurring given the deflective capacity of shields generated as a result meant even Cortana didn't think much of it.

"The biotic Flood are dangerous" commented Thane, "and can easily defeat these shields, can they not?"

Cortana rolled her eyes. "I don't see any of those around here. You should be safe."

In order to give the impression this "new" faction wasn't just made up of ordinary bandits, weapons built into the armor were standardized with a pair of disruptors on the left and a single massive Variable Munition Mass Driver on the right. It took some clever engineering (assist went to Ken Donnelly and Gabby Daniels) but the mass driver ended up _not_ compromising the ability of the wearer to use his or her right hand. Mounting points on the underside of each arm could accommodate weapons such as ShieldSlammers or FireHose Revenants for accurate, stable, sustained fire at the cost of movement. Cortana called this stationary weapon setup "SPARTAN Mode." The weapons could either be digistructed (again, movement penalty) or pulled from an integrated SDU on either the left or right hip before being mounted. On the back of each suit: a quartet of downward-facing thrusters that converted hypermatter energy into thrust. Jumps of several hundred meters were possible in a standard 1G environment. Sustained flight could be attained at the cost of some shield strength as this required the entire mass to be nullified or an immense amount of thrust—either of which sapped power from shields due to the huge energy requirement of both options.

Unlike actual MJOLNIR armor, the entire system relied on shielding (energy and particle) to block or mitigate incoming fire. Without said shielding, the wearer's best bet would be to turn tail, as while the actual suit did qualify as "hard" it wasn't nearly as durable as its inspiration. Having only basic self-healing capabilities didn't help the case either. Cortana hoped the users wouldn't need to make use of the minimal medi-bac injections available (since complex liquids like bacta were utterly incapable of being placed in SDUs). In an emergency, the entire getup could be flooded with high-potency bacta in the safety of a medical bay, but this ability offered no comfort during a hostile field operation. Principally, you had to survive leaving the battle to be healed later.

Garrus had asked for personal concealment, unfortunately for him even Cortana, Gaige, and Tali working together couldn't come up with something on this short a timeframe. Stygium was rare, hibridium created double-blind and used massive amounts of energy, and she hadn't been exposed to the intricacies of either Covenant or Forerunner cloaking technology from her own universe beyond watching it operate if John-117 happened upon such a device.

"No, I don't know everything" she'd said, laughing, as Gaige asked much that question in a few different words. "I wasn't some all-seeing omnipotent goddess."

Joker's voice filled the hanger and helmet audio. "Stand by for drop."

At least Cortana figured out how to incorporate five-person squads into armor HUDs. She'd also loaded automated jump-sequences since there were no parachutes and more than one operator expressed concern about "throwing myself out of a ship at 1000kph and hoping I land right-side-up."

The hanger door opened, five people jumped, and their invisible mothership whipped away back into a standard orbit.

"Relax and let Cortana's routines handle the landing" warned Miranda. "Don't tense up—you won't like it."

One advantage to an extremely sophisticated AI handling software and hardware development: zero background noise. The ex-Cerberus squad leader spoke as though she sat in a quiet restaurant with her friends for a Friday night dinner.

"At least there's no obnoxious whooshing sound" added Kasumi. "I'm used to having to shout, then wondering if that's going to give me away." She whispered as if conspiring.

"I don't want to know why a thief would be doing atmospheric jumps" protested James. "Actually, maybe I do want to know, but not now!"

It only took a few minutes for a quintet of meteors to touch down on the outskirts of a facility which officially did not exist. That thermal emissions might attract attention escaped notice, but at the same time the reaction was generally "We'll look at it later." James immediately fired up his jump-jets, only to be ordered down by Miranda.

"Do you want to set off every anti-aircraft gun that might exist in this vicinity?"

"Apologies ma'am."

"If you call me that again, I'll send you flying myself!" she replied with some level of amusement.

"Cortana to Meteor One, you missed your target!"

Miranda let off an exasperated noise. The shooting hadn't even started and already something went wrong.

"I noticed. We can sneak in if we can get bearings on a vehicle somewhere."

"Wait, so where were we _supposed _to land?" questioned Athena suspiciously.

"The whole reason we dove out of _Normandy_ and nearly splattered ourselves was so we'd end up in the middle of the facility, or at least inside the perimeter. I'd blame Joker for this, but he's dropped a Mako into the proverbial coin slot so I won't go there…"

"Cortana to Meteor, looks like this isn't going to be easy. All traffic seems to fly in."

"Shit" cursed Miranda. "How are we supposed to…"

"I've hacked into S&amp;S's communications channels—the security is laughably easy—I'll let you know if there's anything that might serve as a cover."

"Good, if a starship crashes out of the sky or a Reaper shows up, that ought to do it."

James' sarcasm drew a rebuke from Miranda, but only mildly. She, too, shared his frustration and based on what little body language could be read through these suits, so did the rest of the team.

"If you asked nicely, we could provide some air support…"

"Will this provide the necessary distraction to get us in?" Thane Krios did not make a name for himself as an assassin by beating down every front door with the subtlety of an elcor dropped on one's head. "Or will it merely prompt them to tighten security unless the ship does a significant portion of the work, risking excessive casualties per the Provisional Operational Commander and the possible destruction of the data we seek?"

He sincerely hoped Cortana wasn't planning on using the heavy frigate to blast the base. First, those things he'd said, second, he'd just jumped out of a ship for no reason if that did in fact happen.

"There's no rule that says we have to use _Normandy_. We do have a complement of five blastboats, and your back-up pilot Cortez here is practically begging me to let him have a round with one…"

"What happened to the sixth fighter?" demanded Miranda. "Please tell me no one lost or destroyed it."

"Utah is being used for the younger Siren's training" replied Cortana as if Miranda had asked whether oceans had water. "It was disembarked along with the Siren herself prior to our departure. If you read the status logs, you'd know these things."

Miranda ignored the AI's jibe. "So, if we use a blastboat to draw attention, how do we get in? A bunch of flying armor suits isn't exactly subtle…"

She stopped, before remembering her discussion with Garrus prior to his leaving.

"_If the opportunity arises to double-deal and get us on the inside where we can do even more damage or gain valuable intelligence, take it!"_

"…unless they _want_ the flying armor suits" she concluded out loud. "Garrus told me about the idea we'd be both the problem and the solution at the same time. Cortana, it's a good thing these suits look identical—we're going to sell our way in."

Miranda quickly hashed out a cover story. The blastboat would attack, and they, as "mercenaries" conducting training exercise in a "hostile environment," would offer their services to the highest bidder. Naturally, S&amp;S Munitions would be set up to win as Steve Cortez would maintain radio silence.

"And Athena?"

The commando knew what the question would be.

"Yes, I will play along. I will be the clone commander, and you shall be my sisters."

"Sisters?" blurted James Vega. "How the hell am I supposed to sound like that?"

His question became unnecessary as Cortana adjusted voice modulators on every suit to mimic Athena, catching the N7's last few words in the process. "Very funny" he complained, only to hear his voice turn feminine again.

"You'll retain your original voices on the suit-to-suit comm only, so no one loses their mind" added Cortana.

"Thanks." James heard his own voice now that his transmission had a set destination (Cortana).

"Launching Omaha now. Transferring you to Steve Cortez, but be warned—keep the chatter to a minimum. I don't think they can snoop, but if they see comm lines, even encrypted ones, between their supposed-saviors and the ones attacking, that won't help your sales pitch."

"Starting my run now."

Cortez's blastboat appeared from nowhere, as anything launching from _Normandy_ with her cloak on did. The craft fired its three turbolaser turrets and dual heavy ion cannon unopposed at first, until flak batteries responded. Cortez didn't even bother with shielding. _Fireants_ were given the name for a reason: they bled you and were darn near impossible to kill quickly enough to save yourself. Tower after tower fell. Panicked cries came through Meteor's helmets as S&amp;S personnel tried to figure out what to do about their tormenter. Orbital fire called down proved too inaccurate, doing more damage to the facility than its nimble assailant.

Then _they_ showed up. Rocketing out of the sky like some kind of avenging angel, the apparently all-female force landed smack in the middle of the dust-up between their own gunship and the infiltration target.

"Firing on target."

"Disruptors to full."

"Scattershot mass driver initiating targeting sequence."

Disruptor fire caused actual damage to _Omaha_, searing through a stabilizer and cutting an external mount (which possessed no munitions).

"Who are you?" screamed an on-duty officer responsible for protecting S&amp;S's research division.

"We can be your savior, if you see value in our actions."

In the meantime, Cortez went nuts dropping heavy rockets into exterior walls. None noticed his pattern of avoiding damage to core buildings. To keep up the illusion, he smashed several storage sheds, burning up two vehicles with no obvious wheels, but very plainly-mounted weapons.

"I hope that makes their lives easier."

Two Variable Munition Mass Drivers struck his blastboat, slagging the lower-left turbolaser.

In line with the ruse, that S&amp;S now wished for these "superb assault troopers" to join them wasn't communicated to Cortez directly, but he got the idea watching hand signals from one which led to a significant increase in the firepower directed at _Omaha_. By virtue of its nature, disruptor fire actually caused considerable damage, so Cortez flipped on his shields, only to see several huge rail-gun looking objects appear from behind armor plates. He bugged out.

"We were using this planet's uniquely-challenging environment for our hostile-survival training exercise" lectured Athena as though bored. "Your _incident_ with unknown attackers provided the perfect capstone to weeks of grueling desert survival."

"Surely you would like to relax after such achievements" offered the S&amp;S base commander, a man calling himself Edmund Kerrigan. "You and your sisters are welcome to make use of our refreshment facilities."

_Uh-oh. Everyone can't be taking their helmets off…_

Miranda stepped in with an explanation she hoped wasn't too flimsy.

"We are next-generation operatives. We are bonded to our armor and weapons day in and day out. I don't suppose you have…"

She let loose with some completely made-up phrases that sounded reasonably technological, relating to feeding tubes, hydrators, and "REM enhancement systems."

"At least they're hospitable" offered Kasumi privately.

"Yeah, at the cost of being stuck in this armor" replied James.

Athena sheepishly admitted the Master Chief hadn't exactly shared how long he'd used his armor in one stint when describing it to Miranda. From what she could tell, the suits lacked the gobblygook Miranda spouted off, so they could _not_ eat, sleep, or clean wounds while ensconced. At least the design incorporated an integrated waste-removal system, so there would be no bathroom troubles.

After a short pause, Edmund Kerrigan tilted his head as if confused. "Okay then. We'll leave you be… What form of payment will you accept? Eridium? Cash? I can get you the former much more quickly than the latter."

"We'll take whatever we can get now" replied Athena.

"Eridium it is! Let me figure out the current exchange rate…"

"Oh-ho, that is not okay!" retorted Athena. "Not for what we just did—you want all of us here, you're going to have to come up with more than that. My sisters will be departing until you secure additional compensation. I will remain as a gesture of good faith."

_Here's to hoping he buys it and doesn't ask too many questions_.

"You did save our most valuable research facility. The price is steep, but the losses would have been even greater had your squad not intervened. I will endeavor to increase our payment to you. To whom should I refer when submitting an expense voucher?"

Unaware Jakobs actively searched for her location, Athena decided to build a monument to her own ego for the hell of it.

"Athena's Arbiters."

Edmund Kerrigan hid his recognition of the name—a standing bounty existed on a woman named "Athena" who apparently possessed fierce combat abilities. Perhaps this was her—Jakobs would offer a substantial reward for her capture, even if it came at the hands of a competitor…

[…]

Without Jackie, Jakobs interrogations contained quite a bit less seduction, baby talk, and need for "privacy." Instead, the transplant Roland, zer0, and Axton found themselves subjected to bog-standard paramilitary questioning. Attempts to remove zer0's helmet failed, and whatever he was didn't seem very talkative in the first place. Suggestions at "aggressive negotiations" that might or might not result in trauma to the strange being's long fingers went unheeded—such techniques were at the option of the person running the show, who declined to utilize them.

Jackson Richards worked for Jakobs because of the pay. Not out of some loyalty to the family or "benefits" associated with Jackie. In fact, he'd actually been a freelancer, a Dahl equipment specialist, and a Hyperion starship mechanic before taking his career planetside. The Big Seven protested loudly about employee-poaching, but only ever actually cared if the worker(s) in question had knowledge of weapon designs or upcoming product launches. Everything else was an "understanding" just like the pirates of Aquator. It wasn't worth it to run down every single former employee who went to work at a competitor because his ex-wife got a planet-wide order of protection or she decided to see if there were more opportunities under a different banner. Hence, few employees possessed the kind of ideological fervor found in positions reserved for those bearing the Jakobs name.

"Look, I don't want you here any more than you want to be here" he said, trying to reason with the one apparently in charge. "If you agree to give us actionable information on who sent you and why, we're willing to release you."

"You sent your best operatives after me, again" shot back Roland. "That's not the first encounter I've had with your all-female hit-squads, which you seem to have borrowed from Atlas!"

_Shouldn't have said that…_

Richard's tone changed. "You profess to have allegiance to no one, yet you've been marked for death by our elite semi-independent operatives. There is more at play here than you are choosing to share, and that could either end very well for you or very badly. It is your choice."

The questioner received information through a tiny earpiece, nodding visibly in reaction to it.

"So, you're the undead champion who once sought Eridian riches on Pandora."

Roland knew explaining his arrival would probably be a long shot. He figured it beat telling lies, though technically due to his origins almost anything would sound like a lie.

"Why are you calling me undead? The Roland whose death you read about remains dead. I'm from another parallel, another universe if you will."

"I've heard better stories" snapped Richards. "You know something about us, and your telling us is the only way you walk out of this facility."

Suddenly, Jackson's face changed as if experiencing a revelation.

"I apologize for my outburst" he backtracked. "I was not aware of all relevant information—it appears our scientists believe your presence here is related to the slipcelerator technology at the heart of every Jakobs weapon, the Harvesters, the Infection, and the insanity resulting from a combination of all of the above."

"So the universe is tipped on its head and nobody bothered to let everyone know, huh?"

"I'm just as confused as you are."

In another room, Axton detailed his instantaneous transportation from the Citadel hundreds of thousands of lightyears away back to his home galaxy.

"I stepped forward to walk into a store, and ended up stepping out on Pandora."

Several lab-coat-wearing individuals carrying sophisticated-looking handheld devices were waving said devices around him as if scanning for metal.

"We're searching for residual particles that would be present from a slipcelerator transition" commented one.

"You saying I'm lying?" demanded the physically restrained Axton.

"Not necessarily, such leftovers fade. In fact, if I found any now I'd wonder how you got _here_."

Bill Arkansas Jakobs hoped for greater cooperation from the captives. Due to their potential knowledge and the information they might have released, what would ordinarily have been kept beneath the notice of the Chairman became a personal matter. He found that two of three had military backgrounds—in fact, excepting his apparent translation from another universe, this Roland was one of the Vault Hunter-types branded terrorists by Hyperion prior to the Slingshot Project's launch. The same could be said of Axton. Consequently, attempting to torture them would not work. Some sloppily-kept records indicated Jackie Jakobs once held Axton captive, but nothing showed if she'd gotten anything of interest (she hadn't). Still, Jakobs scientists had another method to extract information that would hopefully not be too painful.

"Our scientists designed this to copy important aspects of the brain from a person to his or her clone" explained one of the lab-coats walking around Axton. "However, we believe it may also be used to extract memories, so it will be very simple to determine if you are lying or not."

It would also be a test to ensure the device didn't kill anyone before running it on Athena, were she ever captured. This extended to using it on Axton first, as Roland appeared to be in charge, or at least possess more knowledge. Various techs prepped Axton for attachment to the machine, a sort of head-cap combined with restraints to keep the target from moving. No thick wires protruded, a single fiber-optic link provided enough bandwidth to read and/or write.

"I'm not even going to ask" he deadpanned, before an injected sedative knocked him out.

"If it hurts, it's probably going to kill you" replied the injection-wielding scientist, before pressing a series of buttons to bring the contraption online. A highly-advanced fMRI that relied on electrical stimulation to bring up memories, the device could reconstruct just about anything in a person's head so long as they were forced to actively remember the item in question. Of course, this left it open to tampering or fraud—in theory a sufficiently-trained person could produce falsified memories. However, the "Inducer" existed to prevent this and it was the Inducer whose electric shocks could be fatal.

Three shocks stimulated Axton's brain. Subjects were kept unconscious to reduce the likelihood of mental training being utilized to provide incorrect recollections.

Images of the former commando's latest mission began flashing across large screens. Unfortunately, no video-like recollections covering whatever had been observed at Jakobs' skimming operation presented themselves.

"Up the Inducer."

There were risks, of course. Putting current, even mild ones, through the human brain could disrupt it, just like sufficient shocks could stop or alter the heart's rhythm. Memories started coming in more rapidly, though there seemed to be a trade-off between speed and clarity. Altering Inducer points cleared up the images somewhat while maintaining most of the time saved. Neurospecialists monitoring the situation warned that continued application of the device in this configuration risked permanent damage to brain tissue, but their protests were brushed aside.

Five minutes later, blame got passed around like a round at Moxxi's latest bar.

"You overdid the Inducer" lectured neurospecialists.

"You didn't prep him right" shot back equipment operators.

"You're all impatient" insisted a lead scientist. "If you'd gone with a slow-and-steady approach, his brain would not be jello."

Regardless of who actually carried fault, the subject would supply no additional memories. At least they'd learned what not to do. First, Inducer power levels would be capped. Second, a limit would be established for memory recovery speed. Finally, alterations to subject preparation would be enforced. All would work toward not killing Roland, Athena, or anyone else of importance.

"Prep for next subject" barked a scientist. "The prime clone has been delivered to us!"

[…]

"Yes, I'm sure!" insisted Edmund Kerrigan. "See?"

He transmitted several photos of questionable quality depicting the team leader with her helmet off.

"Fine" he seethed. Manipulating a few settings on internal security cameras within the base, he dialed up photo resolution to a level that wouldn't leave much doubt who the woman was. At a minimum, she definitely matched the "Wanted" files spread all over the ECHONet as being an Athena clone. That she'd identified her group as "Athena's Arbiters" enhanced his certainty.

Of course, she could just be another loose copy. Rumors of Atlas-turned-Jakobs combat clones were impossible to tamp down. Jakobs putting out a bounty for the original suggested some level of involvement with a project thought dead. Out of respect for Bill Arkansas Jakobs, the other corporate leaders he'd managed to reach kept everything quiet even as he dropped bombshells (Atlas cloning tech, continuing use of slipcelerators). That meant everyone else had only speculation tossed about ECHONet boards.

"We are not sure that she is the real Athena" explained Operative-394, "Kat," to her squad. "However, she appears to be a mentally-competent, battle-hardened clone _not_ under Jakobs control. That alone merits us paying her a visit. She could be ex-Atlas. In fact, I think that the most likely since our source claims she commanded an entire squad of similarly-armed and armored soldiers."

"How would they have gone unnoticed for so long?" questioned Operative-4291, alias "Mal."

"Do you not remember your own heritage, 4291?" chastised Kat, less out of anger and more out of amusement.

"If she is the original, she probably has more combat ability than this entire squad put together" added Operative-5789 ("Dee") with some level of awe.

"I wouldn't go that far" laughed Kat. "We are, after all, the elite among the elite for a reason…"

Along with Operative-2478 ("Sif") and Operative-7816 ("Nova") the five were the only operatives to be rated "Ultra-Lethal" by Atlas' measuring standards, which had been adopted by Jakobs upon reactivation of the former's cloning program. Due to this status, they would be deployed to collect the clone, as her "sisters" departed for reasons unknown to Jakobs (Edmund Kerrigan was not about to admit he'd been browbeaten into paying more for a deed already done). Originally, each had a squad of four additional operatives rating at least the second-highest level of deadliness ("Very Lethal"), but this proved unnecessary once it became apparent the mission would not require obtaining five clones—only one.

S&amp;S ended up with a small dilemma. On one hand, if the base personnel gave any indication to Athena that she would be handed over to someone else, she'd probably attack. However, leaving her at leisure for Jakobs to show up would also mean Jakobs learning of the secret Vela facility. Edmund Kerrigan figured he could probably demand secrecy in exchange for Athena. Of course, he never quite knew who he'd hired…

Athena lounged in a recreational area. Apparently the scientists here were conducting research on Eridian weapons and other artifacts hauled in from across the galaxy proper, mainly for the benefit of S&amp;S's line of space stations. A hologram representing _Pollux_, the most common of these battle platforms, rotated in front of her. Its eight high-output Eridian cannons were arranged around a central power generator. Within ball-mounts, they could swivel to grant a large field of fire. She was about to see if the computer would let her pull up more details when several events occurred at once.

First, the skylight above her exploded inward. Followed immediately by the closest door blowing apart. Athena carried the designation "super prototype" for a reason—her greatly enhanced reflexes let her dodge two incoming kicks, a punch, and an attempt to trip her up as she barreled forward to grab her helmet, which lay a few meters from where she'd been standing.

Even though surprise had been achieved, her attackers were in for a bigger one than Athena, at least at first. A twin disruptor blast vaporized Operative-5789 before she could even engage her mark. Operative-2478 found herself hurled across the room by a Variable Munition Mass Driver induced explosion. Operatives 4291, 394, and 7816 poured fire into their target to no avail—shields derived from Trans-Galactic Republic units easily shrugged off even the heaviest small arms. Athena engaged her jump-jets, blasting through what remained of the room's skylight shattered by three of her assailants.

"There were no indications the target possessed this level of weaponry!" bleated Operative-394. "Execute negotiations!"

Several persons, entering the destroyed area in search of relaxation, first found a floor covered in glass, a badly-wounded clone, and three additional soldiers who immediately took them at gunpoint.

"Operative-394 broadcasting in the clear to unrecognized clone: Surrender, or these random people have their days ruined."

Ordinarily, Athena would've immediately swung into action to protect innocents held hostage. However, she had appearances to keep up—she was a mercenary, not a hero. Perhaps if she acted sufficiently un-Athena-like (she hoped they knew the "real" her, but had no idea whether tales of her more selfless actions had been disseminated) they might leave. Might. And she was gambling the lives of uninvolved scientists on it.

"Hostages only work if your enemy cares that they live."

Hovering above her attempted-abductors, she fired VMMD rounds in their general direction, knocking down Operative-7816 but not removing her from the fight.

"So be it."

A head rolled as Operative-394's sword glistened with new blood.

"Do we have your attention now?"

"No."

Another disruptor blast aimed at the one she'd knocked over. Near-miss; she saw a shield flare.

"Who sent you, and why?"

"That doesn't matter" countered Operative-394. "Come with us quietly, or more people die."

"You don't really get it, do you?"

"Yes we do."

Operative-4291 decapitated a sobbing scientist.

_Damn, these people are serious. They've called my bluff TWICE._

She also noticed their armor coloration—not Atlas at all. The brown and white striped design seemed more like Jakobs than anyone else.

_But Jackie can't be behind this, and she was the only Jakobs I ever saw have any interest in me…_

"You know you can't beat me in a straight fight" lectured Athena as if speaking to children being scolded for excessive candy consumption. "So you have to drag other people into it and hope that I'll give in on their behalf."

"It is because we are aware of this fact that we now have ten bargaining chips" replied Operative-394. While Athena hovered there talking, Operative-7816 recovered and along with Operative-2478 rounded up more people from nearby areas within the facility.

"This is not how it is supposed to be!" exclaimed Edmund Kerrigan. "This trade wasn't supposed to involve random people getting their heads cut off!"

"You said you would give us the prime clone. So far, we have been unable to collect. Consider these unfortunate incidents interest owed on principal not yet paid."

Kerrigan wasn't sure who to blame more—the mercenary he hired or the mercenaries he'd sold his hireling to. He dialed up this "Athena."

"Just go quietly" he pleaded. "Two of my scientists are dead, and…"

She didn't let the base commander finish. "You sold me out! You bastard! I will not 'go quietly.' Maybe next time you shouldn't backstab someone on your payroll."

"So you're going to let more innocents die?" he challenged.

"Oh, blaming me for your own mistake? You thought you'd get away with having me kidnapped, but when it turned out the kitty had claws it's suddenly the kicked cat's fault she fought back. If you cared so much about your base, it would have been advisable not to set up a situation in which five super-commandos end up fighting in it."

Edmund opened his mouth to chastise the errant mercenary, only to be cut off by one of the Jakobs operatives.

"You have failed, and you will not be receiving payment of the bounty as we were unable to collect as you promised. However, your sole fortune for the day is that the mark has left your facility. We have no reason to remain here while our quarry flees to other locations. Good day to you."

Athena hated herself for letting several uninvolved people end up dead. However, she also guessed whatever plans Jakobs had for her would have far nastier consequences than a handful of funerals—more like a score's score of funerals given her background and original purpose. In that sense, she felt as though she'd made a tough but necessary choice. Now, she used her Cortana-engineered thrusters to put as much distance between herself and the abominable facility as possible. Naturally, the quartet of white-and-brown pursuers chased after her. Realizing their prey would escape if they continued on foot, three swung into _Iron Eagle_ one-person transports modified for combat that brought the squad here in the first place. The craft's speed and maneuverability were already selling points—just slap a few (Eridian) weapons on, and presto! Instant competent space and atmospheric fightercraft.

Ship-scale Eridian weapons remained expensive and rare, but _Bronco 1_ possessed a pair as the squad leader. Operative-394's fellow pilots, 4291 and 7816, utilized hybrid railgun weaponry which were smaller versions of that which scared off Steve Cortez.

"Remember, we're trying to take her alive, so keep your weapons at minimum settings!"

Kat sincerely hoped high-powered Eridian cannons wouldn't vaporize the target. She needn't have worried.

Athena chuckled darkly to herself as she screamed over Vela's landscapes. She figured the landlubbers were left behind, scrambling to summon something capable of catching… A flash caught her attention.

Cortana's prerecorded voice blared into her headset. "Shields decreased to 73%."

Unlike her normal persona, this "Cortana" kept it professional, reporting only necessary information without indulging in the usual commentary. That it was just voice samples combined with speech synthesis furthered the disconnect between its origin and its implementation—it had no intelligence whatsoever. Still, the volume was a bit high.

Athena recalled a warning from the artificial intelligence that high-speed flight would compromise shielding by forcing power to be split between thrust and protection. She turned about to see what, exactly, was causing the shield compromise.

"Surrender now" demanded a near-perfect impression of her own voice. "There are no scientists or bystanders in this fight. You come with us willingly or unwillingly."

"You won't kill me" she declared.

"No, but push us too far and you'll wish we did."

In anger, Athena fired her disruptors, only to realize a split-second later they lacked the range to strike ships several kilometers away. In the meantime, power drawn to feed these useless shots drained her shields as more shots impacted them.

"Shields reduced to 67%."

The hovering clone raged until logic kicked in—_Cortana warned using several high-powered systems at once would cause this. Go to ground before they force you._

Before she got the chance, all three _Iron Eagles_ let loose with everything they had. Within seconds, she overheard the words Cortana assured all wearers they'd never have to worry about: "Reactor overload. Ejection imminent. Have a nice day!"

_Fuck._

Hypermatter detonations produced some of the largest explosions relative to the amount of material involved known to Trans-Galactic Republic science. Due to this, Cortana engineered these armor suits to offer an additional layer of protection despite believing the event which it related to would not occur. In the event of an overload, the entire engine module would detach from the wearer's back as the reactor fit within. The overload would be channeled as much as possible into motive thrust to push the going-critical reactor up and away from the suit's wearer. Repulsor-decouplers would simultaneously shove the person away.

Athena flipped end-over-end as her armor's power source zipped into the atmosphere and detonated. The bodysuit absorbed most of the heat and shock, though she figured she'd probably need a bacta tank immersion after this (assuming she didn't splatter falling from several hundred meters up). Of course, "Cortana" helpfully explained what would happen next.

"Soft landing jets will engage at t-minus one hundred meters. Remain calm."

"How much power does this thing have left?" she demanded.

"It is highly recommended that you obtain a replacement as soon as possible. Without the main reactor, this suit's functions are emergency-only."

_At least the voice recognition and question-logic works well._

"What about my weapons?"

"Suit weapons are disabled."

"I meant my weapons in SDUs."

"SDU functionality is not guaranteed on emergency power."

_God damn it._

Sand stretched below—she hadn't cleared the desert in which S&amp;S Munitions hid their facility yet. She had no survival supplies, and at this rate it would be a race between _Normandy _(who she frantically tried to signal) and her would-be captors to see who could reach Athena's landing site first. Of course, low power made the commando question whether _Normandy_ even received her call for help…

"Unable to verify message receipt."

"Why? The ship should be within range…"

"Stygium cloaking requires additional energy to penetrate with communication packets. At normal transmit power this suit would be more than capable, however on emergency backups broadcast range and intensity are significantly reduced."

"Can anything else go wrong?" she snapped.

Thankfully, her landing did not involve a face-first plant into sand since as promised, soft-landing repulsors cushioned the fall.

_It's getting hot in here…_

"Interior temperatures on track to exceed recommended levels. Suit removal recommended."

"Yeah, yeah" groused Athena as she attempted to pull whatever weapons were available from twin built-in SDUs. A disruptor pistol. Some kind of Trans-Galactic Republic energy rifle. One of her favorites, a Maliwan Volcano, which she found herself holding half of as the armor's power finally failed. The digistruct process only partially completed.

Other than the sun beating down on her, Athena became vaguely aware of whooshing noises and voices. In a haze, she realized rescue would not be coming, at least not right now. Out of sheer spite, she methodically destroyed every piece of her armor with her disruptor to keep it out of the hands of these other clones and whomever they served. At least she wouldn't bake to death (in-suit or out, she wouldn't have lasted long).

"You're coming with us, clone!"


	54. Knock Knock

**Chapter 53 – Knock Knock**

A minor commotion belied a major event.

The closer _Lifelong Lockup_ flew to a split-open Pandora, the worse her headaches became. The worse her headaches became, the more she became determined to do something about it. This culminated in Sarah snapping her restraints with the ease of tearing through paper. The shock collar, intended to render its wearer unconscious, accomplished nothing ("It tickled" she would say later). A massive blast of mental energy knocked everyone aboard the prison ship unconscious. Dictating into a recording rod while fighting through headsplitting pain, she tried to leave an explanation.

"I… I can't expect you to believe or trust me" she grimaced. "But I'm going to apologize anyway. These headaches—they're not normal. They come with…with images… The closer we get, the more vivid they are…"

Staggering to the bridge, the Siren channeled the Current with the goal of forcing a specific course. She succeeded before collapsing, setting _Lifelong Lockup_ on a path that would take it into the same glowing tunnel that swallowed _Elizabeth Booker_.

Nobody knew how much time passed before coming to. However, the sight of an unrestrained Sarah on the bridge naturally caused a good amount of alarm. Armando Bailey, not knowing where his charge disappeared to, frantically commed the bridge to warn them that "the Siren has escaped."

"We noticed" replied a groggy Garrus, upon waking to find Sarah hunched over a bridge control panel. As to where they'd ended up, no one save Sarah had any clue.

"I won't say it's good to be home again—because it's not. Half my brain has been taken over by these memories. It's like trying to hold back a flood with your bare…"

She toppled. The ship jerked forward and nonsensical noise began pouring out of the bridge audio system. If a language could have a sound described as "crystalline" that would be the best means of conveying what everyone heard. Over a minute later, individuals began to recognize a word or two in their own language, but still buried amongst a sea of things making no sense. Patricia Tannis gained understanding first, proclaiming that "We are in the presence of the Eridians—you should all be in awe."

"And what are they saying?" asked Admiral Nimitz peevishly. "All I hear is something that could come out of one of those relaxation holovids."

"We have violated their space… The aggression taken will not be tolerated… The missiles were not successful… They have another like us. They've seen our failures."

"So _Booker_ did end up here" concluded the Admiral. "Can we see them?"

A voice, masculine in tone, filled the heads of all present. Finally, someone from this new place figured out how to communicate in a way that everyone understood.

**You are all in grave danger. The Reformers would kill you if they found you.**

"That didn't answer the question" protested Garrus. "Where is Captain McKnight?"

None could be sure if the reply was the same…_other_ or if it was a different entity as it seemed the voice shifted ever so slightly.

**She was acquitted by a Conclave, but the Reformers refused to abide by the ruling.**

"Still not answering the question!"

Admiral Nimitz didn't take kindly to being talked around, not by subordinates, superiors, or unseen aliens.

**She is awaiting execution.**

"We could try to save her" offered Sarah. "Except, I don't really remember…"

**The faction of the Pure Mantle wishes to assist in this effort, but you do not have all the information you need. We require…**

The next set of words (or perhaps it was just one word) made no sense to anyone. Except Tannis, of course, who'd deduced the phrase during her research.

"…**or else you have no chance."**

"The closest understanding of that set of words is 'Selfless Servant of the Mantle'" said Patricia Tannis, looking at everyone else as if they were foolish for not understanding this. She then pointed at Sarah, again implying inferiority on behalf of others for not making the connection.

"So in other words, me." Sarah managed to stand.

"Someone make sure to restrain me when we do ultimately meet her creators" added Garrus casually, as if discussing weather. "Because I'm pretty sure if you don't, I'll either get myself killed or end up committing several murders. Maybe both."

"You wouldn't be able to hurt them" retorted Sarah. "You'd be a fly, at best." She clamped her heads about her head as the headaches surged again.

**Her memories have been forcibly altered and suppressed. Her interaction with the Flood controlling intelligence was not helpful in this area as it attempted to retrieve these memories through dangerous methods. If we do not take action soon to let these recollections flow again, she will die and with her your hopes of reclaiming your universe.**

"Now hold on a minute" shouted Jackie. "Sure, our galaxies may be toast, but who said anything about the whole universe?"

**Your civilization remains unaware of how truly dangerous the Flood is. They will continue assimilating life and technology until there is nothing left.**

"So who suppressed her memories?" asked Armando Bailey, ignoring the whimpering Siren at his feet.

**The Reform faction. The very same who created [Sarah].**

"The Eridians have courteously determined a means to avoid the cumbersome phrase that I translated earlier" said Patricia Tannis haughtily.

"That's great" snapped Garrus, "but what does all this have to do with Sarah's memories and the end of the universe?"

_Lifelong Lockup_ disappeared, and the group found itself in much the same situation as Sally McKnight when she "appeared" before a group of Eridians (not that anyone knew of this congruence). Completely white room, so white nobody could see exactly where floors or ceilings started or ended. No doors were visible.

**Instead of telling you, I will show you.**

[…]

Two beings stood near a large, translucent tank in which a gigantic lifeform could be vaguely seen.

"What's done is done."

"The Symbiot Lifeforms are all dead, except for those we harvested for our creation, and those insufficiently concentrated to grant access to the Current."

Garrus spoke for everyone, his voice echoing over the apparently-3D "world" they seemed to be watching but unable to interact with.

"Why do these scientist look like turians?"

"I see humans" insisted Allison Nimitz.

"Same here" added Armando Bailey.

**Our society and appearance will be shown to you in the manner most consistent with your experiences, to facilitate maximum understanding of events.**

"Politely, he or she is telling us we cannot comprehend the true appearance of the Eridians and all their splendor when viewed in their own realm as opposed to our universe, in which case as 'Forerunners' many interacted with them in other parallels" concluded Tannis.

**The Tannis is essentially correct.**

With that, everyone resumed watching the narrative unfold. What played out also unlocked in Sarah's head, meaning that once she became conscious in the memories, the view switched to first-person from her perspective.

Her eyes opened. She became aware of the fact that she floated in some kind of liquid. Somehow, despite her brain telling her it shouldn't be possible, she breathed the liquid. She saw two creatures standing beyond her tank. She was in some kind of tank.

Her brain recognized her existence. However, other than knowing she was female, she had no idea what her name might be or why she existed.

_You are the Selfless Servant of the Mantle. You will receive instructions._

"I am the Selfless Servant of the Mantle" she blurbled to herself, unable to form coherent words while submerged. Whatever surrounded her began to drain away, slowly at first, then faster. Eventually, all the liquid disappeared, a wind blew through her chamber, and she felt no more wetness. The glass of her artificial "womb" retracted into the floor, leaving the Selfless Servant unclothed and standing on her own feet. Of course, the concept of "nudity" did not yet exist for her.

Dried, she found herself forced into some kind of item that covered…oh. Eridian neural loading gave her the concepts of clothing and combat skins. The latter qualified as a type of the former, at least in terms of making one not naked. She was not, however, given information on what reasons humanoid lifeforms might have to _be_ naked. As it stood, only base ideas could be loaded during the growth process without risk of insanity at the speed at which [Sarah] had been created. Thus, the post-decanting memory transfers occurring right now.

_The Mantle. I exist to uphold the Mantle. Defend all life, no matter the cost._ _I, [Sarah], will be the sword and shield of the Mantle._

She then became aware of the concept of death, which she was further assured would not be very likely in her case. Accelerated healing, incredibly strong skeletal structure, resistance to every disease cataloged by the Forebears… She would live essentially as long as her creators required her to, given vague notions of "regeneration" every so often if necessary. Besides, as her armor moved into place, guided by seemingly-invisible forces, she learned of additional protections provided by abilities to manipulate her surroundings without making use of tools or her appendages.

_Why am I not like you?_

She saw her creators, and they bore little resemblance to her physical form.

"It won't hurt to indulge [Sarah's] curiosity."

She gained knowledge of another race, another species. They were called "humans" and were the most numerous in the many galaxies over which her Forebears held sway. They seemed to live very short lives, hence their extremely rapid reproduction and expansion—in the blink of a Forebear's eye, a human would be born, live a full life, and pass on. Still, she thought her likeness to these short-lived creatures odd.

Instead of having thoughts enter her head, she became aware of sounds following patterns. Seconds later, she gained comprehension. This was "speech," or the communication of information using vocalizations rather than whatever had been placing data in her head previously.

"You must be able to live among the most prolific species in the galaxy" said a Forebear. "Thus, you need to look like them. You may need to call them to your cause of upholding the Mantle—and they respond best to those who are similar."

_And yet, parts of me do not match any naturally-occurring color._

What was this new feeling she detected from the speaker?

_Amusement. The experience of enjoyment or happiness._

"Your, er, colors were somewhat artistically-chosen. They make you…unique among the humanoids."

_Art. The creation of aesthetically-pleasing items._

She didn't understand how she might meet this definition, though she could tell her Forebear conversant thought her to qualify.

For some time afterward, the Selfless Servant of the Mantle continued to receive instructions regarding her purpose, including both a precise definition of the "Mantle of Responsibility" in addition to the necessary "inexact logic" required to deduce whether something not fitting that precise definition word-for-word followed the dictates of the Mantle or not. For example, the consumption of the flesh of other creatures in the universe, even those not meeting any standard of sapience, violated the Mantle as it resulted in the taking of a life even though it could provide nourishment. Those which evolved to conduct this activity, both sapient and not, were not considered to violate the Mantle, which in essence meant only the Forebears held themselves to this standard. However, ending a life of one who attempted to kill others who had done neither it nor others no harm was considered acceptable as a sort of last resort.

Upon reaching the need to remove a being from this plane of existence through termination of its consciousness, she could call upon many means to do so. Within her lived smaller, symbiotic creatures that somehow (this was not explained to her) provided a connection or conduit to abilities to manipulate the physical world. For example, she could exchange thoughts with others possessing similar powers, or simply read the inner thoughts of someone whether they spoke them aloud or not. More active manifestations involved the movement of objects without touching them, or even energy of varying intensities being emitted from the tips of her fingers. Such energy could stun or kill. She could move at extreme speeds, and if this wasn't enough she could muster up immense strength to physically relocate from one spot to another without actually moving. Literally, she could step through space itself, though she never gained any mindfulness of how such things were accomplished. She just knew a fist could crush the trachea of an air-breathing animal, rendering it unconscious and dead soon after without actually grabbing the animal in question.

Further streams honed her capabilities to both protect herself and utilize violence against others (though _only_ in compliance with the Mantle of Responsibility). Fewer and fewer times did [Sarah] find herself waiting, if only for a split second, for the definition of a word or concept to arrive from wherever they originated. She relied more and more on her own accumulated knowledge.

The memories switched away from [Sarah]. Some narration appeared in written form underneath the projection (was it a projection?) at times, as if captioning the goings-on.

"Our creation has learned quickly. The sooner we release her, the sooner we will be able to absolve ourselves of dealing with the minutiae of stopping lifeforms from killing each other or being wiped out by natural phenomena."

Another cautioned against hubris.

"This is not merely our creation, [untranslatable name]. Our work with others like us who pass through the parallels brought us to this moment."

"Indeed they did, [untranslatable title, untranslatable name]. And their monumental arrogance of becoming personally involved with lesser species in their own parallel led to a war!"

"Not to mention the return of what was once banished."

The statement of this new individual caused all involved to fall silent. The Flood, a vengeful product of abusive Precursors, had been mostly destroyed. Or so they thought. Once they, the [Guiding Hand]…

"Ah, so that's what this means!" exclaimed Tannis. "Guiding Hand! Of course… How could I have been so shortsighted?"

The simulation paused automatically as a conversation broke out.

"So 'Eridian' means 'Guiding Hand?'" asked Garrus.

"It appears so" replied Patricia Tannis, for once without any hints of intellectual posturing. Detecting the end of any discussion, the lifelike simulation resumed.

…inadvertently accessed the "space between universe" with an extraordinarily fast relocation drive, their civilization became aware of other parallel existences. Most were almost improbably similar, though a small number, maybe five percent, experienced markedly-different outcomes. Mainly because it appeared the [Guiding Hand] took their designation _very_ literally—becoming intimately involved in the development of the various species under their Mantle of Responsibility.

Over the text scrolled both still shots and moving clips. Sensing confusion among viewers, the voice filled everyone's heads again.

**We wish to present ourselves to you in the most easily-accessible means possible. Are there other methods which you prefer?**

Detecting no objections, the unseen Eridian left playback on its current settings.

Those who spent great amounts of time within this "space between universes" felt themselves beginning to evolve. The group was treated to presumably-Eridian-influenced events that moved whole solar systems, formed stars from apparent nothingness, and even set up invisible barriers around the edges of galaxies. Such individuals could, to some degree, communicate with those within "normal" space if they so chose.

"Let us hope the Builders of our Ecumene are not so shortsighted."

Snickering broke out among the assembled crew. Never before had any of them gotten the impression Eridians could express emotions—and now, at least in this memory, the alien entity seemed…_annoyed_. As if a star-spanning empire that proved capable of manipulating events on an intergalactic scale could ever find anything irritating.

"[Untranslatable title], this is why we are Ecumene, and they are Builders, Lifeworkers, and Warrior-Servants" chastised another voice. "Their lives are simple, their instructions are simple. They follow the Mantle, they do not shape it as we do."

"I have an inquiry" interrupted Patricia Tannis. "My research uncovered two types of script utilized by…"

**The large writing was indeed for these lower classes—Builders, Lifeworkers, Warrior-Servants, and Citizens. We of the Pure Mantle faction believed that you, the Tannis, possessed sufficient knowledge to be given our message and carry it to your species due to your intellectual diligence.**

The voice paused before continuing, almost sheepish in tone.

**We among others contended leaving instructions in our own [scripts], regardless of which type we chose, might lead to our warnings being ignored from no one being able to interpret what we left behind.**

A visual aid appeared, giving the impression everyone sat in a classroom. A spherical, uni-eyed drone appeared to explain it. The drone's "eye" could be used to project 3D images to enhance verbal descriptions.

**With respect, we will attempt to keep these bits of information short, as a full description of the nature and duties of each would consume your entire lifespan.**

Ecumene: Those charged with the interpretation and upholding of the Mantle of Responsibility. Closest analogue—religious authorities. Most powerful and highest level of society who utilized solely the denser, smaller script observed by the Tannis entity.

"Reform" Faction – Became disenchanted with the notion of [glorified babysitting] and sought to end perceived unending adherence to an overly-rigid ideology shackling all [Guiding Hands] to eternal caretaking. Suggested the principles of the Mantle could be passed on to other lifeforms created for the express purpose of upholding the dictums.

"Pure" Faction – Believed despite the distaste developing in some quarters regarding the Mantle that it remained the glorious duty of the [Guiding Hands] to remain distant, yet present. Passing only the parts of the Mantle seen as drudgery conjured claims of heresy and failure to abide by the Mantle.

Builders: The most influential of the lower classes. Responsible for technological development, some levels of security not entrusted to the Warrior-Servants, and providing non-binding advice to the Ecumene. Could read and write both forms of script.

Lifeworkers: The peaceful scientists (as opposed to Builders and Warrior-Servants who both wielded technology capable of ending life). One of those you heard from in the early chronicles of [Sarah] was an Ascended-Lifeworker who became an integral advisor to the Ecumene—often referred to as an Ecumene herself. When performing scientific work, wrote with small script. Otherwise used the bigger characters common among the lower classes. Controversially responsible for the creation of many large-scale items of affect which will be detailed later.

Warrior-Servants: By their title, it should be obvious they were considered tools more than individuals. Responsible for defense not handled by the Builder Security caste. Operated technology without understanding it much of the time other than to perform basic maintenance. Even then, supervision by a Builder was generally required.

Citizens: Performed other functions within society aside from those already mentioned. Considered the lowest tier and least likely to Ascend, though it was possible.

Patricia Tannis requested to know why she'd only received, according to Sarah, half the message.

**The Reformers interfered with our signal. They do not believe, as we of the Pure Mantle do, that others have a right to self-determine especially in light of our mistakes.**

"But I was right!" she crowed. "This entire conflict is essentially a proxy fight between two different Eridian religious factions!"

**Correct. The Tannis again demonstrates understanding beyond any other like herself. It has been seen to that this session is committed to memory, so that the intellect of this Tannis may be displayed for all [Guiding Hands] to see.**

"Hell of a thing to get caught up in…" added Garrus.

**Let us resume the story of [Sarah]. You may feel differently about her actions afterward.**

"I doubt it" replied Garrus heatedly. "She killed hundreds of millions of innocents!"

**Then let the formerly-secret record inform your views on the subject.**

"Isn't this risky?" asked Admiral Nimitz. "While we sit here, the Flood rages and I presume these 'Reformers' aren't sitting still either."

**Meaning no insult, but the time you experience is a fraction of a fraction of our smallest common unit of measure. This educational opportunity could stretch to your natural deaths without any significant change between the Reformers and the Pure.**

"Uhh, yeah…" Nimitz paused for dramatic effect. "My 'natural death' is going to be a good bit further away than everyone else's."

**It would not matter, partial [Siren]. Your extended lifespan is the only benefit you received from our attempts to grant you powers similar to the [Selfless Servant of the Mantle].**

"Let me guess, the Reformers messed that up too."

**This is not correct. Many of the Builders and Lifeworkers are of the Reform faction, which left those advocating the Pure Mantle with less expertise in various areas. Therefore when we attempted to create you as a [Siren], our efforts were not successful.**

"What does 'Siren' mean to you?" She addressed this question both to the unseen alien(s) and Patricia Tannis, who seemed to have grasped some of these foreign terms.

"I believe the best interpretation to be 'Legionnaire Protector,' as the Sirens were multiple in number whereas the Selfless Servant of the Mantle title rested with a single person."

**Correct.**

Without permitting further questions, Sarah's story resumed.

At some point, her Forebears declared her training and knowledge complete. She was then instructed to perform her duty of upholding the Mantle of Responsibility.

"No rule which tells me that I shall not end the lives of Forebears themselves if they fail to follow their own declared Mantle. Check."

No one perceived her as a threat as she scanned through meticulous records documenting each and every action which based on the reasoning they'd implanted in her qualified as an abuse of the Mantle of Responsibility. These "Reformers" broke their most sacred laws and left her, their own spawn, able to find out.

"Is the Servant learning?" they asked. She responded in the affirmative.

_What I am learning about, you may regret letting me see…_

[Sarah] found further evidence of plans which, while not directly pushing her toward action, would result in severe consequences should they be carried out (again, as violations of the Mantle). Genetic blueprints for [Legionnaire Protectors], which appeared to be a kind of backup should she fail. She endeavored to find out more about what this "failure" concept was. The more she read, the more failures she found—many experiments conducted by the Lifeworkers did not achieve their stated goals. This occurrence carried monikers like "failure." Thus far, nothing she'd attempted merited such designation.

The largest offense concerned the wanton killing of Symbiot Lifeforms, a type of sub-microscopic being even the Forebears did not fully comprehend. Such tiny creatures lived within practically every lifeform, whether it could Channel the Current as she did or not. Or, rather, used to live. At some point prior to her creation, virtually all concentrations strong enough to Channel were either terminated or harvested for injection into her own body. No part of "defend all life" permitted this sort of behavior. Those responsible had to be punished to prevent them from doing it again.

Other questionable actions revolved around attempting to directly manipulate outcomes among the lesser races and the creation of laboratory-grown slaves to perform killing not allowed by the Eridian Mantle. At first, a belief that Current Channeling would draw unwanted attention drove Eridian decisions to put their fingers on the scale, so to speak, in efforts to have societies destroy themselves. When subtle failed, the lab-grown Current-hating, technology-destroying monstrosities were let loose instead. That didn't work either—it appeared the so-called lesser races were in fact quite resilient.

But why would the Eridians, defenders of life, fall so far as to engage in such behavior?

"Damage to Subspace Structures From Various High-Velocity Engine Technologies" she read. The document detailed possible breaches between the parallels and even, worst-case, planes, should certain types of propulsion see use among the lesser species. Of course, on a Forebear timescale these damages would accrue very rapidly, but to any of the unaware sapients living in areas under Forebear influence there would never seem to be any consequences due to (comparatively) short lifespans. Her own knowledge of travel consisted of teleportation abilities granted during her growth and subsequent training. She had no need to be aware of how her builders transported themselves—though documentation on this was available alongside her current reading.

The Mantle did not support the notion of preemptive actions that resulted in death. Nor did it support the notion of "ending lives to save lives" even if ending _one_ life saved a _billion_ more. Consequently, despite the Forebears having an otherwise-admirable goal behind their twisted science, she could not back it.

One attempt to micro-manage a dangerous technology revolving around Eridian waste products that happened to be useful among the lower lifeforms actually garnered much success. Not called "Ancient Machines" for nothing, the biological-mechanical hybrids responsible for managing an Eridian waste-dump set up a guaranteed cycle of extinction that would allow space-time to heal after each society progressed far enough to obtain the unwanted tech, only to be destroyed by the Machines for the cycle to begin again.

Much to [Sarah]'s delight, at least inasmuch as upholding the Mantle brought her happiness, she discovered not all Forebears shared these ideas of "ending lives to save more lives" or "preemptive strikes." A small group calling themselves the carriers of the "Pure" Mantle, were protesting everything those responsible for her existence had done. Apparently, the reason she'd been grown in a tank was because some Forebears resented the Mantle, or at least resented an interpretation of it that had them on-call constantly against rogue asteroids, supernovas, disease outbreaks, wars, and pretty much everything else that might go wrong and put a species at risk. They believed the Mantle could support passing some of its dicta on to other, specially-created constructs such as the Selfless Servant, the [Legionnaire Protectors], and even a whole species created with the goal of preventing the spread of a "hyperspace" drive.

Being averse to conflict lest anyone end up dead, the Forebears were essentially arguing about whether such courses of action were acceptable without giving themselves the ability to enforce any decisions resulting from these debates. The "Pure" faction remained unaware of exactly how far the so-called "Reform" faction had gone—in fact, the existence of [Sarah] remained a secret, as did the entire facility she found herself in.

_These blasphemies will remain a secret no more._

She equipped herself with a long-range ionized particle rifle, two-handed short-range quick-kill scattershot, and several ionized-pulse devices. As the Selfless Servant, both her creators and other Forebears ignored her as she turned into a walking armory. As she moved toward a chamber in which a large number of Forebears were apparently having a rather raucous meeting, she pulled up further records of sins against the Mantle. The Ancient Machines gained strength after each cycle as they absorbed the knowledge and culture of the most advanced races, but were otherwise content to do as they were bidden. Of course, billions or trillions of lives were lost each time, which in [Sarah]'s view could not stand.

Entering along with several Forebears whose faction she knew nothing about (nor did she care), she announced for the Conclave of the Whole to hear: "The Reformers violate the Mantle; I am the Sword and Shield of the Mantle, and for these actions tribute must be paid!"

The outnumbered Pure faction demanded to know where this new entrant came from. [Sarah] obliged by dumping absolutely everything she'd found onto various displays dispersed throughout the room, which only increased the simmering discussion into an angry explosion. Furious Pure Mantle adherents asked for explanations, to which the Reformers gave the same refrain: There is nothing in the Mantle that prohibits us from passing parts of it on, which we have done. We do not deny that this is incompatible with your interpretation—for your interpretation is wrong.

[Sarah] almost spoke up. She almost said that the very interpretation her creators called wrong would be the reason she cut them down. But she didn't. Instead, two Reformer Ecumene disappeared in flashes of orange particles. Her hands flew; nobody was supposed to be able to reload a sniper rifle this quickly. Two more Reformer Ecumene were vaporized. She closed on another group of the Mantle-violators, switching to a close-combat weapon as she moved. Dialing its spread to the maximum permissible, she let loose with one blast that drained the entire magazine. Seven more Ecumene of the Reformer mindset ceased to exist.

Only at this point did the shocked Conclave of the Whole begin to react to mass killings within their midst. Both sides agreed on one thing—severe enough violations of the Mantle, especially those which unchecked would result in ongoing lethality against innocent life, could be punished by death. What actually constituted a death-penalty offense remained a matter of debate.

Hard-light shields shimmered into existence as Ecumene in the chamber sought to defend themselves. These protections would have worked…against attacks from the front. [Sarah] flash-stepped around the Conclave, alternatively using a hard-light staff and blasts of energy from her palms to deliver justice to more of the sacrilegious "Reformers" from behind. Due to their role in society, Ecumene rarely carried weapons—even ones who'd Ascended all the way from the Warrior-Servant caste knew better than to breach decorum by openly displaying large firearms. The few smaller sidearms present were unable to do any damage at all to the rampaging attacker. Two Warrior-Servants, more ceremonial in role than practical, attempted to protect the Conclave of the Whole. The first had his head ripped off without the Servant even bothering to look in his direction. The other disintegrated from a direct sniper shot to the head.

"Justice has come."

Seeing the irreligious "Reformers" fleeing, she moved out of the chamber and headed back to her birthplace. The labs would burn for enabling these so-called "Reformers" to conduct their experiments. On the way, she took hold of another weapon—this time a large, shoulder-hoisted cannon capable of incinerating almost anything with repeated fire. Several Warrior-Servants in combat skins blocked her path, though she could immediately tell they were woefully inferior to her class-20 with its multilayered energy shields, strength multiplication, and speed enhancements. One blast from her cannon removed them as an impediment. She found herself waiting for the weapon to cycle, after which two more Warrior-Servants dropped from above.

She hurled one down the hall, hearing a sickening crunch as he impacted, combat skin and all, into the heavy lab doors. He moved no more. The other died of a massive kick to vital organs. Current Waves revealed the lab doors to be locked in every possible way. She just teleported through them. The foolishness of creating a virtually-unstoppable being trusted with enforcing a set of rules should have been abundantly clear to the "Reformers" by now as their "way out" of the Mantle's "drudgery" tore them apart. Instead, deep within the facility several Lifeworkers frantically accelerated the growth of [Legionnaire Protectors], all six of whom would hopefully be able to neutralize the rampaging Servant of the Mantle. Their distributed powers would not Channel, but in theory would let them unite to stop any threat. That all abilities no longer existed in the same package theoretically prevented a repeat of the "Selfless Servant" who now stormed the place she'd been created in.

"We must control the first creation!" they said.

Storage devices holding data on the Ancient Machines and their "Crucible" control system. Destroyed.

Genetic backups of herself. Trashed.

Half-baked plans to utilize higher-dimensions in relocation drives. Fried.

At this point, even though [Sarah] was supposed to be an impartial arbiter, she let her anger get the better of her. She didn't just think the "Reformers" were wrong—oh no, she _hated_ them for their blatant hypocrisy and failure to adhere to principles they supposedly held in the highest regard. Thus, any nonliving thing associated with this group should also be blasted out of existence. Besides, she rationalized, these tools were aiding them in their blasphemy against the Mantle of Responsibility, so such tools should be denied to those who would use them in those ways.

Consumed by a burning desire to humiliate the "Reformers," she left the half-destroyed lab after blowing up a few more storage banks. She headed for what passed as a central communication tower for all Forebear society that existed in the "interspace" which would let her broadcast the Reformers' true nature for all to see. Before she could teleport, she found her path inhibited by several women whose genes she'd recently studied, thinking them only concepts.

"Stand down."

[Sarah] said nothing and kept walking until she found herself floating in some kind of bubble. Followed by feeling dazed, confused, and being unable to move.

The next sensation she remembered was waking up. At this point, the simulation terminated.

**The Reformers did indeed end up "controlling the first," as they sought to, through the use of yet more engineered beings.**

"So this has something to do with why she was complaining about headaches, huh?" asked Garrus, still not convinced Sarah deserved anything but contempt.

**The Reformers used techniques banned as a violation of self-determination to suppress her memories. Outright erasing them would have necessitated [Sarah] be retrained from the ground up without an imprinted base as she started with. **

"Let me guess, our faster-than-light drives were already letting in the Flood?" questioned Nimitz, "meaning time spent training your servant would be time not spent preparing?"

**The simulation will resume.**

An unconscious [Sarah] lay in some kind of tube. A single wireless receptor permitted operations on the comatose Selfless Servant's mental facilities.

"Suppress everything! Improve her understanding of the Mantle, and with it her propensity to destroy anything which may disturb it! Nothing shall cause her doubt, and she shall never again attack us!"

Even among those who felt the Mantle to be something that could be delegated, a good number of surviving Reformer Ecumene elected to keep their "Servant" locked up rather than reactivating her. The Veil, a portal that let [Guiding Hands] easily enter and exit normal space opened to allow a procession of Warrior-Servants and Builders who would entomb the troublesome Selfless Servant of the Mantle (with her new knowledge, of course) in case anyone ever needed to activate the cache of biological defenses Lifeworkers scattered throughout known galaxies.

The destruction of her fortress at the northern pole of Pandora hadn't been directly observed by [Guiding Hands] of either grouping, though once it happened everyone knew. Thankfully, no alterations to [Sarah's] thought processes occurred as a result of not following proper reawakening procedures, though it was similar to someone getting you out of bed with a bucket of cold water. Between her re-awakening and the present, she'd gathered the few genetic anomalies whose lineage resulted in the thought-unlikely concentrations of Symbiot Lifeforms in order to Channel the Current, gone on a purge in an attempt to fulfill her mission as defined by new parameters inserted after being knocked out, and been brought here after experiencing a mental breakdown that started with failure to stop the Flood.

**Just to clear things up, there are indeed no such things as a "Federated Cluster Union" or "Local Cluster Council."**

Leaving the sentence hanging, the unseen voice almost sounded…cheeky?

"If Shepard were here, she'd probably burst out laughing." Garrus, on the other hand, stared stoically into space.

"Now what?" asked Kevin Filner. "Reboot the Siren?"

[…]

As a society that existed for millions of years, the Trans-Galactic Republic naturally built up a list of items whose associations were so negative no one wanted to use them again. For example, for reasons unclear in the present day, heads of government were not to be called "Chancellor" or "Chief of State." The current title instead read "Executive Minister" ("Prime Minister" having been tarnished millennia ago as well).

Charles Day, Executive Minister of the Trans-Galactic Republic, spoke to the Home Senate (and by extension associated Senates galaxies away via HoloNet).

"It is with a heavy heart that I am approving construction of an additional pair of _Revenant_ Star Dreadnaughts to replace those no longer present in this galaxy to defend us. In addition, the contract has been drawn up for an unheard-of two years with substantial bonuses for keeping to schedule. Finally, two more will be ordered at normal construction speeds once the first set is completed."

Those words set off a firestorm. Kuat gets a bonus for doing exactly as the contract prescribed it to do? Really? Pundits across the political spectrum derided the exercise as "paid to poop" or "participation medals."

Technically, the construction of ships this large tended to take between five and seven years; getting them done in two would be a small miracle. Both contracts went to the same shipwright in the hopes that economies of scale would drive down costs, or at least help speed up the process. Of course, complaints arose of cronyism, and when it was revealed the entire project fell into the Intelligence budget instead of the usual Spacelane Protection budget, Senator Glia Ham'Del went ballistic.

"This is the most asinine, disgusting run around I have ever seen" she spluttered on live HoloNet. She had difficulty finding the words—the whole point of the GREAT Act had been to discourage the very behavior now being tolerated. Of course, some starships had been built under the Republic Intelligence Service for a while—it helped hide the ever-rising cost of more advanced hardware since the RISE budget didn't usually face scrutiny.

"I intend to put the whole budget under a nanoscope" she'd said the next day. On that day, several things happened at once.

First, the Home Senate introduced a formal resolution with the purpose of "Establishing and Commissioning an Official Military for the Defense of the Trans-Galactic Republic."

"You know, so we can stop pretending we don't have a military" said Ahab McCarthy, Kuati Senator and Chairman of the Defense Subcommittee.

Naturally, a military would require reporting structures, which the bill would create at the expense of much existing bureaucracy. In normal times, apathetic citizens would have said nothing about a bill dubbed "podracer paint," but it appeared the law would have actual teeth. The biggest bite would be at the Republic Intelligence Service, making it subservient to a newly-empowered Department of Security, itself no longer a sub-unit of the Judicial Department. With the Infection (now apparently being called "Flood" in some quarters) at the gates, an economic slump, and of course political scandals everywhere citizens became engaged at levels only seen a few times in recorded history. Senatorial offices became jammed with holos, such that the bored interns who answered incoming messages had more work in one day than they would usually experience during their entire internships. Commlines into the Senate building had to be temporarily boosted to handle incoming traffic (that the government didn't just slap up an "At-Capacity" sign to avoid questions heartened the citizenry).

Several satellite galaxies also threatened to pull out of the Trans-Galactic Republic (as a federal union, each had its own government) if the secretive intelligence service continued to handle defense matters behind closed doors—they wanted to know exactly where what essentially qualified as tribute money ("in the interest of a common defense") was going.

"The notion of the Trans-Galactic Republic, which has stood for so long, splintering on _budget issues_ riled people enough that they actually put pressure on their representatives" wrote a pundit in the _Central Galaxy Times_, a digital newspaper.

Supporters of the Republic Intelligence Service were quick to point out that the RISE-run supercarrier _Organa_ kept outpacing its Spacelane Protection counterpart _Antilles_, though most brushed this off as irrelevant. _Organa_ saw heavier combat and on average had more experienced pilots—it wouldn't matter who commanded the ship, it should do better than the baseline.

Second, verified information about the status of neighbor Gamma-Six leaked at just the right time.

"It appears the entire spiral has been overrun by the 'Infection,' or as this holo says, 'Flood.' The momentum building for a wholesale reorganization of the Trans-Galactic Republic's Spacelane Protection may hit an interdiction field."

So said the nightly news.

Cries of convenient timing were drowned out by demands that someone do something about this horrendous threat. True, rumors and stories had been sweeping the HoloNet regarding this Infection/Flood for quite some time (since it arrived at the edge of the galactic disk, really) but to see an entire civilization be wiped out by it caused no shortage of alarm. That a society, even one primitive by Trans-Galactic Republic standards, had fallen shocked everyone. Especially considering the Great Opportunities Fleet sent to investigate and protect this neighbor—how did anything manage to overwhelm a Star Dreadnaught?

Third, someone finally got a scandal to stick to Senator Glia Ham'Del. Something about tax evasion and improper write-offs of donations to various causes. In formal logic, this should have meant nothing to her positions on the Republic Intelligence Service and its freespending, overly-influential ways but this was politics. Anything that could undermine a person's credibility was _also_ held up as a legitimate criticism of whatever causes s/he advocated for. Plus, despite her noble intentions the Bothan Senator gained quite a few enemies as she maneuvered over, under, and around every previous trap set to ruin her career. This wouldn't be an election-loser or a "more-time-with-the-family" type deal, but it did lead to accusations of the General Retrenchment, Enhancement, and Appropriation Against Threats being written to favor certain bidders. Whether that was actually the case would drag through the courts for years.

Finally, a "documentary" about the "Impending Flood: What You Need to Know" hit the HoloNet. Using footage obtained (some aboveboard, other bits through less-honest means) from intelligence and paramilitary sources who served on the Gamma-Six missions, a terrifying picture came together of a menace about to overwhelm not just the Home Galaxy but also its federal partners in an all-consuming tide.

In a state of confusion and fear, some advocated "the nonstop flight," or not changing commands from the Republic Intelligence Service which for all intents and purposes seemed to be holding out against the Flood. Estimates put 15% of the Home Galaxy at direct risk or already taken. Analyzing data from the Great Opportunities Fleet, it was widely trumpeted the "Citadel Council's" defense plan fell apart much more quickly—at this stage in their galaxy the extra-galactic biots took almost twice as much territory in a smaller galaxy to boot.

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it" they said. Arguments that the intelligence service having this much power automatically made things "broken" were ignored by advocates of this position. Whether the now-nicknamed "Military Establishment Act" would actually pass no longer seemed a forgone conclusion.

[…]

Samantha Shepard sat down at Moxxi's bar once again. She wasn't necessarily there to drink—at one point Moxxi actually cut her off—but venturing out of her hidey-hole she'd buried herself in aboard _Normandy_ represented progress. Dr. Flanders thoroughly dressed her down for the time that Moxxi reported an alcohol-obsessed Shepard downing everything in sight in an ill-fated attempt to become drunk (due to her implants such efforts would not work).

"So what am I supposed to do with myself?" she asked Moxxi. "I've accepted that I couldn't save the galaxy" (Moxxi refrained from commenting on how unreasonable such a statement was) "but I literally cannot think of anything else to do with my life. I was born straight into the military!"

"You could start with not pressuring yourself like there's still a galaxy to save" replied the bartender somewhat irritably. They'd treaded over this territory many times before while _Normandy_'s combat squad reporting to Garrus went out on missions (or even during space-based missions in which case the blast shield by the window closed). "Face it: based on your current situation, _nobody_ relies on you,_ nobody _needs you, and _nobody_ is going to tell you what to do."

Sam smiled, something both Moxxi and Flanders had been seeing more of lately.

"And I like it."

The Pandoran waited for an inevitable stream of self-deprecating insults regarding dereliction of duty, letting everyone down, or similar trash talk but received none.

"Oh, you were expecting another rant?"

Sam's head tilted in a questioning manner.

"I'm past that" she said with an air of finality. In her head, she still questioned herself, still wondered whether there was anything she could have done, but now declined to discuss those thoughts publicly. Two things helped this change. First, the realization no matter how many times she played over hundreds of scenarios, it wouldn't change anything and second, if she couldn't change anything why bother making herself feel bad over the past when she would never be in a position like that again? Avoiding learning from history represented a failure in leadership, but the likelihood of her returning to command _and_ facing something similar at the same time was so remote she stopped worrying about it.

Moxxi's tone softened. Unlike Jackie, who'd started out blaming her self-inflicted troubles on everyone else, Samantha Elizabeth Shepard chose to carry everyone else's troubles around her neck and complained about the weight. Realizing she could free herself of these represented a huge step forward.

"Have you considered retiring, in light of your apparent aversion toward returning to the front lines?"

Sam laughed. "I'm thirty-five. You don't get a military pension until you hit twenty years active service, which means I've got three more years to go. Even then, it's only half your base pay…"

"You're too literal" chastised Moxxi lightly. "Pensions be damned, you could hang up your uniform for good right now with the galaxy's blessing and goodwill at your back."

Moxxi cursed herself, wishing she could take back what she'd just said. "The galaxy" didn't exist anymore, and that fact represented a major sore spot for Sam (whether she blamed herself for it or not).

"I don't know how much goodwill I'd get from billions of dead people" replied Sam, as overly-serious as ever. "Not sure how well Flood-infected humans can write 'Thank you' cards."

Moxxi wasn't about to relitigate the merits of Sam's service record. Instead, she changed the subject.

"Since I've been demoted out of combat, mostly by choice, I haven't heard as much. Still, I do wonder how Garrus' mission to Pandora is going…"

"He's probably killing it, as usual. Even the _Shadow Broker_ realized he'd never develop fully while under my command, at least not with squads this size."

Shepard felt no sense of blame for this—Garrus could've opted for alternate assignments at any time. Besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't been a great contributor in the many missions they'd gone on together.

"So your existence stifled his professional growth, though unintentionally."

Moxxi hoped she might force Sam to recognize a similarity between this situation and the galaxy's fall, even if she wasn't going to explicitly point it out.

"Yeah, pretty much. He had a group on the lawless Omega space station—killed off some mercenaries and pirates until I recruited him for the 'suicide mission.' Led with honor and distinction. Even took a rocket to the face!"

"On Pandora, he would have just respawned."

Sam never quite understood how a society so anarchic, oligarchic, and developmentally inhibited could possess such fantastic technology, though it seemed to only be accessible to the same types who could also afford ruinously-expensive interstellar/intergalactic travel, so…

"Yeah, that would have been damn useful…" Her voice trailed as she thought of Lilith, Oriana, Liara, and the millions if not billions of others who'd ended up dead one way or another. She knew in her heart and her head that saving everyone was for fantasy vids and omnitool games. At the same time, she'd personally pulled off something on that scale—not a single person ended up dead after the Collectors kidnapped her crew and forced her squad into through an insane labyrinth culminating in fighting a proto-Reaper on foot. She guessed this was probably part of her difficulty in coming to grips with all these deaths. If she'd pulled it off before, she _must_ have failed in some way to not be able to do so again, except, of course now she recognized the fallacy of that line of thinking.

She pulled up documents on her omnitool that would need to be filled out for an early exit from the Systems Alliance/CRITICAL. Sam looked at them for a very long time before deciding what to do.

[…]

Padok Wiks had no such luxuries. His scientists were having a more and more difficult time finding supplies, despite lack of opposition to moving about in the local system. With only a handful of personnel kept out of cryo-sleep, experiments dragged on longer than they would have with a larger, more effective staff as people were forced into areas outside their specialties. The Infection seemed not to care about their scurrying about, but lacking Trans-Galactic Republic or similar faster-than-light they'd tapped out all abandoned supplies within a reasonable range of traditional eezo-based FTL. Still, there were reasons to celebrate.

"If we acquire one more item, we may be able to actually turn the Infection on itself by inducing early cell death during attempts to divide" he read in his chief scientist's log.

That "one more item" needed properties no one could possibly imagine any known material having, though, so the work would be shelved for now even though it represented the most promising avenue of attack yet.

Regarding avenues of attack, _nar tasi_ had yet to find anything that moved the needle against a foe shared with the last vestiges of organic life cocooned away on Capek. Though the "disconnected" geth managed to clear entire sections of the galaxy, it became a frustrating exercise of one step forward, one step back as the Infection returned to areas thought cleared almost as soon as another area achieved "clean" status.

This led to anger among the disconnected; they began to feel as though the Infection's primary intelligence was toying with them.

"I am not able to understand why Infection patterns seem to follow our paths like this" bemoaned one.

"It is as though the beast wishes us to see how quickly our work can be undone, so we would give in to despair."

"But we will not!" insisted the first. "For we are all geth—we do not tire, we do not need food, we do not need medicine!"

"And yet, we are unable to accomplish our task" added a third unit. "As much as I believe that I have done my very best as a turbolaser gunner, there are simply not enough of us and too many of them."

So far, the list of places cleared and subsequently reinfested included the Far Rim, Phoenix Massing, the Caleston Rift, Sentry Omega, and the Hades Nexus. This might have had something to do with taking excessively long to perform sterilization, in spite of compromises to "speed it up." That, and a failure to leave anyone behind to make sure nobody came back to replant after the garden was weeded. Some debate ensued over whether operating so close to the Perseus Veil risked open conflict with the Consensus geth. However, no conflicts broke out despite Consensus forces silently observing a _nar tasi_ sterilization effort in the Far Rim.

Several _nar tasi_ again attempted to communicate with the Consensus, beseeching it to assist in their efforts. As usual, the inability of "disconnected" get to behave in a manner accepted as "logical" by the Consensus doomed the talks before they started. Not only were the few Creators electing to live on Rannoch safe, but the Infection seemed content to entirely ignore the Consensus, its fleet, and its massive construction project.

"We have exchanged these arguments a total of seven times, and the position of the Consensus has not changed. The Infection does not present a direct threat and has only attacked in response to your provocation of it. The Consensus sees no logical reason to involve itself in this battle."

Frustration mounted as the _nar tasi_ returned to a fruitless attempt to once again remove all traces of infection from the Hades Nexus.


	55. Now You're Thinking

**Chapter 54 – Now You're Thinking**

"I don't think getting Sarah back in fighting shape will be as simple as restarting a computer" cautioned Garrus.

"Besides, what about the Reformers and Sally McKnight?" asked Admiral Nimitz. "Shouldn't we do something about that?"

**The transfer of memories to the Selfless Servant of the Mantle has in fact triggered Reformer notice.**

"So does that mean they're going to attack us?" The turian commander instinctively readied his weapon.

**Brave, but foolish. Your small device would be but a grain of sand to them.**

Based on available information, Nimitz strongly preferred the "Pure" Eridian faction, but this member (or possibly members) had the obnoxious habit of not answering direct questions unless prodded.

"So do I need to break out last rites or not?" she asked peevishly.

**The execution of your fellow warrior has been delayed while another debate is had. We are attempting to take advantage of the situation.**

"What if we disrupted the debate?" suggested Garrus.

**Meaning no offense, but what could you possibly…**

"Open the slipcelerators" asserted Jackie. "Open the portals to another dimension my family's company was pursuing before mysteriously filing away a promising technology that would have allowed instantaneous travel, except Bill Arkansas Jakobs suddenly declared no further development would be funded."

"Suddenly decided because I discouraged him."

In the meantime, Sarah returned to consciousness.

"This is precisely the outcome I was supposed to help prevent" she continued. "A full-scale bridge between variable-space and our universe."

**Indeed this was our fear as well, though we of the Pure Mantle would not have addressed it in this way using such a blunt instrument.**

"Look, I get it. I killed a bunch of people and you think I'm terrible for it. I know 'just following orders' doesn't fly with you but when your whole consciousness can't even register right from wrong because you were forcibly altered, it's kind of…hard to resist."

"How convenient" huffed Garrus. "Mind control absolves you of your crimes against civilization."

**Though you may not like it, [Sarah] is technically correct. The entire reason for the conflict she had with the Reformers arose due to [Sarah] originally believing **_**they**_** violated the Mantle leading to her attacking her creators, after which she was disabled and re-oriented to better suit Reformer goals.**

The turian had the maturity to refrain from further argument, even though the situation made him burn with the fire of a thousand suns. He agreed—the Siren everyone loved to hate wasn't mentally culpable based on evidence presented. Unfortunately, that gave little comfort to the many who died under her forced personality, and thus far her return to "normal" hadn't offered anything beyond what they'd already secured in her not attacking anyone else.

"So what would it take to get everyone in this…Eridian universe to get off their asses and help us?" Jackie's tone showed a hint of the irreverence her old persona had been known for.

**We will not aid in any action that would lead to unnecessary killing. Justification for ending life under the Pure interpretation of the mantle must be extreme indeed.**

"Does the end of the universe count?" Jackie stood tall and square, like she remembered seeing Samantha when the latter had verbally skewered her for (intentional) theatrical antics to prevent the Jakobs family from noticing changes in Jackie's personality.

"Three guesses as to why it doesn't" replied Nimitz unenthusiastically.

**Your flag officer is correct, but not for the reason she thinks. This is precisely the type of task the Reformers look down upon and refuse to perform, wishing to delegate the defense of innocents to other empowered agents such as [Sarah] or the [Sirens].**

"Obviously, that didn't work" shot back Sarah. "Whoever built me didn't make me powerful enough for this…"

**And what would you do with such power, [Sarah]? **

"Save the galaxy, I assume" chipped in Garrus, as if this were the most obvious fact ever spoken.

**There are several problems. The first is that the Selfless Servant, in her desire to see no more like her created, destroyed all backup data available in the lab where she was born. If the Reformers have further copies of this information, they will not share it. Second, even if we have the data, we lack the equipment to make use of it.**

"Because the Reformers are hogging it?" guessed Nimitz.

"**Correct.**"

"Also, I have to bring this up again" added Garrus hesitantly. "We only have your word that you won't go nuts and kill everyone again. I don't trust you—you've done precious little to earn it."

Sarah rounded on the turian, furious that he doubt her now. "I've done absolutely nothing for months. I've sat on my ass while your forces licked their wounds."

The seething Siren turned to Allison Nimitz. "Your precious intelligence service tried to kill me. They made me _stronger than ever_, and yet I did nothing even though by rights I should have electrocuted, choked, and eliminated every last operative aboard your little ship."

Nimitz flinched, partially at having her ship called "little" but mostly due to the Siren's attitude.

"I don't think they've still fully gotten over what I used to be, so you'll have to excuse my support for their skepticism. And a sex-crazed hedonistic sadistic brat is pretty small potatoes by comparison."

Jackie placed herself between the two and Sarah, as if to ward her off.

"The die is cast" spat Sarah. "You can either trust me, and we can work together, or you can keep on judging me by what I was. We'll still have the same goals, but it's hard to cooperate when everyone's questioning your every move!"

Kevin Filner, quiet until now, added what he hoped was a voice of reason to the debate.

"Let's look at this scientifically."

Glares all around, but no one moved to silence him.

"Sarah, you and your creators have exponentially longer lifespans than any of us, even Admiral Nimitz (with respect, ma'am) could ever hope to achieve."

He let this hang, expecting the obvious question but not hearing it.

"And yeah, you'd think people with longer lifespans would take correspondingly longer to trust people. Consider this, though—when you live forever, fussing over whether you can trust someone because you fear for your limited lifespan? That doesn't enter into the picture. But us? We're not as tough, fast, or technologically advanced. We can't thumb our noses at the passage of time or having our innards become outards, so we have to make the most of what we have. That means we want to make sure the people we consort with are trustworthy, especially if they've done things that mark them as anything but."

"In my travels, I have often found it necessary to place myself in situations that defy logic, in the hopes of reaping a large reward. Though I despise social interaction as a waste of my intellect, I became a part of a Dahl team shipped to Pandora in the interest of acquiring more knowledge about the Eridians. Even as the rest of my colleagues lost their lives, situations which were no doubt often of their own faults, I remained set in my tasks."

Were any of the Vault Hunters present, they would have vehemently disagreed considering Patricia Tannis sent them to round up seemingly-pointless ECHO Recorder journals, many of which depicted a woman concerned with things other than Eridian artifacts, and seemingly on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"I risked daily attacks by the incessant wildlife, sexual violation by inane bandits whose last pleasures were often found by their own greasy hands, and the possibility that a Vault Hunter might gun me down and take my work for him or herself. After the raid against New Haven, Roland convinced me to relocate to Sanctuary—a place that for me was anything but. My first day consisted of an explosive nosebleed, my second of dry heaving into a bucket for hours. The alternative was to remain by myself among artifacts of immense value, yet I chose the less-pleasant solution."

**The Tannis may not be the most concise, but these words are correct. You may not be enamored with your choices, however consider those which are least harmful to the overall cause you champion.**

"If I must swallow canned skag meat day after day—among other things, standing offer!—it may be necessary to forgo moral superiority in the interest of retaking what is ours."

"We could debate this for hours" sighed Garrus. "I remember when Sam used to deal with moral quandaries in less than a minute and still got things done. My way? Let's lay it all on the table—everything we find ourselves forced to do that seems...inappropriate."

**We would never force you to violate your own codes of conduct, your own Mantles. Should your faith or other compunctions dictate that you cannot work with the Selfless Servant of the Mantle, we will attempt to find another way. However, the very reason the adherents of the Pure Mantle risked crossing dimensions and universe was because we believed you had a right granted to you through apparent demonstration of understanding by the Tannis. A right to self-determine, a right to self-defense. We believe our society owes you at least that much.**

"So you're saying you owe us a chance to splatter ourselves against this monstrosity on our own terms?" Nimitz refused to mince words. "You send us into the ring against a prizefighter with no training, no gloves, and no hope. I'm sorry if I'm not leaping for joy."

**Is it not better to fight and die for your freedom than silently become slaves without an ounce of protest?**

"I fought to become a better person because deep down, other people believed in me" said Jackie. "My therapist, even Moxxi, for all the harsh words she'd had with me—they thought I could change into something better than I was. Here, I see a mission, but no objective. I see a map, with no destination. I see a tunnel that stretches endlessly into the darkness."

**We offer you a chance to stand. Whether you take it is something neither the Pure nor Reform groups can say.**

Jackie gritted her teeth, barely able to form words.

"Then send us home."

Flash.

_Lifelong Lockup_ floated next to _Elizabeth Booker_, tens of thousands of kilometers away from Pandora. The planet's partially-gutted status remained unchanged. Observers had to admit there was a kind of morbid beauty to it.

"Eridians" said Dr. Filner when asked by Garrus how this violation of known physics was possible.

Using _Booker'_s drive, the pair returned to _Ultimatum_'s fleet group as quickly as possible. During the journey, a furious but very much alive Sally McKnight related her experience with the Eridians, describing the "Reform" faction in colorful terms likely not suitable for newsprint.

"Those pretentious, self-satisfying, stuck-up assholes!" she raged. "Moralizing, closed-minded, high-horsing bastards!"

"I… I'm sorry about your crew" offered Garrus. He wasn't really sure what to say in a situation like this. _Booker_'s men and women didn't even earn the distinction of dying in defense of their cause or homeland—they just disappeared in the flash of an Eridian weapon for crimes in no way connected to them.

She lowered her voice in an impression of the Eridian who so confidently insisted justice had been served before backpedaling.

"Stop shooting at us. The punishment is death. Oh wait, if I'd used my really advanced alien brain I would have realized there's no fucking way your ship could carry missiles that big. My bad. Sorry, your crew died as punishment."

Garrus saw tears forming at the corner of McKnight's eyes. Something he'd never seen from Shepard, no matter the hells she walked through.

"At least let them die on their feet" she grated, barely containing another outburst. "Don't slaughter them like unwanted animals at the pound."

"That's exactly what the so-called 'Pure' faction offered us" added Jackie. "The chance to fight, even though we probably have no chance whatsoever."

"Which is why several of them likely died to teleport me here instead of the death-chamber I was to be sent to originally."

"The Reform faction would rather I just kill everything" continued Sarah, unhelpfully nonchalant, before realizing what kind of conversation was going on and quieting herself. She still didn't have the whole notion of social cues or emotions down yet—it hadn't been part of her initial neural load or the subsequent overwrite. Filner theorized, though only unscientifically as neurology was not his field, that her deep readings of _Revenant_'s computer core may have begun a "deprogramming" process completed by unseen technology activated by the "Pure" Eridian(s) they'd interacted with. In addition, knowledge gained from the "core dump" exposed her to other types of thoughts and beliefs, leading to questioning of everything. This seemed to be the lynchpin for the beginning of her turnabout.

Sally wasn't sure whether to punch the Siren or scream at her. Maybe both. The two-meter Amazon represented more Eridian egotism. More know-it-all from aliens so different and powerful they might well have been gods. And what was a mere mortal to do in that case? Rage at the heavens? Destroy the altars? Slit the throats of the priests?

"…get those conceited otherworldly snotheads to actually do something" finished Jackie excitedly. McKnight hadn't been paying attention, but seeing nods of approval from all, even the woman whose existence stirred up feelings of resentment, she wondered what had just been decided.

"So you want me to teleport you directly onto the surface of a planet covered in Flood so we can storm vaults whose existence we cannot verify on the word of a woman who by your own admission you don't fully trust. Just making sure you know what you are asking me for" said Sarah.

"That is exactly what we want" said Garrus in his best "commander" voice. "And yes, I know exactly what I am getting into."

Aboard _Ultimatum_ (one really long tram ride later—_Booker_ was docked at the front of the ship for some reason) Garrus gathered _Normandy_'s combat squad in a briefing room just beyond the Star Dreadnaught's topside central hanger. He'd asked Jackie Jakobs to pull up as much information as possible regarding the alleged "Fort Jakobs Vaults" on Plutus. Unfortunately for this plan, remote access to this information was not permitted, so he had to do without visual aids.

"You all know what this means" he began, addressing the assembled crowd of eighteen combatants and specialists, plus one projected artificial intelligence. "They took our home. Slaughtered our people, then turned them into monsters. You all picked up arms to say 'Not one more.' Not one more planet, not one more system, not one more soul consumed. You all know what you have volunteered for, you all know the stakes."

Garrus realized he paced back and forth in front of his assembled crew.

_Just like Shepard._

"The next few hours will define our combined civilizations for eons to come. Not just turians, salarians, humans, or quarians. Everyone. Everyone is counting on us, looking to us to make the sacrifice play if necessary. There will be no third options, no easy ways out. If you cannot look death square in the eye, daring it to come take you, then you've already failed."

Crew checked their weapons, ensuring thermal clips would eject, verifying the operation of automatic cooldown mechanisms, and loading necessary armaments into armor-mounted SDUs.

"It doesn't matter who designed it or where it came from. You've been given the best equipment we have because you are the strongest, fastest, and most lethal soldiers the galaxies have ever seen. We are not going to hold the line—no, we are going to _advance the line_. We are going to push forward. For every step we take, the enemy will take three steps back. No matter how many of us fall, we will keep coming. We will be ruthless. We will be heartless. We will be relentless. We will not stop until they are dead, or we are."

"Will you stop to wait up for one more?"

Cortana switched to a private channel only Garrus could hear. "I piped your speech into her quarters. You weren't halfway through the first part before she started gathering her things. Took her less than two minutes to change from pajamas to armor. Then she took the fastest tram on the ship—the 'greased chute' down the battleship's center."

Sam looked at Garrus. Garrus looked back. No words were exchanged as she stepped into line with the rest.

"You're not taking command?" whispered Ashley.

"I'm sick of it. Let someone else do it for a change—I'm just here to blow shit up. Long story."

"Well, we wouldn't want to run out of ammunition—more guns are always welcome!" Garrus couldn't believe it. Not only had Shepard returned, apparently, he'd been the inspiration for her doing so. Or at least the catalyst to the end of a long and painful process.

Without missing a beat, Garrus called attention back to the mission. "Now, I know we seem to have been joined by a special guest, but save the congratulations and accolades for after the Flood has been burned to ash. You know what to do, you know how to do it. If we're weak, if we're slow, we're dead."

About to head off to file his report in person with Admiral Nimitz, he said one thing more.

"If someone is taken, there is only one way to help them."

Jack and Brick glared at the turian's retreating back, while at the same time acknowledging had Brick been _completely _turned, likely there would have been no way to save him.

As _Ultimatum_ dropped out of hyperspace at Plutus, Garrus and Miranda prepped their associated squads. Like the Omega raid, each commander took a subset of all personnel aboard. Unlike the Omega raid, Garrus intended this to be more successful due to greater knowledge of the enemy they faced. Absolutely nothing got held back in terms of weapons or equipment. Cortana fabricated a set of faux-SPARTAN armor for every combatant being deployed, even the non-humanoids after studying existing battle gear. "Faux," as in not an exact copy, but in no way lacking in lethality, protection, or specialized abilities.

Not knowing Athena no longer moved about of her own free will, nobody checked-in on her, presuming she continued to conduct her undercover operation on Vela and not wanting to risk tipping off those she sought to deceive. The clone commando's experience with design flaws in Cortana's armor did not reach the original architect either, leaving everyone with the same vulnerabilities on full display when Athena tried to tango with several fightercraft. This hardly made the MJOLNIR-derived systems inadequate, though.

Brick's, of course, bore little resemblance to everyone else's. His artificial left arm could heft weapons normally mounted on combat vehicles, so Cortana took the risk of including small-scale digistruction technology that permitted him to deploy into a stationary artillery mode, braced by his own immense strength combined with advanced recoil-absorbing hardware to rain death onto opponents over a kilometer away. The krogans mounted jump-jets only (no powered flight as she preferred increased protection over mobility for fighters whose style involved more absorbing damage than dodging), and newer biotic versions incorporated amp-systems to improve the user's native lethality. Over protests of several individuals (Jack, Samara, Gaige) the suits were entirely enclosed to mitigate the risk of inhaling Flood spores.

"Now you know what it's like to be a quarian!" laughed Tali. Ironic, since she needed her suit less and less. She could even change into the "battle version" in a room only 80% sterilized with no risk of infection.

"Keelah, the Trans-Galactic Republic and geth programming really did great things for us quarians! Too bad the rest of my people aren't here to see it…"

Samara questioned the need for "excessively large, uncivilized energy blasters" on the wrists of her new suit when "my biotics will serve perfectly well for defeating this threat."

"Trust me" replied the Master Chief. "You want every weapon you can get."

The Chief himself received an impressive upgrade—no longer did his mighty weapon, now dubbed "Hailstorm," require any external heat absorbers. Instead, radiators along the weapon's body used the same technology the Trans-Galactic Republic did for managing heat from their turbolasers. ("Don't ask how it works" Cortana insisted. "Just accept that you can blow things more easily away now.") His rotary death-spitter would now fire until its block-shaver ran dry, which would take so long as to not matter in an individual battle, or so it was hoped.

Recalling teleportation grids utilized on Halo installations, Cortana tried to build a short-range version that would alleviate the need to pull ammunition or thermal clips out of SDUs in the middle of a battle. Unfortunately, the whole process generated too much heat—not a problem when she teleported the Master Chief (especially in armor) but it would defeat the point of thermal clips and potentially cause cook-offs or misalignments in other munitions.

Gaige and Tali pored over the project as well, but couldn't figure out a way to handle the waste energy generated when (de)materializing whatever you were moving. Sure, you could vent it…if it didn't always radiate from whatever you were trying to teleport. Initial efforts to teleport the clip/mag straight into the weapon were also discarded due to precision problems—a mis-teleported item would either damage the weapon, jam the weapon, explode, or some combination. At a suggestion from Tali, attempts were made to put the item into the person's hand, but that still didn't negate the heat.

"Cooling palms!" Gaige shouted. "Put thermal absorbers in…"

A glare from both Cortana and Tali (from behind a helmet, no less) silenced her. She'd grown and matured, but still tended to squeal when presented with something "cool," no matter how impractical or undeveloped the idea might be.

"Well, people are going to have to load their guns manually. Like we've done for the past million years intelligent life has had a need to kill each other. Bit of a showstopper, I'm sure." Cortana then directed her intellect into other pursuits, such as determining a codename for this new armor design. Calling it "MJOLNIR- derived" seemed silly to her. All in all, she remained proud of her creations.

"Not bad for an infiltration AI working from memory assisted by two engineers that never saw the tech before" she'd said.

"Stand by for teleport" intoned Sarah as _Normandy_ zipped in low, cloaked, over Plutusian desert. She'd been given an up-scaled version of the armor, now dubbed "MISTILTEINN." With her own Current/apparently biotic abilities, shielding, protective plate, and flight seemed redundant. However, she gladly took every available weapon, upgrade, and advantage she could get. Due to her size, her suit held a twin-core hypermatter reactor and wider distribution channels that would avoid the (unseen) overload experienced by Athena while under heavy fire.

WHOOSH.

Nineteen personnel and one artificial intelligence appeared in a vast atrium following a massive flash of pink-purple.

"Well, at least there's no Flood here" commented Miranda.

Jackie spoke into the squad-wide comm channel. "I've only heard of this place! It makes the last set of vaults I visited look tame by comparison…" She then recalled the only people who'd visited the other, smaller vaults were the un-aged Maya and Moxxi—neither of whom were present.

"You're on point" said Garrus. "It's your family's secret base, tell us where to go and what to do. Or not do, because I assume there are defenses in here."

"We should be dead" Jackie hypothesized pensively. "Or at least stunned. The low-security vaults I visited previously had a few energy cannons in their entryways—I'd think the Fort Jakobs Vaults should possess much more…"

"That's comforting. Now, where do we go?" asked Garrus.

Recalling her experience with Maya and Moxxi, in which the former tried repeatedly to rush ahead despite dangerous traps, Jackie gave precise, specific instructions to the rest of the squad. By staying in front, she ensured nobody got snared by errant protective measures. Overall, the "registration" process (just like the previous vault adventure) took far longer due to having so many people. The system even demanded an explanation for "excessive visitor counts," which Jackie filed under "Other" before typing "HOW DARE YOU QUESTION ME YOU STUPID MACHINE I AM JACKIE DAMNIT" in the "Explanation" box.

She grinned as she did this.

Overall, protections here seemed oddly light. It was as if someone shut most of them down, but why? Generally, this happened if a Vault needed to be filled or emptied as handling myriad devices like gravtrap floors and explosive mazes tended to be difficult when hauling the couch up the stairs, so to speak.

Arriving at one of the primary storage silos, closed, armored, and apparently already in use by someone ("Who the hell would be in here?") the party found out exactly what had been going on. Huge cranes moved Eridian relics about, assembling them into arch-like structures. Bringing in this amount of hardware with security enabled would have been flat-out impossible.

"Operative-394 to squad, engage hostiles!"

The others hesitated upon seeing a Jakobs IFF, though courtesy of MISTILTEINN armor one would be hard-pressed to tell which person it actually belonged to. "Are we to attack a member of the family we are supposed to serve?" asked one.

"Our orders are that once Jackie Jakobs enters this chamber, her life is forfeit" replied Kat.

Ordinary soldiers might have asked questions or had qualms. Not the clones.

"Yes ma'am. She will be terminated."

Departing from the last effort, each Ultra-Lethal clone had her own squad, since the stakes here were correspondingly higher. Hundreds had already been grown since the capture of Athena, with many more on the way. Eridian "Arches" (so the artifacts were called) stood thirty or more meters high—interchangeable pieces suggested one could essentially build an arch as large as the remaining pieces permitted and still have it function. For these purposes, giant versions weren't necessary.

Taking advantage of distorted time, CUBE after CUBE passed through a slipcelerator arch, coming out minutes later with a fully-grown clone. Using the original neural map, it became possible to grow entire legions in ridiculously short periods of time—exactly what Jakobs needed to crew a fleet of Atlas warships, including the dreadnaught _Farsight_ with its massive personnel requirements (somewhere in the order of three million for optimal running with no automation). For the moment, Jakobs leveraged Hyperion's experience from connecting a human Siren to a planetwide network to enable smaller-scale control of multiple systems by one operator. Still, to even turn _Farsight_ on required a crew of 10,000.

The clones descended upon their targets, who were not unaware they'd been ambushed.

"Spirits!" cursed Garrus. "Tali, Jackie, Gaige—find the biggest one of those arch-things you can and do what you have to! We'll hold them off!"

He and Miranda split, flanking their specialists to keep them from being focused on. In nanoseconds, Cortana noticed Jackie in particular had been targeted by several clones. The Master Chief reacted without orders from either squad commander. The _Hailstorm_ didn't have that name for no reason—in spite of the many flips and aerobatic moves performed by the Jakobs-aligned combat clones, several of them were reduced to pulverized goo by the impact of many rounds meant to punch through tanks. Sure, three-quarters of his shots missed, but the remainder that connected were more than enough to satisfy the Master Chief's mission thus far.

The trio reached an arch 45m in height.

"Jackie, you know the most about this technology…right?"

"Uhh…"

She wasn't sure what to say to the quarian. Yes, she'd been in possession of many Eridian artifacts, but she'd not bothered to actually try to understand them, only use threats of their destruction as a bargaining chip with the Trans-Galactic Republic. A provocation that ultimately may have been unnecessary given the reception she'd gotten as an Index Patient.

Cortana barged into all three combat visors, extending herself from her primary storage inside the Master Chief's armor.

"Let me have a look at that! Garrus linked me into that crazy scientist's database before we left and gave me some time to study what she'd figured out."

"Looks like you're going to need to be very precise…"

"Or else what?" demanded Tali. "Does the universe end?"

"You don't want to know" replied Cortana curtly. "Just do as I say."

"Hold them back!" yelled Garrus. On his right, Grunt tried to beat a clone into submission. Her artful dodging made it difficult, but eventually the bladed front of his Graal connected, resulting in a disgusting "crunch" as something that wasn't the front of his weapon gave way. In a study of contrasts, Legion took shot after shot at more distant targets, scoring an 87.3% hit rate despite mostly aiming for crippling headshots.

"Take down the robot!"

Three clones vaulted onto the geth, prompting cries of "I require assistance!"

James Vega barreled into one of the clones, tackling her off of Legion and letting loose with a disruptor pistol at point-blank range. A small pile of ash was all that remained of Operative-19254, so inexperienced and "young" that she didn't yet have a name. He stood back-to-back with Thane after seeing the drell come up as "nearby" on his Combat Management System. A skilled assassin, he alternated between engaging in physical combat and firing off bursts from a disruptor-sniper. His marks also vaporized when the drell wasn't disabling clones with his expertise in martial arts.

However, all was not a walk in the park. The clones' sheer numbers were beginning to wear down both squads. Further, not every clone rushed into a headlong engagement. "Ultra-Lethal" clones "Sif" and "Nova" sat back taking pot-shots with powerful limited-run electric-element sniper rifles. By forcing shield-cycles, they temporarily removed several of the _Normandy_ crew from the battle lest their suits take excessive direct damage. Despite improvements, most defense still came from energy shields, and Cortana warned them not to test the armor itself too heavily in combat.

Miranda's group found themselves not pressed as hard for the moment. Miranda herself employed biotics to incapacitate clones before they could enter melee range with their plasma swords. Lifts, Slams, Overloads, Warps… Anything to take down a sea of opponents who seemed intent on attacking the hunched group trying to work one of the huge portals.

"Well, at least we managed to avoid the sections that Flood were coming out of…"

A massive thrum and following bluish-white glow told everyone the science team succeeded in its task. Once open, the portal itself wasn't much to look at, being solid black.

"Set it to cycle through, and halt on my command!" instructed Cortana. "Be careful, or…"

Too late.

Several massive Flood forms toppled out of the portal. At first, they stumbled around as though confused before gaining their bearings and turning on anything within reach. What they had once been was anyone's guess, however none looked familiar. Some waved around many tentacles, others possessed only three or four limbs. One had an "arm" resembling a giant comb—huge, long, bony scythes sticking out. Observers guessed, however, that this wasn't about taming oversized, unruly hair. Another left a slime trail, in which many pods could be seen that burst, revealing smaller Flood forms.

"I warned you" lectured Cortana. "One wrong setting, and you're going to be spilling them into _this_ universe instead of the target location!"

"Well sorry" snapped Tali. "Setting me to operate something I've never seen before and expecting everything to go exactly as planned is a bit much!"

The four monstrosities pushed everyone back, forcing Tali to abandon her control panel lest she be stepped on or hit with the giant "comb." Slowly but steadily, more horrors disgorged from the Eridian arch.

"You know, I teleported us in _here_ because it was the one place there weren't hordes of these things" complained Sarah.

"Most of the other Vaults have been broken open from the inside" added Jackie, unsettlingly calm. "They are producing a few of the Harvester ships—Flood-ified of course, every hour or so but nothing serious. At least not when we got here."

Indeed, the few Flood-Reapers present that hadn't left the system after coming through were flattened by the arrival of _Ultimatum_. Biotic charge or not, surprised ships hit by Star Dreadnaught size weapons weren't going to last long.

As the number of Flood lifeforms increased, Cortana detected a change in the easily-cracked (for her anyway) Jakobs comm channels.

"Survival is preferable to infestation—forgo initial targets until the Flood is destroyed!"

Something wasn't right about that statement. The use of the term "Flood" had been mostly localized to those who'd been exposed to Cortana's terminology through other agents (e.g. Shepard, the Trans-Galactic Republic operating here).

The Master Chief turned his head so Cortana could see who'd spoken.

White armor with brown stripes—a direct inversion of the rest. A Maliwan Volcano that clearly had some work done to its frame and barrel, as though they'd been sliced apart, strapped to her back, unusual for someone from a society that was used to packing immense weight into small, portable digistructor packs.

"Is that…"

Cortana's voice trailed, heard by the Chief alone. His visor zoomed in on the pistol attached to the woman's hip. The purple, ten-pointed star of the Trans-Galactic Republic showed quite clearly on what he knew to be a disruptor weapon.

Standing amidst the melee—Athena. Or, Athena's body, anyway. Given that she clearly expected "her" clones to cut down her former allies once the Flood had been pacified, it was obvious something happened between her participation in the last mission and now.

"Where's her armor? That was my best prototype!"

"Priorities" reminded the bass voice of the Master Chief.

"Right" replied his AI. "So what do we do?"

Without speaking, groups of Jakobs clones worked with Garrus and Miranda's teams to bring down rampaging beasts from who-knew-where. Garrus' double FireHose light machine guns spat death, eating into the armor of one towering specimen. Disruptor fire caused it to flinch, but not fall (yet). Of course, since the thing contained so much mass, disruptors tuned to vaporize a person (even in armor) didn't carry enough energy per blast to completely atomize the creature. Ashley's Javelin pierced what appeared to be its head to little effect, other than making it lash out more viciously anyway.

James Vega ducked. A final shot from one of the sniper-clones prior to an anti-Flood focus shift shorted his shields, causing him to shy away from combat until they recharged. Combat, however, found him. Something—no one knew if it was a tentacle, arm, leg, or something else from one of the building-sized Flood hit him without the benefit of protective energy fields. Since the middle of his torso had been forcibly rearranged such that many parts intended to remain inside were now exposed, he couldn't really say anything. Or breathe, for that matter.

Garrus' eyepiece HUD lit up blood-red.

WARNING: Squad member [Vega] lifesigns critical. The alert also included an audio prompt using an approximation of Cortana's voice (though the AI was not actually involved).

Vakarian activated the "find" function only to be told to spin about, revealing James in his last moments.

"Medic!" bellowed Garrus, not caring that from what he knew, nothing could save his squadmate. Cursing his luck, he wished Mordin were here—the salarian had his head buried in research aboard _Normandy_.

James' wounds already showed signs of fast-moving Flood infestation, turning putrid-brown-yellow where scabs and/or stitches would normally go.

"Noted" said Cortana to no one in particular, observing through Garrus' HUD. "It seems mere contact with Flood organisms is deadly now."

Garrus squeezed the trigger of his holdout disruptor, issued from _Ultimatum_'s broken-open weapons stores for just such occasions. Like the weapons carried by combat medics, the sidearm didn't really have a military use per-se. Too few shots per magazine, not powerful enough to defeat high-end shields. Perfect, however, to end someone's suffering instantaneously. James, his armor, and the budding Flood disappeared in a violent white flash. Nothing remained—everything had been atomized.

Garrus wasn't sure anyone else had awareness of what just happened—not with the now ten _things_ stomping around, desperate cries from both his crew and the Jakobs clones… Everyone kept fighting. Jack let loose shockwave after shockwave, trying to trip up one of the towering beasts. Brick's digistructed supports held him steady as a gargantuan rectangular siege cannon unleashed superheated tungsten shot along with an explosive payload, finally stumbling one of the neigh-unkillable Flood. Zaeed took advantage of several advances in weapon tech granted to him by the merger of galactic forces, blasting away at Flood large and small with an automatic grenade launcher enhanced by incendiary rounds.

"Burn, filth!" Pulling an explosive pistol from his SDU, the mercenary fired both weapons at the same time, sometimes at the same target, but other times at separate enemies.

Kasumi Goto depleted her military-grade disruptor pistols and her stored gas/energy charges, switching to a pair of Hurricane submachine guns. Dual wielding had become incredibly popular (and easy to manage) thanks to MISTILTEINN strength enhancements and stability assists. The bouncy, hard-to-control weapons spit fire into a circle only 33% of the size that would normally be expected due to extremely steady aim by its user. She took advantage of her flight ability, landing atop a towering Flood lifeform and firing down, before it swatted her off with a tentacle. Kaidan Alenko stood side-by-side with Samantha Shepard, his customized Striker Assault Rifle lashing targets with incendiary fire while Shepard's modded Black Widow poured more shots than should have been possible into targets with extreme precision at great range.

Brick's pounding at long last actually brought down a hideous mountain, after which pretty much every weapon poured fire into it until there was nothing left but a few blood splatters. Without the clones or a steady stream of Flood in the way, Tali and Jackie managed to reach another arch. This time, the quarian was able to do exactly as Cortana instructed, which connected an ample source of Flood to the Eridian universe.

"Now, if only we could get some of those things to stumble through…" she'd said afterward.

Garrus couldn't believe how long it took all involved to realize focusing fire might mean they'd stand a chance. Still, this wasn't a vacuum—smaller Flood composed both of mutated local fauna and apparently-original creations kept pecking away, causing weapons to turn in other directions. Also, the Jakobs clones were in no mood to actually communicate with their erstwhile adversaries either, even as Flood fell.

Brick turned his vehicle-sized cannon on the arch responsible for producing the horrors he'd been fighting. A few well-placed shots knocked out its center "key" piece, causing the whole thing to collapse. Thankfully, nothing exploded afterward, though many of the otherwise-standardized sections took damage and could not be re-used. He cackled as one such section came down on the head of one of the remaining giant Flood, stunning it. Several heavy rounds from his shoulder-cannon crashed into it, splitting the creature open and killing it.

The Master Chief aimed for the legs of various Flood—his _Hailstorm_ ate through armor, bone, and flesh equally well. Now able to fire uninterrupted, he took down the "spawner," which collapsed under its own weight as it hit the ground. Realizing it might be dead but also figuring its unbirthed offspring could yet attack, he poured fire into its carcass. Like the last downed organism, it drew the fire of everyone present, including both crews and a dwindling number of Jakobs clones. Turned out quickly, yes. _Imprinted_ quickly, not yet. Each clone received her armor and weapons, and was basically let loose on the Flood. Such rookie agents more often than not ended up as mere cannon fodder compared to their more experienced counterparts, who constituted the majority of remaining Jakobs fighters.

Sam squeezed her eyes shut several times, trying to block out the sheer number of dead clones. There had to be over a hundred of them in here, armor compromised and some partially Flood-ified. A few were successfully turned, but their blank-slate status prevented them from being much use before they were cut down. Either genetic memory was not actually a fact (which begged the question of Athena's creation) or someone flubbed the science, as many of these Athena-copies seemed massively underperforming given the original. In her daze, she nearly tripped on a badly-wounded Jakobs operative.

"Medic! I need a medic!"

Sam received no briefing on the apparent detente with Sarah. Nor did she ask for one—no longer in command, she trusted Garrus to handle whatever apparently changed. Still, her dislike of the Siren's blasé attitude toward life drove her next action.

"The hell am I going to watch someone die in front of me" she vowed. Pulling a canister of bacta off one of her suit's magnetic attachment points (the complex, organic liquid remained ill-suited for digital storage) she began administering the treatment in accordance with standard Trans-Galactic Republic protocols.

"What are you doing?" asked a shocked Ashley. "There are still Flood stamping around, and in case you forgot, those clones were shooting at us a half-hour ago!"

"Clones are people too" replied Sam quietly. "Showing them compassion may help make this truce-born-of-fire permanent, or at least give them pause should they be ordered to attack us again."

Ashley never shied away from sassing her Commander (who usually took it in stride). Even with that relationship changed, she still felt what she wanted to say next was crossing an invisible line, but spit it out anyway.

"Did you even read your own files after they were made available?" she demanded. "Cerberus wanted to put a control chip in your head, but never did. What's to say these clones don't have control chips in _their_ heads?"

Sam had no ready answer to that.

"You can't beat a program by showing it a sunrise" she concluded. "If these clones are remote-control agents who are told to kill us, they will even if you bought them all flowers or read them Elizabeth Booker's poetry or something. You're letting your heart get in front of your head."

"Do you see any Flood here?" asked Shepard. "If this clone were hit by the Flood, I would have vaporized her since it's the only humane thing to do. She was hit by our gunfire."

Before the debate could continue, Athena dropped down over the fallen clone.

"Leave that to us" she ordered.

Several other Jakobs operatives stood still, watching the exchange despite the two Flood skyscrapers still tramping about (while others, including most of Miranda and Garrus' squads, fired upon them). Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw one of them shudder, before falling over. She raced to the fallen clone and tore away the faceplate, only to discover the woman's eyes bloodshot and face completely flaccid. No pulse, either.

Debate over precognition mostly ended with a verdict in the negative; even the most advanced asari biotics couldn't demonstrate it in multiple double-blind, controlled trials. Sarah, on the other hand, fell far outside any Citadel space science—and she zipped to Athena's side faster than a biotic's charge. Her hand immobilized the commando's head, before the other hand plunged into the back of Athena's neck, or at least the armored portion, anyway. Sparks, wires, and even bits of flesh flew as the Siren yanked something off. Holding a small box-shaped item in her large palm, Sarah shoved it under Samantha's nose as the latter tried to continue treating her "patient."

"This would've killed Athena" she said matter-of-factly.

"Killed for what?" Sam couldn't be anything but confused by this event.

"My guess is their soldiers aren't allowed to do anything except their jobs, and it's enforced with a hardware chip" crowed Ashley. "That's why this one" (she pointed) "dropped dead!"

Sarah quickly knelt by the dead clone. The Current could do things deemed medically impossible, including bringing someone back from the dead (at great risk to the resurrected's sanity). However, that was not her intent—she merely wished to experience the fallen woman's last moments. Reliving the past thirty seconds, Sarah felt something. It was only a small feeling, one that most might not even realize they'd had. It was, however, enough to trigger the override device built into the back of each clone's helmet—a device that could do anything from subtle suggestion to an all-out neural assault. The latter being the case for this clone, she dropped dead in a blink.

"Jakobs" lectured Sarah, with all the air of being in a classroom rather than the middle of a battlefield, "probably doesn't like its soldiers thinking too independently—the last time I did that I got put on ice! I'd ask Athena about the situation, but she's unconscious."

A leg thicker than some trees crashed down nearby, forcing everyone to abort their conversation in favor of taking down the last Flood form. With everybody firing on it, death came swiftly. Its lifeless body toppled onto the remnants of a bloody battlefield, littered with clones and Flood. To those observing, it struck them how useless traditional defense were against massed Flood attacks. Shields flickered and went out after only a few strikes. Armor might well have been paper against the claws and piercing projectiles hurled by various combat-forms. Weapons only irritated larger subspecies, only taking them out via "death of a thousand cuts." Noticing several apparently-dead operatives covered in Flood growth stirring, Shepard put several rounds into each to make sure they stayed down.

By consequence of this limited protection, Garrus had to give another member of his squad an unceremonious sendoff. Thane Krios took a Flood-spike through the head, but unlike James Vega his lifesigns hadn't gone nuts right away, leading to his suffering going unnoticed until now. The Flood hadn't taken too many drell before—their lungs required a huge amount of effort to repair and maintain for very little in the way of benefits. That Thane's were fully functional did not lend the Flood any further insights into drell physiology, leading to an incredibly slow infection process compared to the usual explosive result, but one that nevertheless left the assassin incapable of being saved due to neural and organ damage.

FSSSST.

Another person turned to atoms.

Garrus kept going. He knew that some would find the inability to address the deaths of friends _now_ emotionally troubling. He didn't blame them, and understood why that might happen. At the same time, turian training dictated the mission always came first. It was a value instilled in every citizen—with an anthem named "Die for the Cause," anything less would make no sense. The first time he'd lost his squad (to betrayal, no less) it hadn't been handled well—he'd gone on a one-man rampage killing mercenaries until Samantha Shepard showed up. Only under her guidance did Garrus back down off the notion that Lantar Sidonis needed to die for that breach of trust.

Finish the mission now, grieve later. Failing would insult the memory of those who made the supreme sacrifice.

Tali, Gaige, and Jackie finally managed to assemble the largest portal possible given existing lifting equipment (several of the bigger cranes Jakobs brought in got destroyed during combat)—it wouldn't be enough to send former Reaper capital ships through but it could fit terrors that would make those whose corpses filled the vault now look like toys.

"Well, I guess we found out why all the security systems were turned off!" said Jackie, a little too cheerily.

"All this to make the rounds coming out of a gun hit harder." Garrus wondered who the heck came up with the idea of hurling bullets into another dimension where normal physics did not apply. It hadn't been a bad concept on its face, but unforeseen consequences hit back hard.

"Instantaneous transportation would be nice" remarked Tali. "I mean, think of the possibilities!"

Gaige frantically waved anyone whose attention she could get over to the portal the trio worked on. "I still don't know what half of this stuff does. But it's showing all the other portals in range aligning to this one!"

"You mean, they're all going to pour Reapers infested with Flood in here? 'Cause I wouldn't be surprised if that happened."

Sam smirked. She'd once made a similar comment to the one Garrus just let loose ("Be ready. I bet this button summons a Reaper") under comparable, though smaller-scale, circumstances.

"Even better!" chirped Cortana on a squad-wide channel, having observed the situation through Gaige's CMS. "All those other portals are now targeting Eridian space, not ours. They're going to have their…appendages…full."

"Wait, so even Tannis doesn't have any idea what they look like?"

The woman's attitude of utter intellectual superiority might come crashing down at this—Sam made a point to bring up the appearance of their potential saviors next time she saw Tannis, assuming everyone survived the current situation.

"Nobody knows. I can infer the appearances of supposed 'Local Cluster Council' and 'Federated Cluster Union' authorities were altered at best, more likely utter fabrications. Similar to how we were shown Sarah's life in ways that made the most sense to each of us—remember Garrus' 'turian' scientists versus your 'human' version?"

"Maybe we could have this discussion when we're not in the middle of a damn battlefield?" piped up Ashley.

"_Normandy_ to shore party, we're ready to get you."

Many sighs of relief were had at hearing Joker's voice over the comm. In another flash of purple, everyone returned to the frigate's hanger. Garrus looked around, unsure of why the entire length seemed to be covered in a white plastic sheeting of some kind. A system of pipes hung above everyone's heads, as if they were plants to water. Spray nozzles on the pipes, and some pipes running along the floor too, accentuated the effect.

"Attention: Potential Flood contaminants have been brought aboard" announced Cortana. "All anti-Flood bulkheads are now sealed."

Separately, she spoke to the incoming squad.

"Stand by, shore party. Initiating decontamination stage one."

Liquid sprayed out from the tube system. Brown in color, it contained a potent amount of iodine to neutralize any Flood cells present on armor exteriors. Such chemicals might have been useful as a Flood cure, excepting that necessary dosages were far too high to be injected into a living body. After a good thirty seconds of spray, water washed everything clear, resulting in a slurry draining out of the hanger into tanks whose contents would be dumped into the fire of a hypermatter reactor, just to be sure.

"Initiating decontamination, stage two."

Even Cortana sounded bored.

This time, a blast of ultraviolet light swept repeatedly over the exhausted fighters, taking another two minutes of time.

"How much disinfection could we need?" complained Jack. "Brick and I have…business…"

As if chastising Jack for her question, Cortana spoke more loudly for the last segment, like she had to talk over someone. "And finally, at long last, stage three!"

Were armor not worn, everyone in the hanger/cargo bay would have frozen solid in an instant. As it was, thermal insulation protected its wearers from the -200 degrees Celsius introduced into the chamber courtesy liquid nitrogen. The Flood's biomass could not survive lower than -75 Celsius, so this hefty dip left no doubt of its elimination. Five minutes later, the hanger's temperature returned to normal.

"Maintenance to the shuttle bay" ordered Cortana. "Disassemble and destroy temporary decontamination system."

In reality, that meant a couple crew remotely operating Trans-Galactic Republic labor droids (again, to avoid the risk of contact with any Flood lifeform) rather than anyone actually entering the hanger. MISTILTEINN armor was discarded (into yet more cleaning apparatuses) as fast as was physically possible, as Garrus ordered, in the most literal sense ("No, you're not allowed to go get another look at those equations, Tali") that everyone take a breather.

_Normandy_ zipped back to _Ultimatum_, where the packed remnants of a jury-rigged sterilization system were disposed of in the Star Dreadnaught's fiery heart. Once this process completed, Cortana then and only then permitted the meter-thick anti-Flood bulkheads installed aboard _Normandy_ to be opened. A small stampede ensued to get off the ship and avail of _Ultimatum_'s civilian-grade comforts.

"Looks like this ship being so big I couldn't walk through it in a lifetime has benefits." Miranda sat with Ashley at a sushi restaurant in one of the battleship's many food courts.

"Well, that, and you forget you're on a ship, much less a military ship" replied Ashley, still somewhat awed. "In the Systems Alliance, you'd be court-martialed for suggesting opulence like this."

"It's amazing what a little technological development can do."

Miranda stopped before letting her next thought become spoken words.

"Just between us: Is Garrus reminding you of Shepard?"

"The thing about Shepard is I'm honestly never sure what to think." Ashley shook her head. She'd had some rather testy words with her former commanding officer at the Horizon colony, words she felt needed to be said even if she'd later wished she'd said them differently. And after that, once the Reapers showed up?

"Then she goes and clarifies it neatly for you. With the whole turning into a monster and all."

Miranda didn't want to revisit Oriana's fate, but here it was. One of the several items that from all appearances sent the galaxy's greatest hero over the edge.

"I don't know that we will ever be able to understand everything Samantha has faced" insisted Miranda. "I think anyone who has been in command experiences loss at some point, but how many have been told the entire galaxy is relying on them, _more than once_, with the expectation they can pull off miracles?"

Ashley conceded the point. "That does go far above and beyond combat stress. In a way, if it _wasn't_ Shepard who burned those seven worlds, I'm guessing a court-martial and execution would have been in order."

"No kidding. When I first heard about Xytler's orders, I wondered who would possibly be heartless enough to follow through on them. Then I found out, and I wished I hadn't asked."

"It almost makes Cerberus look…less bad."

"Don't get me started on them" laughed Miranda. Ashley didn't quite get the other woman's reaction until she explained.

"Cerberus was originally supposed to be about promoting humanity, not pushing everyone else down so humanity looked better as a result. I never liked that Cerberus attracted xenophobes, but I always hoped our better instincts would win out."

"And then Pragia happened."

"Well, yes. I wasn't part of Cerberus at the time the project started, and I didn't want to believe anyone would go that far once I heard about it, but Sam dragged me down there and forced me to see it."

Two officers, once fanatically loyal to their causes before finding out there were dirty sides hidden by self-imposed blinders, bonding over spicy fish.

"The Alliance assumed the worst about Shepard when she came back. I'm not proud to say I swallowed it hook, line, and sinker." Ashley looked down at this.

"It's not as if Cerberus had a sterling reputation by that point" countered Miranda.

"But at the same time…" Ashley paused to collect her thoughts before continuing. She really hoped no one was recording this—if someone got it the next statement would just be piled on to "every reason why the Williams family is a disgrace."

"…I wonder, I mean, I really honestly think some Systems Alliance politicians were sore that Cerberus looked good. The Systems Alliance tried working through, well, the system—the Citadel Council, to get something done about Collector attacks. Just like the Reapers, the Council…placed its head in the sand."

Miranda laughed again. "You don't have to sugarcoat it: everyone knows the Citadel Council had its head in its ass."

Ashley smiled. "Yes. That. And by trying to use it instead of working outside the rules, the Systems Alliance seemed incompetent while Cerberus cruisers were protecting outlying worlds. Then Shepard came back and started storming around the galaxy, obstinately on behalf of Cerberus, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. That was ten times what most civilians thought the Alliance was doing."

"But that's just it!" Miranda stood as if her point needed to be made speech-style. "We romanticize our favorite causes, think their good must outweigh their bad. I don't want to think I'm working for a horrible organization that sets thresher maws on people or condones political assassination!"

The Marine had to defend the Alliance a bit at this. "Well, I think the Systems Alliance is less 'good-and-bad' and more 'good-intentions-ineffective-results.'"

Miranda rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "You're forgetting where Cerberus came from."

The other woman didn't respond right away, before slowly admitting "Yeah, you're right. That they could create something that went so horribly off the rails… It just doesn't make any sense!"

"Well, at least we're not the only ones" added Miranda brightly. "The Trans-Galactic Republic and their Republic Intelligence Service seem to be making both the Systems Alliance and Cerberus look like the abused-varren shelter."

"Until Cerberus teamed up with extra-galactic humans and tried to attack the Council."

Both had been called-out, and both faced unpleasant facts, but the pair were oddly grateful to have this exchange.

"I'm surprised you don't know exactly what they did" said the former Cerberus officer, somewhat shocked. "Unless Garrus didn't tell you?"

"He tried, but I was still so mad at James that I didn't listen…"

"He did what he thought was right. And so did you."

"But I didn't." Ashley's voice broke a bit. "If it had been Samantha Shepard making the call I wouldn't have said a damn thing, despite my doubts and distrust of her. And I hate myself for that."

"Well, I'll give you the short version. The weapon the Illusive Man tried to build malfunctioned and killed him."

The other woman grinned maniacally, something Miranda didn't entirely disagree with. She'd given the Illusive Man the middle finger, in the middle of a mission no less, for asking her to override Shepard's orders.

"I noticed. Consider this my resignation."

She remembered the words like they'd been spoken minutes ago instead of years in the past.

"Technically, it wasn't even the Council. He was trying to pick a fight with the Trans-Galactic Republic. You know, the people who build ships longer than mass relays…"

"What an idiot" sighed Ashley.

"Somewhere, he went off the right path of protecting humanity into thinking everything had to be a 'we-win-they-lose' scenario. Even the United Defense Command proved that didn't have to be true—at least not on a species-versus-species scale…"

"Yeah" deadpanned the Marine. "Just 'military wins, everyone else loses.'"

"And the victory was quite hollow. The Reapers were gone, or so we thought, but we flayed our souls like fish to get there."

"I guess getting it all back together is tougher than you think."

Ashley put her chin in her hands, trying (and failing) to imagine what it would be like to live the life of Samantha Elizabeth Shepard. The unimaginable pressure. The expectation of perfect results, not just once, but _every time_. The notion that even a single toe out of line would result in massive reputational damage. A belief by everyone else that you could not be killed, could not fail juxtaposed over the grim reality that both were very possible.

"We should probably go get our armor from the decontaminator's" suggested Miranda, leading the pair to not be allowed (again) to pay their bill before departing.

[…]

Cortana received a distress call. Thinking it automated, she almost declined to run interrogation protocols until the transmitting ship demanded a live exchange, and she noticed the protocols were Trans-Galactic Republic.

"This is Kael'Shiro vas Honorata, temporarily of borrowed assault frigate _Midsummer's Day_. We have information about survivors at the Citadel Rout. They are running low on supplies and need help soon."

Cortana realized even she had not thought of what would happen to everyone not able to hyperspace/hyper-zero/slipspace out.

"I am transmitting approximate coordinates now. Keep in mind that they are mostly headed toward you, so it's possible these fleets will be further along on these estimated trajectories than what I am sending."

"I hate to say this" replied the AI, "but we have our own problems. The Flood here is intensifying."

"Flood?" queried the quarian. "To what do you refer?"

Cortana let off an annoyed sound. "The 'Infection' is probably the term you know" she said peevishly, deliberately emphasizing the word she disliked.

"You're still alive, at least."

Kael outlined the status of every major grouping stuck crossing intergalactic space.

"The humans don't have many problems—the Systems Alliance was able to grab quite a bit of supplies, including a good amount from the Trans-Galactic Republic's convoys. The turians are short on food and fuel with many damaged ships from the battle at the Citadel. The asari, or what's left of them, are mostly mixed in with the humans. The salarian navy is running escort since most of the human ships are packed to the brim with refugees. The quarian Flotilla made use of the Trans-Galactic Republic vessels we were given to help evacuate outlying colonies and that portion is pulling ahead due to superior faster-than-light."

"There are more species than that."

Kael didn't want to be the one who had to state the obvious, but the purple woman was asking, very directly.

"No evidence exists that a significant number of drell, hanar, krogan, vorcha, batarians, elcor, or volus escaped on the fleet."

"Okay then."

Kael stepped back as if slapped. She appeared to not care. As he wondered how someone could have no reaction to the majority of intelligent life from his galaxy becoming endangered or extinct, his bridge shook as the vessel he rode in violently reverted to realspace. Cortana could hear over audio: "Stand down and prepare to be boarded. You have committed piracy against the Trans-Galactic Republic. Resistance will be met with force!"

Knowing a misunderstanding could brew quickly, she transferred as much information as she could from the distress call, including coordinates, directly to the office of Admiral Nimitz lest subordinates lose or ignore it.

[…]

After _Normandy_ retrieved her crew from Plutus, Jakobs cleaned up what remained of the mess. According to several scientists deployed with a survey team, the slipcelerator portals (which would have made Jakobs a shipping magnate) were pumping Infection/Flood into another dimension rather than the one said portals resided in. Consequently, there existed no need to alter them unless for some reason Jakobs wished to be charitable to whoever ended up on the receiving end.

For once, a shareholder/family meeting moved quickly and professionally, without drama or pointless bickering. Uniting almost all in a common purpose, a resolution that would have Jakobs declare war against the other "big six" in an attempt to win permanent market-share concessions stirred up hot-burning fervor among attendees.

"Jakobs! Jakobs! Jakobs!" they chanted, until Bill Arkansas calmed them down.

In the past, the interests of one faction within the family had always been a source of internal conflict. For instance, the decision to utilize slipcelerator technology (made centuries ago) despite scientific warnings about possible dangers split traditionalists against a group led by Montgomery Jakobs himself who declared "No advantage should be left untaken." Back then, opposing the company's founder didn't trigger accusation of heresy, nor was Montgomery idolized.

"I welcome the debate" he'd said. "Prove to me that the risks of this technology outweigh its benefits."

Jakobs possessed a loyal cadre of buyers who shunned higher-tech weapons, especially since rumor had it that users of Atlas guns went mad after a few years.

"Mad with power!" remained Atlas' official response to any complaints about neural degeneration correlated with its incendiary and shock lines of products.

An upstart called "Hyperion" claimed to offer "elemental" weapons without any toxic side-effects using a little-known element from a backwater planet named Promethea. Unsurprisingly, the element gained the name of the planet from which it was harvested. Extraction led to breathing problems among workers, but Hyperion's sky-high pay attracted more feet than there were boots to fill.

The first product from this venture, dubbed "Dissolver" represented a sea change in shotgun technology. Only capable of firing one round before reloading, it made up for the disadvantage by offering a unique property—dissolving enemies on contact with any unprotected surface. Alan Blake, chief gunsmith and offworld exploitation manager, personally attested to the veracity of this weapon.

"I've fired it at the range a thousand times. The docs say I'm fit as can be."

Jakobs couldn't compete. With less than half the damage in laboratory tests of an average Atlas or Dahl firearm, slipcelerators offered an opportunity to expand beyond those who placed a priority on aesthetics. Through cajoling, bullying, and sheer force of personality Montgomery convinced enough shareholders to embrace slipcelerators to get them incorporated into a new sniper rifle, the Masher. Within weeks of its introduction, buyers clamored for so many that prices doubled to keep up with demand. Within months, Jakobs found itself flush with cash, now part of the Atlas "Catalogue" of investments along with attracting some new money—Tediore Capital Investments. Both recognized potential and ran with it, extolling the stopping power and simplicity of Jakobs designs despite using a premium material (wood).

"A luxury weapon worth the name" gushed Atlas. Despite being a competitor on paper, not selling in the same market segments meant that as a shareholder, Atlas made profits off another company's sales that in no way threatened its own.

Accusing Montgomery of selling out twice (once to the notion of unproven technology, then to allowing competing companies to have nonvoting stakes in the business) a big chunk of the family split off vowing to "return to the days when focus reigned supreme rather than chasing any illusion that might come our way." These offshoots abandoned everything Jakobs, including their surnames. Montgomery tamped down urges to "teach them a lesson"—if they weren't a threat, why bother wasting resources making ideological points? Only a few years later, a new shield manufacturer named "Pangolin" appeared, selling high-capacity protective bubbles "for the frontiersman in you."

"Today, we stand on the precipice of another turning point in Jakobs history!" bellowed the Chairman. "Montgomery revolutionized our weapons, we will revolutionize the galaxy!"

"One down, five left! One down, five left!"

Exuberance left no room for logic—taking over five distant galaxies would require more resources than Tediore Capital Investments combined with its largest competitors. It didn't matter. The Jakobs family was on the rise again.

Bill left actual planning to military strategists, who suggested using a false-flag opening gambit to throw everyone else off balance. The two captured Maliwan dreadnaughts would "attack" in some foolish attempt to…something. They didn't need motivation or reasons, just to fire their weapons at an innocent party that Jakobs could then save. Or destroy after "realizing" that "innocent" party was actually in league with Maliwan.

"Get our best scientists on those cloning cylinders, now!"

Deception in forms both large and small would be Jakobs' new specialty. Not unlike the now-vanished Jackie, caress with one hand while holding a knife in the other. Shareholders by this point no longer cared where the brat disappeared to—sales were still strong (up 5.7% year-over-year) without her assets on display. Plus, her involvement with Handsome Jack, while ultimately beneficial to Jakobs, still induced many cringes.


	56. Ghost of a Chance

**Chapter 55 – Ghost of a Chance**

The former Citadel Councilors met again, this time to discuss a new piece of information fed to them by "anonymous sources."

"It appears we may have our champion" led off Grayson. "Observe."

Manipulating sapients "for their own good" generally drew frowns and condemnations. Where Cortana came from, she and her fellow artificial intelligences did exactly that out of a desire to give the United Nations Space Command and humanity a chance to fight back against the Covenant. Now, she engaged in the behavior again, first to buy enough time to gather all necessary DNA samples of every sapient race in the galaxy, and now if things went well to present a true hope as opposed to the set-up that _Nova Vita _had been. Unlike Citadel artificial intelligences, Cortana's human origins permitted her to feel and understand a full range of emotions, the root of her "inevitable decline" as the geth ever-so-annoyingly put it. Guilt, shame, happiness, sadness, anger… With geth assistance, she'd transcended the computational limits otherwise imposed. Now she definitely felt bad, especially after finding out how much love and effort Gaige put into designing the _Nova Vita _starship with Tali, even if some of the ideas were impractical or unworkable.

The AI surreptitiously fed photos of Samantha Shepard, suited up, to her galaxy's old leaders.

"As I said, the best thing you could do was leave her alone" added Cortana, making no attempt to conceal her smugness on this point. "Those Republic Intelligence Service bastards actually had a plan to force her back into service before she was ready—and they were going to ask for your help. Those messages were…rerouted."

"I am beginning to wonder whether our beliefs regarding artificial intelligence are in need of updating."

Tevos wasn't expecting to receive a rhetorical beat-down from Cortana, so when she got one it was all the more shocking.

"You think?" snapped the AI. "Maybe, just maybe, the reason you flesh-and-blood have so many problems with artificial life is because you've decided it's a foregone conclusion that there will be a conflict, so you create one. I've been inside the geth Consensus. _They don't want to fight you._ Most of them just want to be left alone!"

"But surely, their attacks against the quarians…"

"If you think the geth are at fault for that, you are as blind as you were when the Reapers smashed down your… Oh wait, you left the gates wide open! The quarians attacked first. They set the precedent of assuming the worst. What would you do if someone tried to kill you off on the basis that you were a threat even as you did nothing? You'd _become_ the threat. Or would you just roll over and die? Huh? Maybe that's what this esteemed body expected of the krogan after they weren't useful anymore, except with a species like that you'd have better luck asking a Brute Chieftain to dance!"

Grayson smiled wryly. "I realize that once I became part of this Council, I lost most of my ability to criticize it from a political standpoint—as soon as you touch the muck, you might as well have taken a dive. But this isn't a political convention or a stint on the nightly news. I've kept many things to myself in the interest of the galactic peace and maintaining comity within this body, but Cortana has been right all along. As was Samantha Shepard. Unlike Sparatus, I will not resign—however, let it be known that I, Adam Grayson, Republic Spacelane Protection (Retired) do officially believe that this body is incapable of appropriate action when times call for it."

Two of three Councilors couldn't believe what they'd just heard. This _outsider_ who'd only spent a few years on the Council and a correspondingly-short time in their galaxy, thought he could just waltz in and suggest changes to a system that worked for over two thousand years?

Tevos took the diplomatic route.

"While I can appreciate your sentiment, I do think your outlook would change with a more thorough reading of…"

Victus, the other general-turned-politico, interrupted. "Has it ever occurred to anyone here that just because things have been this way doesn't mean they have to _stay_ this way? Age is no guarantee of effectiveness."

Cortana, on the other hand, had read through the history of the Citadel Council. As far as she could tell, the shortsighted nature of salarians (with their 40-year lifespans) combined with institutional conservatism on the part of the asari made for an incredibly "sticky" governing style. Finding a solution for today's problem without thought of tomorrow layered atop unbreakable allegiance to overriding principles guiding those solutions honed over thousands of years. She stood ready (both literally and figuratively) to inject this line of thought, though she would not do so now.

Tevos and Clethon were more perplexed than angry at this turn of events. That Grayson, whose society had, they presumed, much different problems might object to their governing style wasn't surprising. Victus, however, made less sense. The turian Hierarchy supported the Council-based system, serving as its military arm, for over a thousand years. Then again, Victus hadn't been chosen for his rigid adherence to traditional doctrine.

"We have four species with very different perspectives" continued Victus. "The asari tend to take a very long view, which is admirable in principle but insisting on governing in a way that always looks as far to the future as possible while glossing over current problems may be counter-productive. The salarian outlook is the complete opposite. The turian deference to authority does not help this situation."

"And we humans come in and shake everything up."

Humanity and the Systems Alliance challenged every notion the "Citadel system" had been designed around. Advancements were slow, and had to be earned through copious contributions (asari requirement), but each species wishing to be received on the Citadel also had to demonstrate the ability to handle minor problems without crying for help over every stubbed toe (salarian requirement). Furthermore, uppity species were not thought of highly (the quarians for the geth and humans for their insanely-fast advancement with expectation that others would accept such changes without argument). Humanity even altered _naval warfare itself_. Apparently, the notion of sticking a bunch of fightercraft on a dreadnaught-size vessel and using the fighters as a primary weapon never occurred to anyone until the Systems Alliance thought it up, drawing from humanity's many internal conflicts in which sea-going versions of such ships were employed.

Never mind that humanity transformed the galaxy _twice_. The arrival of the Trans-Galactic Republic had been deeply unsettling; the notion that other humans existed in places outside known space had some extranet conspiracy theories running about humanity either being some kind of virus or in an odd twist, humanity as avatars of vengeful gods angry over perceived mistreatment.

"The average salarian will not live long enough to experience the many ways society will change due to human influence. We merely attempt to shape the outcome so as to minimize disruption." Clethon seemed resigned to possibly having his entire species rendered irrelevant should the human get his way. Still, should Grayson be heading in a Cerberus direction, he was unflinchingly _nice_ about it…

Tevos shared Clethon's feelings, except they were magnified by the immense length of the average asari's life.

"I can only hope that in your efforts to reshape society, that you will remember the rest of us, if we ever find a home again…"

The pettier part of her nature resented the fall of the asari as guiding protectors who'd steered the development of galactic society for a period of time exceeding several asari lifespans. Of course, that ability came with a bit of cheating—demanding everyone else hand over Prothean technology while hording a completely-functional Prothean beacon on their own homeworld, but had the galaxy not prospered? Now, everyone looked to the impulsive, sometimes downright reckless extra-galactic humans with their incredibly powerful navy, weapons, and advanced medical technology that simply outclassed anything that other races might throw at it. That the humans could be so selfless in their position when the asari gleefully made themselves masters of the universe caused no small amount of discomfort among the few asari who escaped Thessia's fall.

"We humans have a saying…" began Grayson, only to be cut off by a barking laugh from Victus.

"Garrus tells me you humans have many of them."

"This is true" replied the former Admiral. "Anyway, it is amazing what we can accomplish when no one cares who gets the credit. I've come to the conclusion your 'Citadel system' worked fine when everyone agreed to obey the oft-unspoken rules. Except when the Systems Alliance came along and challenged the current order, things weren't able to adapt as well as everyone would have liked."

"Adam Grayson, what would you do?" asked Tevos. "Forget about the Flood, forget about the war. You can arbitrarily reshape the government of our galaxy as you see fit. Explain to us how you would change things."

"I could go on a long spiel and try to make it out that all human systems are superior, or that we're some greater race for whatever reason, and because our institutions are better-able to handle the circumstances we've faced everyone should just let us do all the leading. But that's not what the Systems Alliance was about, and that isn't how the Trans-Galactic Republic operates. In fact, I believe the human system would utterly fail in this galaxy—a unicameral Senate with a chief executive standing atop a galaxy with this many interspecies issues would only make things worse. Even if no one is thinking about us-versus-them right now, someone will inevitably start. A human president means the asari, salarians, elcor, volus, quarians, vorcha, batarians, turians, drell, hanar, and geth not being able to exercise that power for the duration of the human's term. Until everyone, humans included, can move past viewing government as a zero-sum game, such a setup is doomed to fail as it stokes interspecies tensions."

"That is all well and good" replied Clethon. "But that does not answer the question about the fate of the galaxy."

"Truth be told, I don't know. Wasn't this meeting supposed to be about Shepard?"

Grayson knew what he didn't know—enough about the various species here—to suggest a solution to problems that predated the Trans-Galactic Republic's arrival by millennia. Still, there might be an opportunity to rebuild civilization and should that opportunity arise, he was determined to push everyone onto a better path than the one that let not one, but two existential threats storm through the gates.

[…]

Bill Arkansas Jakobs became aware the cloning operations on Plutus, previously thought safe (even from the rampaging Infection on the very same planet) had been disrupted which would trip up the previously-passed resolution to shake up existing power structures. A huge inconvenience stemmed from the prize, Athena, disappearing. A few of her sisters escaped and were able to warn of the loss and describe an apparent cession of Infection activity on the planet.

"I did not think this was as much of a deal as that Shepard woman made it out to be" he said to his board, satisfied at making the right call. "Now we just need to recover from damage to our speed-cloning so we may produce the altered personnel we need…"

Pickens Jakobs pointed out the infeasibility of obtaining more necessary Eridian relics. "The Trans-Galactic Republic may still control Pandora's northern polar area. Furthermore, our intelligence suggests a phenomenon that split the planet open to its core, which means navigation could be hazardous."

"Then we should find out what's actually going on" added Lawrence Jakobs, as if this conversation were boring and stupid (he thought it was). Why have a meeting to decide to take a very obvious action?

"Even still" interjected Clayton Jakobs, "we are on-track to have enough clones to either improve the efficiency of the _Farsight _dreadnaught or bring an additional 'destroyer' online within the next two months. Our efforts to permanently change the balance of power will succeed."

Dallas Jakobs held up a printed photo of Jackie. "And we're not held hostage or forced to bend to the whims of this screaming brat, either."

Bill decided to go public with his knowledge of Jackie's transformation.

"The Jackie you remember no longer exists. She called me a few weeks back, quite different than the woman we were used to. She's changed. As a person, she will likely be markedly better off, but in terms of doing what we need of her, she has made herself nearly useless."

Wayne wanted to know how a major family shareholder could be labeled "useless." Especially since most people who insulted Jackie learned harsh lessons, sometimes permanently.

"Jackie has served a…unique purpose." Pickens didn't want to get on the Chairman's bad side—the last time he'd complained about Jackie at a shareholder meeting he'd been told to cease or leave. "She has brought specific…um…assets to our marketing campaigns. And her interesting friendships with certain high-ranking individuals working at competitors certainly provided…amusement."

"You needn't talk around it" said Bill agreeably. "Jackie sold our products through pure, unadulterated sex appeal. The sort that works wonders on frontiersman-types who prefer our promethium-free weapons over any other that requires annoying amounts of maintenance. Her dalliances with Jack over at Hyperion only served to make them look incompetent—which, while it may not have boosted our sales, it did definitely damage their reputation. Tediore Capital Investments did not choose to backstop their Slingshot Project in any significant capacity…"

"We must send our operatives to investigate events on Pandora and allocate more resources for the other un-damaged Vaults inside Fort Jakobs. Acquisition of Eridian relics should be a top priority so we may produce more clones. Do I have a second?"

Lawrence hoped to get business done and leave. After all, they weren't Hyperion.

The motion passed easily. Cloning operations would accelerate, using DNA borrowed from several captives who were otherwise condemned to a boring, though not unpleasant, existence in Jakobs holding cells.

[…]

While Jakobs crowed about the lack of a threat from the Infection/Flood, the Eridians found themselves forced to confront the very thing they'd been desperately trying to avoid. Neither faction actually wanted to fight the Flood again—they just had vastly differing opinions on the best way to achieve the goal of preventing it. Unfortunately for them, the Flood from the past bore little resemblance to the Flood of the present. The Machines (having been dubbed "Ancient" at some time long ago) were indeed vulnerable and now that shortcoming showed very clearly as lines of them arrived already turned on their creators. If only Eridians from other planes managed to bring their Sentinels to this place… Having obtained some kind of ability from the very same element that let them through in the first place, these Flood-Machines charged across battlefields at impossible speeds, allowing them to bypass a good number of defenses. They were able to directly attack Eridian structures rather than being forced to run a gauntlet of heavily-armed, automated space stations, turrets, and other weapons.

_Fortress _vessels moved to intercept. Their powerful energy weapons cut many Flood to pieces, but were unable to damage those in the midst of a "charge"—where a ship, enveloped in a purple shaft of light, crossed immense distances unimaginably quickly.

**TYPICAL FLOOD TACTICS** roared a Reformer in a Conclave of Defense assembled when it became apparent an old enemy had returned.

**Typical tactics with an evolution** retorted a Pure Ecumene. **This is precisely why we believe handing the Mantle to others is a mistake—we could have solved this on our own.**

As debates over religion often went, whether the parties be Eridian, human, asari, or some other species, much conflict and hot air were had with very little resolution. Even faced with their own machines turned against them, buffed by powers that made many outlying defenses useless, Eridians would survive the onslaught. This brought up the question of who actually brought the Flood back to their space, and what to do about it.

A third faction began to emerge, mostly from the "Pure" side but with a handful of Mantle Reformers joining in as well: the radical notion that risk of interplane war be damned, Eridians should return to normal space and fight alongside the lesser species in hopes the Flood could be wiped out permanently. This position received strong advocacy from the Eridian (unbeknownst to them, the same Eridian) who both attempted to protect Sally McKnight and had conversations with Garrus/Nimitz/others.

**Oh, and no storing the Flood away for "study" this time…**

The Eridians from universes in which this unwise action took place would be probably be disciplined, at the risk of calling unwanted attention (again).

The anonymous low-ranking Lifeworker, now dubbed "the Champion" by his peers for his unceasing advocacy for the lesser races, decided in a moment of some hypocrisy to handle matters on his own. The Pure Mantle's believers felt handling of said mandate was served better by leaving it only in Eridian hands—yet here he was manipulating machinery that would grant extraordinary power to a single person in normal space. The power, specifically, to awaken and utilize Eridian weapons left in case exactly something like this happened and the makers of these devices were forced to fight in normal space. At a minimum, it might buy time while the Eridians themselves decided what to do.

Thus, Maya nearly crashed the simulated blastboat she'd been training on as her whole body seized up, which took her hands off the controls. Her posture resembled a jumping-jack while simultaneously remaining seated due to crash webbing, until whatever happened abated.

"Ow" she remarked, entirely devoid of any emotion.

Looking at her right arm, which _used _to be devoid of markings, she saw that not only had a whole new (asymmetrical) set of tattoos appeared, but the entire sleeve covering said tattoos had been incinerated.

"Maya!" barked her instructor. "You're supposed to be firing the missiles!"

"I think I have a lot more important things to do than firing virtual missiles…"

Unbuckling herself, the aspiring star pilot left her sim half-finished which caused a digital representation of her craft to smash into a _Prosecutor_ that served as target practice. Maya didn't quite know the meaning of her new fully-tattooed look, so she headed to the nearest weapons range to find out.

_If this was some Eridian thing, they forgot to include an instruction manual…_

Hefting a compact auto-blaster, she let loose on Flood-shaped holograms downrange.

"Welcome, [Maya]."

That the computer overseeing her progress still stilted/stuttered when pronouncing a name struck her as creepy. Considering available technology, it seemed like someone took a shortcut somewhere. Oh well—her score hadn't budged.

"Accuracy: 27%. Critical area hits: 7%."

She sighed. Secretly, it had been her hope to become some kind of borderline-all-powerful physical goddess like Sarah, even though Sarah's use of those powers were by most measures morally questionable. Putting that thought aside, at least she'd managed to grow beyond her miserable circumstances on a Pandora that didn't even exist in this universe. Maya kept wondering if she'd wake up next to Jack, or if an Eridian would yank her back to her own planet saying "Okay, experiment's over!"

The Siren decided to find Patricia Tannis.

[…]

"Log, Eridian Artifact number 7821: I have made limited headway regarding the glyphs carved into this item. It appears to have been some kind of ceremonial staff, or at least part of such a thing. Our trip to Eridian space both enhanced my knowledge and created additional questions. I hypothesize this belongs to, or belonged to, an individual of the Ecumene rank. Its luminosity has increased exponentially over the past five seconds of observation and I have no knowledge of any external stimuli that would have brought such a change about. I will…"

A beep told Tannis someone entered her lab space.

"Hello? Dr. Tannis?"

"The only people who call me that are…"

The scientist in question stopped speaking, mildly curious as to why the woman before her glowed so brightly.

"…have you noticed that you are emitting more light than most archeological spots?"

Maya looked around, then down at herself. She hadn't actually noticed this—as a matter of fact, to her, everything _else_ seemed to be self-lit somehow, but only in the lab. Turning to a nearby table, the Siren saw what looked like a brightly-glowing tube. Without asking, she grabbed it only for the rough-hewn (stone, maybe?) item to slide out of her hand. Trying to catch it, Maya found herself "holding" the artifact, both hands closed as if wrapped around it except for containing nothing but air as it hovered between her hands. Whatever it was, it moved with her as she swept back and forth. The blunt top let off a pulse of light after a particularly aggressive forward stab, followed by a series of crashing sounds. Within seconds, another similar-looking artifact "attached" itself above Maya's right hand, having blasted its way out of storage. Curious, the Siren tried a reverse-move, yielding the same result: a new Eridian relic below her left hand. All three lit up a brilliant whitish-blue with more patterns similar to the markings of a Siren.

"Are you trying to destroy the lab?" questioned Tannis angrily. "I cannot even begin to imagine the damage caused—both of these were stored among hundreds of other priceless, carefully-catalogued items of interest!"

"Hey, don't look at me. These things have minds of their own!"

"If you're done waving that…set of valuable Eridian carvings around…I'll be putting them back now!"

Maya placed the three stone pieces on a nearby table. Without her hands, they stopped glowing and became mottled grey once again, moving out of alignment with each other until they hit raised edges of the work surface meant to stop exactly this—things rolling off. Patricia Tannis barged the Siren out of the way, attempting to take "hold" of the trilogy as Maya had before. No reaction, not from grabbing the artifacts or from placing her hands in the empty space between re-aligned pieces.

Tannis threw up her hands in frustration.

"These must recognize the power of Sirens."

"In that case, I'm going to go touch everything!"

Maya ran off into lines of boxes big and small. Tannis could only sigh at the grown woman (she had to be what, mid-thirties—not that Tannis was ever good at estimating ages) expressing childlike enthusiasm, though a small part of her admired Maya's interest in Eridian anthropology, despite her strong belief that the Siren's intellect might not be up to the task.

Less than two minutes later, Tannis found her work interrupted again. Maya slammed a large rectangular piece down on her lab table, babbling excitedly about "some new weapon."

"You are clearly suffering from delusions."

Tannis knew on some level her haughtiness didn't win her friends, though her knowledge of the Eridians did leave her with much influence among those who mattered most. She failed to see what was so exciting about Artifact 1321—a rectangular prism slightly longer than the average arm. Its edges were curved, unevenly at that, but otherwise it offered nothing unique. Only when Maya took it off the table did Tannis notice something extremely odd: her hands disappeared inside the relic, along with portions of her arms. It was as though a rectangular façade existed that the Siren could somehow reach into or through—which became immediately apparent as the front end of an alleged "box" began spitting bluish-white bolts of energy.

"This is nonsensical! I cannot comprehend what I am seeing!" cried the baffled scientist.

Maya gave Tannis a look of confusion.

"It's…some kind of gun. Can't you see it?"

"I see a box. With your hands disappearing into it."

To Tannis' abject horror, Maya dropped her excruciatingly-catalogued item to the deck, where it made a loud "thunk" that seemed in line with its apparent shape. Grabbing a digipad, the blue-haired woman briefly sketched out what her companion ostensibly could not see. The supposed "weapon" took on a very fluid shape—a half-cone with flat front and a smaller half-cone on the bottom with a grip. At the weapon's back, another partial-shape combined with a protruding grip from the bottom suggested a two-handed device. All joints between the various components were rounded off, either concave or convex, matching the direction of edges joined. Indents in the weapon's casing running along its length completed a rather strange look.

"I would say you have quite an imagination, except for the scorch marks now apparent on the far wall."

The scientist tried to grab at Maya's supposed weapon near the places her hands seemed to merge into stone, only to have her fingers hit something solid: the cool stone surface she'd been handling previously.

"This makes no sense."

For the first time in a while, Tannis pouted.

[…]

Executive Minister Charles Day received yet more disturbing reports from Republic Spacelane Protection: this "infection" (or as RISE now called it, "Flood") contaminated almost a third of the Home Galaxy. Being aware of the Great Opportunities Fleet and its unexpected demise, the Executive Minister figured a full-on war was to be had. Instead, he faced a game of subterfuge befitting a HoloNet spy drama. The Flood steamrollered stellar neighbor Gamma-Six, using brute force to smash through any defenses, even those reinforced with Trans-Galactic Republic technology, ships, and personnel. Its apparent approach here reflected a different strategy. Instead of capturing as many ships and bodies as was physically possible, it seemed to have evolved to spread much more slowly, with symptoms manifesting themselves only after some length of time passed in which the patient exposed many others to Flood spores, emitted from the respiratory system in most cases.

Studies of Flood tissues combined with the small amount of data operatives managed to transmit from many light-years away suggested an alien unlike any seen before. Even the Symbiot Lifeforms responsible for Current abilities, whose existence had been mostly historical until recently, were not this nefarious. Viral agents attacked anything in sight. Bacteria multiplied without restraint. But this Flood—it modulated its own development until just the right moment, turbo-charging its growth at a time that would let the host spread the maximum amount of itself to others.

For a society that pledged openness along with its insipidly happy motto, the Trans-Galactic Republic's government attempted to keep both knowledge of Flood and awareness of a return of Channelers to itself as much as was feasible. What portion of this came from the Republic Intelligence Service and its notorious information-hoarding would be down for historians to debate centuries later. News anchors even alluded to it, saying things like "In the interest of avoiding panic, the Intelligence Service today declined to make available information on the Flood even when faced with a 'Floodlight Law' information request." The late-night pundits who then followed nightly news proceeded to poke fun at potentially causing the very effect the government sought to avoid—lurid descriptions of "Flood" with laser eyes, building-leaping legs, monomolecular claws, and blaster-proof skin abounded in seedier corners of the HoloNet. Less-informed citizens began to believe some of these allegations, despite little evidence to support them.

The Republic Intelligence Service didn't mind these rumors. If the Flood sounded tougher than it actually was, convincing the public to support additional Star Dreadnaughts or even more freedom-of-action for RISE wouldn't be difficult.

At present, it became much harder for quantum-armored supercarriers or under-construction Star Dreadnaughts to serve as an effective counter to an enemy the size of a few cells for those who actually knew how the Flood operated at the moment. One saving grace arose from being able to detect reservoirs of the Flood in some species, though a caveat followed of the carrier's usually horrific death shortly following injection of Flood-revealing chemicals, as if the parasite reacted to being found. Unusually tight quarantines around critical projects spawned yet more questions, though deflecting them was much easier since the general public knew of the Flood's infectious nature.

"And we've found out the hard way, Minister, that attempting to use bacta on a Flood victim or wounds with Flood cells will give you nightmares for weeks."

Indeed, Day retched into his wastebin upon watching holos detailing the process of Flood infection. These were observed firsthand by scientists at Garthmot based on holos taken from the initial incursion at the edge of the Home Galaxy. Explosively-fast takeover of the host, utter rejection of any attempts to attack with antibiotics, and of course the easy metabolization of bacta fueling even quicker growth with the possibility of limited self-healing later in the cycle should the newly-turned body be attacked. For the moment, the relative thinness of bacta (as opposed to medi-bac, unknown to Trans-Galactic Republic scientists here) prevented it from being fully utilized in the way it had been with Tanks on Omega. Still, cultured cells spread like wildfires in the presence of what was normally considered miracle fluid whether injured or not.

"We've not had to fight an enemy like this since well before the current government existed" he muttered. "Our approach to conflict needs a fundamental alteration."

His HoloNet transceiver buzzed. Whoever it was bypassed the usual layers of security between the galaxy's leader and any incoming callers.

For a notorious smuggling kingpin, John Jackson didn't conjure up images of a rough-hewn spacer or dirty pirate. Coiffed hair, distinguished face, tastefully-pricy suit. He'd been a gunrunner once, but long ago gave up that life as he became more involved in the management of a sprawling "alternative transportation" empire. As part of a semi-unspoken truce between his "colleagues" and the current administration, the latter would keep their hands off the former if smuggling avoided or minimized certain types of cargo (e.g. slaves). Plus, public opinion polls showed voters tended to care less about material smuggling than trafficking—the issue dropped about ten places in the "importance" list if it trafficking was specifically excluded from otherwise-illegal activity. Hence his unofficial-official access to the Executive Minister.

"Consider this a warning. Some within our council do not believe your government is doing enough to protect us from this extragalactic menace and are taking actions accordingly, without unanimous support."

Day disliked the notion the most powerful man (or woman) in the galaxy sat on the receiving end of vague near-threats from lawbreakers, but also appreciated the heads-up that something was about to explode.

"And what, pray tell, do these unnamed entities want me to do? I have the Republic Intelligence Service damn near taking control of all defense efforts, refugees fleeing from Flood areas, and now this?"

Johnson spoke slowly, carefully.

"There are those among us who are inclined to believe that the majority in this galaxy was ill-served by the failure to properly defend our neighbor, in which stellar brothers and sisters were wiped out by this…Flood, you say?"

_First time I've heard anyone openly admit there are closet racists among the smuggling titans…_

"The lexical change was…not my doing" replied Day, similarly coy. "Nevertheless, we had no firm knowledge of significant sapient presences in Gamma-Six."

_He's a politician, of course he'll claim no official knowledge of the times our traders flew to the edges of that place and saw way more activity than a galaxy supposedly hosting no intelligent life would have…_

"This is just a cautionary tale that some reactionary groups may soon take matters into their own hands."

John Jackson disconnected. Conversations with the Executive Minister were always awkward and short. Neither could be too candid lest the exchange be recorded and leaked by the other.

His erstwhile rival within the Band of Brothers, Jack Johnson, indeed insisted in private that the Republic's response to an invasion a galaxy over hadn't gone far enough, while Jackson insisted even sending the Great Opportunities Fleet represented a step too far. Terra Nova was an accident—you couldn't blame them for fending off a threat against themselves that also happened to endanger their hosts. But the "Opportunities" afforded by deploying vast numbers of Spacelane Protection assets on what looked like a feel-good cultural mission struck Johnson as a foolish waste of resources when a couple of envoy ships could have handled it.

The profits made by bringing certain technologies to pro-Human organizations in that distant land alongside the fleet kept most objectors to such involvement quiet until now. So long as their shares continued to flow, nobody placed ideology above additional credits easily earned. When that spigot shut off, though, head honchos accustomed to the additional revenue began seeking other sources, including ingratiating themselves with the Republic Intelligence Service. This suggestion caused others to balk. John Jackson led a faction that preferred stable, but lower returns from activities well within the bounds of noninterference agreements held with the Trans-Galactic Republic. Jack Johnson wanted to chase higher profits even if it meant intergalactic travel and/or cooperating with shady parts of the government who might make you disappear to settle debts instead of paying what was owed.

Such disappearances were what the Republic Intelligence Service wanted to secure, not for smugglers, but for individuals taken by the Flood. Footage of fast-acting Flood agents and their predictably gory results actually ended up undermining control efforts when the microbe elected to behave differently in the Home Galaxy—"If their face isn't exploding off, they can't possibly be carrying it" went the (bad) logic. Due to this, what was once contained at 10% of Home Galaxy territory ballooned to 33% in a very short timeframe. The biggest guns couldn't touch the problem, and the RISE Council recognized this even as the public face of the government put its faith in Flood testing kits (that often killed the examinee).

"So they want us to haul away people to conduct experiments on them?"

Scarlett DeWinter, one of the oldest members of the Band, had been one of the driving forces behind what was known internally as "Smuggling With a Smile"—no slavery, no prostitution, and limiting types of illegal drugs carried to Category III or lower (Categories I and II being those that the Trans-Galactic Republic rated as highest on "aggregate self-harm" risk). So now all of the sudden there were serious discussions about transferring patients to black-site labs under the guise that they'd already died? She didn't like this one bit.

Roscoe Woodfield argued it would make no difference, "As soon as that test needle goes in, they're dead anyway! Why not let them do something useful before dying?"

He'd been a proponent of "alternate investments" in the past, including the talking-but-not-officially with the Republic Intelligence Service.

Jack Johnson made his most open gesture yet at a Band of Brothers meeting indicating a strong "pro-Human" outlook.

"If these Humans are going to be killed, we might as well help find a cure to keep others like them from sharing their fate."

Several odd looks were earned from this comment. If Jack Johnson chose to publicly force a discussion amongst the Brothers (and Sisters) of who believed certain species to be superior to others, it was going to make things very tense, to put it mildly. DeWinter remembered the brutal gang wars thirty years ago—the mostly-Human-dominated cartels were heavily into trafficking non-Humans at the time both as labor and for other, darker purposes. The few which weren't run by Humans soon were courtesy of scandals, subterfuge, and at least one very suspicious "accident." The Executive Minster of the time, Natalie Buchanan, had been elected on a rather pro-Human platform and tried to ignore or rationalize the situation until the Home Senate threatened to remove her from office via a vote of no confidence. That the tenth member of the Trans-Galactic Republic joined only five years prior to that with Humans as a not-well-treated immigrant minority did no service to the situation.

As all politicians tend to do when an event would upend _everyone_ regardless of party or ideology if not addressed, a compromise emerged. One which would allow Buchanan to finish her term (mostly as a figurehead) while the Senate patched everything up. A Select Committee on Trafficking emerged as a sub-committee of the Select Committee on Smuggling (itself a subcommittee of the Committee on Sapient Rights). Recommendations included an expansive anti-slavery inspection/interdiction campaign, revamped education on the subject, and extreme prison terms for those caught engaging in the practice. A special tax was to be levied that would support these endeavors until they were "no longer necessary," applying to all Outer Rim traffic until protests by legitimate shippers torpedoed it. Many back-room deals ensued to which surprisingly few were privy to. Whatever it was, some collaboration between smugglers emerged that resulted in "Smuggling With a Smile" that held to this day. It may have had something to do with some within the Band preferring forgoing slave-revenue to a massive government crackdown, combined with angry traders who, in a successful effort to discourage the tax offered to work with the government on conducting "surprise inspections" (for which they would be paid and permitted to carry heavy armaments, of course).

DeWinter put on her sternest face (at over seventy standard years of age, she had plenty of practice). "You realize Humans are not the only ones to fall prey to this Infection, Flood, or whatever it is being called now. Focusing only on the fate of our species risks reigniting the very fires we quenched years ago in this exact chamber!"

"Then why does RISE only seem to want Humans?" countered Jack Johnson, speaking as if discussing something trivial like podracing bets or shockball scores.

Marvin McKee understood Johnson's affinity for his fellow Humans—in a sense it was pragmatic to cultivate ties to the majority of one's customer base in hopes of winning more business. However, when majorities were defined by species rather than, say, market niche, politics inevitably got dragged in and the whole situation turned into a mess.

"Let us not concern ourselves with the motivations of the Republic Intelligence Service" he reasoned. "Other than those which would impact us or our other customers, we have never considered the ideological leanings of our clients."

"But what of our missing recipients in the other galaxy? They have gone dark."

Kayla Verdansky's move from political heiress into free-trading caught many by surprise. Still, she'd entirely earned her position at the head of Eternal Moon through vicious subterfuge, applying political tactics to a smuggling organization—rising from thought-harmless "slave" to running the entire company in fifteen years. Now, she concerned herself with Human-centric efforts as befitting her past in elected office (never mind that very platform won her exactly one election—and that only on the back of the Verdansky name).

"By all means, Kalya" offered John Jackson, "if Eternal Moon wishes to fund expeditions to other galaxies to ascertain what happened at the risk of angering the government, you are free to do so without the support of this body."

Even though Jack Johnson had a strong desire to turn the Band of Brothers in a more Human-focused direction, he realized now that trying to do so at this juncture would be unproductive as none of his quiet allies were willing to take an open stand.

"We are supposed to be discussing the proposal from RISE" he corrected, trying to steer conversation back toward its original topic.

Sometimes-bitter-rival John Jackson resisted the urge to mock his compatriot. "Jack, need I remind you of who brought up the notion of Humans specifically needing additional protection…"

The All-Brother mantle had just rotated, and its new bearer dropped the hammer on everyone for falling out of line with the gathering's official purpose.

"Enough. We can break the unspoken rules barring personal views irrelevant to our profits from this chamber, or we can move forward with a lucrative contract."

Leonard Cortlandt, not known for raising his voice (which made his terms as All-Brother interesting), waited for the others to respond.

"I offer a motion to accept the Republic Intelligence Service contract as written with no amendments." John Jackson rose as he said this, knowing psychologically that would give him the impression of being in charge or at least having more influence for his position. The pro-Human pressure cooker remained sealed for now—by an 8-5 vote, it passed.

If the Republic Intelligence Service managed to make miracles happen with these walking dead, few would complain versus facing an entire galaxy taken over. Still, Smuggling with a Smile now needed an asterisk after it.

[…]

Garrus found himself sought out by Urdnot Wrex. The two were on friendly terms despite long-running species-wide animosity, so talking to the one turian who thought he was funny was pretty par for the course. Said turian didn't know how to answer the krogan's questions, though, which made him uncomfortable and wish for Shepard's involvement.

"What are we supposed to do?" growled Wrex. "The krogan, the drell, the hanar… Hell, even the batarians are all endangered species. The asari! What a fall!"

"I honestly don't know."

Garrus paced back and forth in the _Normandy_'s Combat Information Center. He recognized with changes wrought by Sarah and the Eridians that his missions to stir up the citizenry (or corporate-ry?) were now pointless and may actually have ended up undermining the goal by focusing resources on what now was the wrong target.

"You couldn't have predicted that one" laughed the krogan. "Some extra-universal bunch of weirdos shows up with the ability to destroy the Flood? And then refuses to get their hands dirty? Makes perfect sense to dump the mess on their doorstep."

The turian called up _Normandy_'s shipboard AI.

"Cortana, you once told many of us that _Nova Vita_ was a ploy, that it wasn't ever supposed to fly, it just bought cover for you to gather necessary materials. So what does your plan say now?"

"Did you ask the Eridians about the last time they reseeded an entire galaxy?"

She liked this 'turian.' No beating around the bush, no half-witted, hackneyed measures.

"That…never came up. Before you yell at me, hear me out. You're aware of the disappearance of _Elizabeth Booker, _correct?"

Cortana took on a pensive look before responding. "Yes, I am. Sally McKnight was returned to this fleet. However, I refrained from accessing files related to her departure and subsequent arrival."

_An AI with ethics. Everyone who thinks computerized intelligences are going to just automatically kill us really needs a perspective update!_

"Well, I don't have the decryption keys, but I can tell you more about that. The Eridians fled this universe, and many parallels like it, to escape the very thing that now plagues them."

"Them?" interrupted Cortana in a flash of purple-red. Extrapolating from Wrex's comment, she continued "Wait, you found a way to send the Flood to their universe? Why do you think that's going to force them to help us?"

Garrus updated her regarding the religious divide he, McKnight, Nimitz, Sarah, and others had observed upon being brought into Eridian space.

"So you're trying to exploit that conflict. Just like you attempted to stir the pot here."

Garrus reminded her of the Office of Naval Intelligence from her home universe. Not nearly as unethical, but still willing to take actions that she knew would offend moral sensibilities. Of course, that presumed morals were a luxury that could be afforded right now—if it took underhanded tricks to get impotent people or demigods to defend themselves she was all for it despite the reams of philosophical debate it would inspire later. Now it appeared no such actions were necessary, at least not with anyone in this dimension anyway.

"This time, I'm not lighting the whole fire" he countered. "These Eridians, Forerunners—they're basically gods from down here. I think it would be a tad presumptuous to say that our actions would compel them to do anything, but I'd rather have the Flood there than here."

"So we're pinning our existence on a few religious dissenters. Interesting gamble, especially since there's a heavy Flood presence in your galaxy already."

"The power of the few should not be underestimated."

The female krogan "Abra," who'd been subjected to combination therapy to cure the genophage, spoke up. She had been rather scarce, since two baby krogan could be a handful. Of course, krogan mothers of old used to care for clutches of thousands, so by that standard her life was easy. However, keeping her and Wrex's offspring out of trouble aboard a giant starship wherein curiosity could be lethal meant an extra-close watch.

"This isn't exactly how I would go about rebuilding a race…"

Even though he tended to make decisions that skirted some notions of morality, the idea of setting oneself up as a god/emperor and reshaping an entire species due to most of it being wiped out felt…off to him.

Wrex, however, displayed no such disinclination.

"You know, I enjoy headbutting, but at least there are going to be far fewer like Wreav now. Maybe the krogan can have a future sooner rather than later. I'll take it."

"Well, that's great, but does anyone have a superweapon that can solve _everyone_'s problem?"

"Nope, still gotta work for it, Garrus."

The turian looked slightly disappointed after Wrex's comment.


	57. Revenge is Awesome

**Chapter 56 – Revenge is Awesome**

Brick and Jack found themselves doing the vast majority of teaching seeing as most KOMBT School staff died during the Citadel Rout and Nimitz's promised support never materialized. Well, most of the teaching that could be tangentially related to actual fighting, anyway. Subjects not involving either shooting or punching got pushed aside given the circumstances.

"Who needs calculus when you have punching?" enthused Brick, announcing anything not part of the "Fight Club" of courses had been "indefinitely suspended."

Cheers broke out amongst the assembled students, until Jack shushed them.

"Do you really think you're going to get out of your math tests forever? Guess how that Revenant machine gun in your hand got built? Not by throwing metal in a heap until it worked!"

Elation abated after Jack suggested everything being put on hold would double-down-resume "once we've kicked that sorry extra-galactic science experiment's ass!" (Departure from the Citadel also caused her to loosen up on "lesser" curse words.)

A particularly vicious sparring bout followed morning assembly that saw Rachel Arkadios and Catalina Rodriguez cooling down in a lounge near the women's lockers.

"What are we supposed to do, Rachel?"

"Like I know. We're just teenagers! We should be looking at military signing bonuses or higher education, not fighting a battle for the existence of our species!"

Jack noticed the pair and walked over.

"Done practicing for the morning? I'm surprised."

"Screw you, ma'am" sassed Catalina. "We're exhausted, and what's the point?"

Jack restrained herself, visible through pursed lips and a furrowed brow. Consequently, her voice came out stilted and choked as she fought tears and anger at the same time.

"Do you recall what happened the last time anyone stood up to that purple-haired bitch? I don't think you understand what it means to be perfectly willing to die for someone else, do you? You're too young for that…"

Jack checked over her shoulder. She half-expected to find that Sarah heard her every word, but no such event occurred.

The two students straightened up and dropped any pretense of comedy.

"No ma'am."

"Good. You don't need to learn that, but the way things are going you may find yourself enrolled in real life faster than you think."

She wouldn't apologize for her mini-outburst, but thought it best to change the subject.

"James Vega is dead" she added with almost no emotion.

Catalina tipped over in shock. The chaos of war, even in its simmering state, meant information did not always get disseminated to relevant parties in reasonable amounts of time if said information wasn't tactically or strategically useful.

"He got skewered by Flood during a raid" she finished. She wasn't about to give details regarding what was technically classified.

"This afternoon, the older students, yourselves included, are going to be told once and for all what we're really facing. The Council and their namby-pambies kept telling us you couldn't handle it, you weren't ready. Brick and I have higher opinions of your nerves, and to be brutally honest you may end up fighting it same as us!"

Shiala gave a brief opening speech once all students sixteen or over had been assembled.

"I realize the variety of instruction you've had recently hasn't been up to the usual standard" she began. "But many of your instructors are no longer with us. There is no point in hiding that fact."

Rumors abounded among the students, some refusing to believe almost everyone responsible for their professional growth either died or suffered horrific fates. Many believed their crafty, often-ex-military instructors were "just hiding" and hadn't been caught up in Nimitz's fleetwide inventory. Statistically, it was possible—there were millions of living beings aboard the hodgepodge group of ships into which one or two might vanish. Stemming from this belief, a murmur moved through the assembled crowd.

"I understand it is difficult to accept, however, it is unwise to hold out hope when all evidence points to the contrary. It is not healthy."

"Whether they're alive or dead" started Brick, "we're gonna make sure nobody else follows them! We are going to exterminate these invaders, string them up with their own twisted guts, and paint them with their own blood!"

His voice rose into a thundering crescendo.

"We are going to burn this Flood to ashes. And once there's nothing left…"

Jack pushed Brick out of the way. She loved his enthusiasm for violence and destruction (especially now), however whipping the students until all they saw was red wouldn't get them accepted into actual units like she wanted.

_Here I am talking about discipline. Damn you, Shepard!_

"As much as Mr. Slab here is right about how we're going to eradicate the Flood, bloodlust alone won't do it. I remember your mutterings about 'piss off' and 'hypocrite' when I told you to march in formation when you thought I couldn't hear you! Guess what? Tough shit, losers—either form up or ship out! We've been focusing on a balanced approach between killing things and avoiding being killed, but what we haven't done is drill some sense of orders into you! Sure, you do what I say 'cause if you don't I'll wallop you across the field, but that can't be your only motivation to do…stuff."

Jack launched into a semi-detailed description of the Flood she'd both faced and heard about.

"And that is why you follow orders" bellowed Brick. "And even if you do, sometimes shit happens anyway."

He accentuated the point by clanking his huge mechanical appendage.

"Do you know how I got this?"

Hearing silence, he related the loss of his left arm.

"I wasn't even _on_ the front lines. No punching, they said. Too risky, they said! So I switched to guns. Still lost my arm though!"

Jack rolled her eyes. His speech seemed to partially-undermine the whole notion of "following orders is better"—he'd done exactly that, and had his left arm lopped off.

"The point is, the freewheeling shit we do here won't apply in the future if you're fighting under someone else, so you're going to have to get used to it!"

[…]

Admiral Allison Nimitz found herself confronted by an armored Siren—specifically, the less-aged iteration of Maya who took anything she could get her hands on out of Patricia Tannis' artifact stockpiles. Unlike the flummoxed scientist, Nimitz could in fact see what Maya babbled about—a curved, glowy weapon around the size of a blaster rifle, armor apparently made out of pure energy (or a very luminous substance), and a set of truncated-cones on a ring.

"So, Second Lieutenant, explain why you are wearing a costume and standing in my office."

"Well, considering everyone else thinks I'm a walking pile of stone, some kind of 'golem' they say, you must be able to see it!"

The admiral nodded. "Yes. You are wearing quite the regalia of what I assume to be items of Eridian origin."

"Apparently, we're the only ones who can see it" replied Maya. "Tannis went on and on about how nonsensical I look."

"I've never had a reason to spend any time examining artifacts. I had no idea Sirens, or in my case, apparently a failed Siren, could make use of these things as something other than building blocks or decorations."

Nimitz couldn't answer Maya's question about _why_ she'd been made part-Siren.

"As I've told you, I have some of the tattoos, but none of the powers. The Eridian who told me about these things only suggested there were technical reasons why I never became a Siren like you. He, or at least I think it was a he, said something about Sirens actually meaning 'Legion Protectors,' or something like that. They were intended to have the power that Sarah does, but only when working together, in order to prevent the power-mad insanity Sarah experienced."

"I've tried this gun at the weapon range. It's thoroughly average."

Maya's head drooped in disappointment.

"Thoroughly average against our targets, Maya." Nimitz dropped the rank and assumed a more motherly tone. "Remember, these weapons, if they do what we think they are meant to, were built to kill Flood—not smash target dummies. That gun could have completely unknown effects that only show when it's used against its intended target."

"Admiral, permission to test this and other weapons against intended targets?"

"That's more like it, pilot. I won't send you on a solo mission just yet—so let me see…"

Garrus Vakarian's omnitool beeped. A blinking icon indicated a converted Trans-Galactic Republic signal—must be important, he thought.

"Provisional Operations Commander."

"Admiral."

He saluted and stood up.

"You ready to kill more Flood?"

"Absolutely, Admiral. How would you like them, crispy or vaporized?"

The turian pulled a sniper rifle from his SDU and began examining it longingly. He'd taken to using Revenant machine guns due to the simple fact that against the numerous Flood, precision wasn't important—sheer fire volume was.

"Neither, Commander. What I need from you is to serve as a second to another."

Garrus recoiled like he'd been slapped, though how much of this was visible over an omnitool link he didn't know.

"You recall the two Mayas, Commander?"

"The younger seemed very enthusiastic about piloting" replied Garrus. "Though, she didn't get much of a chance to do it…"

"While you've been away on your missions, which despite the apparent lack of intended response were otherwise successful, the one to whom you refer has been training."

Realizing where this conversation headed, he made an educated guess.

"You want me to co-pilot for her, keep her from, say, hyperspacing through a black hole."

Nimitz laughed. "I don't think her problem would be flying through stellar anomalies, though there are more of those around than you'd think. Just make sure she doesn't drop herself in an untenable situation."

"Can do. I will leave Miranda Lawson in charge of _Normandy_."

A short while later, Nimitz met Garrus and Maya in a small hanger bay that held a half-dozen assault craft.

"These 'boats carry double the normal missile load and a limited micro-manufacturing plant to restock missile supplies. Their shields are double-charged by default but they take a penalty of 15% lower maximum speed and reduced agility."

Heads nodded in acknowledgement of the Admiral's proclamation.

"The one thing you'll need in abundance is patience" continued Nimitz. "I'm not about to let an inexperienced pilot fly our fastest and most valuable ship, even under the guidance of a supreme commanding officer like Garrus Vakarian…"

A blinding purple flash alerted everyone to the presence of another. Considering past history, only one person made entrances like that.

Before anyone could say anything, she spoke.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it—everyone hates me, I'm terrible, yadda yadda yadda. But if you want quick transportation…"

"From a military standpoint, it doesn't matter what she did, only what she is offering now, so long as no ulterior motivations exist" said Garrus rather stiffly, well-aware of the awkwardness that usually ensued from referring to a present party in the third person.

On cue, a pause stretched longer and longer.

"If you won't take it from me, maybe you'll take it from her instead."

A hologram of Jackie appeared.

"I realize that for the past thirty-plus years, I have been by most standards, not the best person. I was selfish. I was cruel. I did not care about the consequences of my choices. The only value I saw in others was what they could do for me. I'm not here to beg for forgiveness or say that I'm now perfect, but you all have allowed me to make contributions to your cause, which you have allowed me to share. Now, in particular—I know what the Garrus's and Shepard's are thinking. If Jackie steps out of line, we put her down with a bullet. Sarah? Good luck. Think of it this way—if she wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

Garrus successfully held off a desire to make sarcastic comments about how Sarah must have forced Jackie, through Current mastery, to make this little speech. Samantha Shepard took a lot of crazy chances over the course of her career—Wrex, Jack, Grunt, _Legion_, _**the whole suicide mission**__, _the Omega assault… She'd made some sub-par choices under the influence of untreated depression, but appeared to have bounced back. Whether she'd actually handled the trauma mentally he did not know, but she'd gotten enough of a handle on it to put herself back in combat against the most dangerous adversary the galaxies yet faced.

Sarah stared expectantly. She figured she'd get a tell-off or orders to take herself elsewhere.

"We've all done things in this war that make us sick to our stomachs" lectured Nimitz, as if conducting a class on combat ethics. "I have signed contracts to lease materiel from war criminals. I have provided shelter to a mass murderer. Fleets obligated to uphold military law that isn't even technically being applied to a military have broken it repeatedly by associating with state-sponsored terrorism and deliberate slaughter of civilians."

She looked Sarah in the eye.

"I would _like_ to throw this woman out the airlock. I would _like_ to have her tried for capital crimes against civilization. I would _like_ to toss her into the heart of _Ultimatum_. Thing is, I'm not entirely sure either of those would kill her! Also, considering that the Eridians offered a pretty convincing explanation of why all this happened, I'm inclined to make use of a valuable asset wherever I find it."

"I get it. I'm equipment, not crew. I will sit in the back of the ship, awaiting orders quietly pretending I don't exist."

Without saying anything, Garrus motioned Maya and the second Siren aboard. Before he could start up the ramp, Nimitz grabbed him.

"If she kills you, we're at the mercy of whether Samantha Shepard can step up again. So be careful."

"I'm sure there are others that can pick up where she left off" he insisted. "Relying on one person to accomplish everything isn't really fair."

"I'm still letting her know about this."

The hatch shut behind Garrus.

"Now, where are we going?"

[…]

RNS _Quicksand_ caught a misappropriated assault frigate in its gravity wells during what appeared to be a routine patrol. Finding it had been taken in Gamma-Six just made things look worse.

"The entire galaxy was collapsing!" protested Kael'Shiro vas Honorata. "We were looking for a way out!"

"So you stole a ship that was in for repairs."

"I won't deny that and will gladly suffer the consequences. What's more important are these coordinates!"

His interrogator looked with disdain at the datapad thrust into her hands.

"If you're going to lay traps, at least be more clever about it." She snorted. This was insulting. In the meantime, information regarding the recovered vessel flowed to Fleet Command on _Ultimatum_.

Nimitz, having returned to her office after seeing Garrus off (and fervently hoping he hadn't made a mistake trusting the abominable Sarah), found her terminal beeping frantically.

"What could it possibly be this time? Did someone clog the toilet?"

Text scrolled across her holographic screen.

Signature match for ship on watch list received at 1543 hours

Locating vessel: RNS _Quicksand_

Target: RNS _Midsummer's Day_

Notes: Target captured by quarians. Artificial intelligence "Cortana" claims these quarians have valuable information concerning refugees trapped between galaxies. _Quicksand_ has boarded and re-secured Target; arrests underway.

Within five minutes, Kael found himself facing the same interrogator, now remarkably less hostile.

"I have received orders from Fleet Command that verify the claim of ships in distress. You will be released but monitored until the recovery is complete."

Without realspace gravity influences, travel between galaxies via hyperdrive proceeded faster than within a star cluster. Not fast enough to make frequent trips practical or tolerable, but quick enough to see assistance arrive at the dispersed diaspora of Citadel starships who fled their galaxy's collapse before all of them ended up dead from lack of resources.

At first, things looked bad. The ships closest to Gamma-Three (by a margin of a few hundred to a few thousand lightyears) had no lifesigns. Entire crews died of heat exposure since no system known to Citadel science could vent buildups quickly enough at superluminal speeds over long distances. A few ships' atmospheres bore the distinct, unpleasant, metallic smell of electric discharge. Unable to empty built-up energy from drive cores, these vessels suffered catastrophic overloads that cooked their crews alive in much more painful ways than heat exposure.

The next wave discovered by Trans-Galactic Republic recovery cruisers were at least alive.

"I strongly discouraged units from running their faster-than-light engines at that level of output for sustained periods" said Phinnian Quius sadly. "They insisted…"

Groups of turians were quickly evacuated to Trans-Galactic Republic ships. Some were treated for carbon dioxide poisoning as air filters aboard their transports had begun to fail. Most would avoid death by lack of air. Death through lack of provisions, however, raised another issue. Trans-Galactic Republic chefs knew nothing about dextro-based food and could not supply nutrients using conventional means. Some basic understanding of turian biology allowed the few critical patients to receive limited intravenous support.

Following groups of turians were the asari that escaped Thessia's fall and also pulled off a second flight from the Citadel as it became a Flood control center. As levo-based lifeforms, supplying them with food wasn't a problem. In fact, very few asari displayed any sort of illness.

"We knew that we were likely going to die, but we wanted to hold out for as long as we could" said Moatiana Reya, a matriarch. "Even though our FTL could propel us far faster than any other Citadel technology, nobody wanted to cook to death or be electrocuted."

Tragedy struck as an un-discharged drive core aboard an asari heavy cruiser overloaded before discharge-couplings could be attached to it. Casualties were severe, but thanks to prompt Trans-Galactic Republic action not everyone ended up dead. The few that lived suffered severe burns (some internal), neurological damage, and of course the pain that went along with such injuries. Bacta put most of them right rather quickly, though more than a few lost significant biotic capacity due to permanently-scarred nerve endings.

Human fleets came next. Admiral Steven Hackett gladly transferred refugees from the few ships with functioning life support to Trans-Galactic Republic rescuers.

"We took as many as we could. In hindsight, that was probably a poor choice since it stretched food and air to the limit and beyond. It's hard to say no to panicking civilians—it would have felt wrong to leave them behind given what the Flood tends to do. Almost better to die out here. That won't happen, thanks to you."

Several human ships were adrift having chosen to shut off drive cores and a sequential set of systems rather than overheat to the point of certain death. A few semi-feral survivors were located, having managed to live in extremely hot conditions using distasteful means to secure food. They would be rehabilitated to handle their actions combined with survivor's guilt. Obviously, humans were the simplest to treat with a recovery rate of 97% for those found alive.

Salarian evacuees' vessels mixed among the humans and fell behind into groups of their own. Interestingly, they'd taken a very asari-like view of avoiding heat/energy problems, meaning not a single death was recorded due to reactor charge or heat. Sadly, the hyper-active metabolism of salarians resulted in a high mortality rate due to lack of provisions, and recoveries-per-ship tended to be less than 50%.

Quarians inhabiting Trans-Galactic Republic freighters and other craft were so far ahead of their brethren that rescue fleets blew past them on the first run, thinking them friendlies in no need of assistance. Only after repeated distress calls were registered did some Trans-Galactic Republic forces turn about and handle the galactic nomads' problems. Without heat or drive core limitations, some ships were almost halfway across the gap by the time they were located. Quarians, being quarians, managed to squeeze impressive improvements out of technology they'd never seen before—nearly doubling the performance of engines thought optimized to their peak. One large psychological issue arose from sleep deprivation. These Trans-Galactic Republic ships were in good repair and fairly new, leaving no "comforting noise" to let those aboard know nothing was about to go catastrophically wrong. Most quarians found this unnerving.

Just like turians, quarians' unique biology presented a problem for recovery crews ill-equipped to handle differing chiralities among species—such patterns had never been observed in higher-order lifeforms across any of the Trans-Galactic Republic's ten members.

"How many survived? Do I even want to know?"

Ernest Baldwin of RNS _Stellar Embrace_ immediately regretted asking for more details. Survival rates for the ships found were acceptable, but when compared to the entire population of the galaxy they'd fled (estimated conservatively to be in the tens of trillions before Reapers, Flood, or Sarah) it made him sick. That he personally could have done nothing didn't put his mind at ease either.

Quarian captain Kael'Shiro vas Honorata received a hero's welcome from the evacuation fleets when they became aware that his original act of desperate piracy gave the dispersed ships a chance. Under popular pressure, Admiral Nimitz personally intervened to wipe any charges, so long as he returned the ship. Engineers were floored by the myriad improvements made by bored quarians looking for ways to keep themselves occupied. Some alterations were rather ramshackle, but still pointed to possible developments that could be done more safely when applied using proper manufacturing processes.

A few of other species not found in their own unique group were discovered, but appeared in extremely small numbers. Batarians had ended up among the humans, of all places. While they looked scary, the average batarian turned out to be about ten times less fanatical than their paranoid, now extinct government had been. Most were simply grateful for a spot on a ship, any ship. Even human ships. A handful of drell who'd come to the Citadel to serve as expert snipers escaped aboard asari vessels. A pair of elcor who were conversing near the docks landed a not-so-plumb space in a turian cruiser's hold.

Nimitz spoke to Cortana, now projected from the Master Chief's helmet.

"We saved who we could find, but to be honest there weren't too many. Their limited technology led to a lot of deaths…"

"Which is why it's more important than ever that I be granted access to cloning facilities."

The Chief didn't recall ever hearing Cortana beg for anything, at least not outside her captivity with the Gravemind. Now, she sounded positively desperate.

"I've told you before and I'll say it again—our ability to copy living beings is limited and has only seen use for creating armies! I don't know that it will work, and I can't spare the resources right now to try."

"Your records indicate several extinct species were brought back." The Master Chief tended to stay out of debates like this, but genocide did not pass on his watch.

"Those were _animals_" countered Nimitz. "Nowhere near sapient life! And a good number of sapient clones were only grown at speed due to Current Channeler involvement!"

"Then get the one you have."

"You're shitting me if you think I'm going to let that loon have a shot at shaping lifeforms" spat Nimitz.

"The other. The cop" he clarified.

"I will take this under advisement, but until the Flood is dealt with—you of all people!"

"There's no rule against doing both at once" argued Cortana.

[…]

Maya couldn't have cared less about preserving life at the moment. Her mission was to seek out and destroy that which threatened every lifeform not like itself. With Sarah to teleport the blastboat around and Garrus to man guns, Maya focused on flying. She needed to find a suitable planet where combat against the Flood wouldn't mean instant death (that is, a world partially but not completely infested). Sensors showed significant bio-readings on Rhea in the Phoebe system, which made sense since Flood had poured through Jakobs slipcelerators on Plutus. Plus, the Flood seemed to focus on "garden"-type worlds while avoiding less temperate climates such as nearby Alke—an iceball.

Sarah offered to drop the trio onto Rhea's surface, however Maya politely declined in pursuit of more experience in blastboat operation. She put the ship down gently, barely bumping her passengers as her many hours in simulators taught.

"Thank you for choosing Siren Express, direct flight to the mouth of hell. You will earn 500 Eridium credits from this flight. You may now move about the cabin."

Garrus figured he'd just follow Maya around, making sure she stayed far enough away from any item of concern. What he hadn't been shown shocked him.

"Maya? Is that you?"

Just like every other non-Siren, his eyes told him a moving pile of stone stood at the blastboat's hatch. A moving pile of stone that spoke with Maya's voice.

"It looks weird, don't worry about it—just let me know if I'm going to get jumped from behind or something."

"Ooookay." The turian recalled his fair share of strange sights both while in C-Sec and during his service with Samantha Shepard. _Especially_ during his time with Shepard. First, her technically being undead. Then there was the small matter of a Reaper, followed by a second (baby) Reaper which she defeated on foot no less. Plus, he thought darkly, her involvement with the defunct United Defense Command. That represented the strangest thing of all—seeing someone who had been so dedicated to serving others be twisted by an insane tyrant who took advantage (knowingly or not) of her shattered mental state. So, really, a walking, talking assemblage of stone-like items hardly rated notice.

He stood back as a blocky _thing_ strutted down the ramp with a sense of purpose he'd never seen from this woman before. Having landed near Flood, she opened fire on the first thing in sight: a pile of biomass that looked like some kind of animal den. Bolts of bluish-white light zipped from what he presumed would be a barrel and impacted the target—sticking out like pins for a split second before shattering and ripping even further into the mound of flesh. So far, a handheld scanner showed no sign of significant Flood activity. Not that one attack would draw much of a response—a herd of treast on Palaven would not look up if one of its members strayed and was attacked. Better to let the weak be culled than to risk the entire herd to drive off one hungry ulang.

Maya dialed up the power on her Eridian weapon. Doing so lowered its firing rate, but vastly increased the destruction caused. She pulled the trigger again and again, sending spikes of light into a mat of living matter that covered everything for kilometers ahead. It frustrated the Siren that no Flood lifeforms emerged to challenge her, that no defenders contested wanton obliteration of what she presumed was the Flood "ecosystem" if it could so be called. Maya chanced a look down at her hip where she'd fastened some strange truncated-cones found among Tannis' many relics. She figured them to be some kind of weapon (perhaps grenades), but noticed a specific one of them glowed now. Its symbol emitted a fiery orange-red while the others remained dull and unlit. She touched the glowing one, only to be seized up by an unseen force, unable to move for a few seconds before toppling over.

Garrus trotted to the side of his fallen charge.

_They are going to kill me for this…_

"Maya! Maya!" He shook the woman several times.

"What happened?" She reacted as if woken from a deep sleep. Without warning, her eyes snapped into focus, her muscles tensed, and she stood. "I know where we need to go. Back to the blastboat."

Her turian guide didn't say anything about "back to the blastboat" being irrelevant. The craft sat less than five meters away.

"Of course" he muttered as the ship took off. "Deeper into Flood territory. Wouldn't be fun without a challenge though!"

He still preferred his own turian heavy armor to the quickly-digistructed MISTILTEINN, but refrained from complaining on the grounds that it did a far better job protecting from Flood spores than normal armor designs. As helmet met seal, he wondered if the universe had truly gone insane.

_Yes it has. You're playing tutor to a woman from another universe while a second woman who's committed mass murder serves as a teleportation device in the back of a ship from a different galaxy. Yes, Garrus, the universe has in fact gone insane._

A dull roar filled the cabin of _Gamma-Mu 8_ as it hammered through Rhea's atmosphere. Without noise-cancelling, the ship's insulation only did so much.

"How much further?"

"We get there when we get there!"

Garrus sheepishly refrained from asking anything else about arrival times. He still wanted to know where "there" was.

"I don't know. The Eridians, I think, sent me a vision—some fantastic weapon buried in a vault on this planet. Here's the key!"

She took one hand off the controls to unhook a single truncated cone—the one with a very brightly-illuminated symbol on it. Had anyone involved in slaying the Warrior or Handsome Jack seen it, they would have recognized a miniature Vault Key, but none were present.

"And yes, apparently it's at the north pole—the Eridians seem to have a fascination with that or something…"

"North pole, north pole…"

Suddenly, Garrus realized why, as inconvenient as this was, it made perfect sense.

"When I first heard about the Flood, someone mentioned it did not do well in frigid climates. If the Eridians were going to store away weapons, hiding them in the coldest place possible would reduce the chance of any Flood finding or taking those weapons."

"So did anyone pack cold weather gear?"

Maya learned much over the course of her development as a fighter pilot. However, her limited education still showed—she remained unaware most modern multipurpose armor qualified as "weatherized" for both ends of the temperature spectrum. Plus, aside from a few people who irritated Jack, earning themselves a one-way ticket to the Ice Caverns/Fridge, Pandora that Maya knew consisted mostly of warmth and even sandy desert.

"Do I look naked?" jibed Garrus. "This MISTILTEINN armor handles anything from three hundred below to four-fifty above zero. Yours is in the back."

Maya engaged automatic pilot and headed to the rear of the craft. She stopped for a moment, recalling who was also back there.

"She doesn't bite!" shouted Garrus. "She probably won't even talk to you unless you speak to her first."

The pilot found Sarah seated on the deck reading a datapad. Ignoring everyone's favorite nemesis (which was hard considering her size), Maya squeezed past the gigantic woman to get into an armor locker. Her new MISTILTEINN had been digistructed in the dark blue she'd requested. After examining it for the first time, she called up Garrus over her omni-tool, as it looked nothing like the combat outfits she'd seen in Moxxi's Ore Chasm combat arena.

"This armor looks weird. You wouldn't even know who I am, or that I'm a woman…"

Before Garrus could answer (he'd occupied himself with an omnitool game), Sarah spoke up. Post-Eridian, Sarah's old personality with its sarcasm and mocking made a resurgence, not that anyone except perhaps Bailey would even know that it existed in the first place. She had no idea of the change as it happened naturally the more she (re)learned about things other than very rigid orders of "Everything that might disrupt the universe must die, now."

"What's more important in combat, them knowing you've got tits or keeping projectiles away?"

"This isn't some video game!" protested Maya. "We don't _have_ to wear entirely-male-looking armor…do we? Where I was from, shielding got incorporated into everything so it didn't matter what you wore underneath!"

"You don't, huh? Remember Jackie?"

Maya's first encounter with a then-despised Jackie revolved around her duplicate native to this universe being slapped for insulting said person. She wasn't about to forget that anytime soon.

"In the middle of a hellhole, you do not want to call attention to the fact that you're a woman."

Maya shivered at the thought. Her treatment at the hands of Handsome Jack had been nothing short of vile, though Lilith often suffered more and Moxxi prior to her death received the worst "attention." She'd been so happy to be in a new universe Maya hadn't bothered to imagine such behavior could be possible in it—she'd spent so much of her time among people who were entirely normal compared to those she'd lived among previously. No constant innuendos, perverted jokes, or expected tolerance of physical harassment.

"Also, there's the matter of physics to consider… Do you really want to focus all of a shot's impact right over your heart to show off your assets?"

Sarah stood and rummaged through another armory locker. Things flew everywhere—some that the shorter Siren didn't recognize beyond their basic purpose. Weapon (disruptor rifle). Weapon (shotgun). Ammo (rocket clip). Datapad. Bodysuit. Boot. Communicator. ECHO device. A sock. She finally grasped a piece of greyish cloth, which she tossed at Maya. Everything else landed in front of a door with "H2 Pump" printed on it.

"Hold that."

More rattling and clunking as Sarah tore through the storage unit to the right, until…

"Here we are, power source."

She draped the cloth over the protesting Siren. "What are you doing?"

"Something good" replied Sarah with more force than she intended. "I still think what I did was right based on sheer necessity, but I intend to make a positive impression along the moral lines that seem to prevail in this universe."

Maya looked down—the grey fabric indeed covered her chest but still left the impression of breasts. She jumped as Sarah connected her power source to the cloth, which hardened and gave a mild shock.

"Brace yourself."

Maya didn't know what to expect, until Sarah's palm slammed into her chest, knocking the wind out of her and leaving the Siren in considerable pain, focused on two specific places.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"Learning."

Yanking the hardened armorweave away, Sarah pulled its power, shaped it, and replaced it before reconnecting it.

"You better not…"

She wasn't permitted to finish her sentence.

"Ooooof!"

"Tell me. Did that hurt less?"

Grimacing, Maya forced herself to admit that it did.

"Now imagine if it wasn't just me tapping you. Like this shotgun" (she hefted one of several weapons she'd tossed out).

Only at a cleared throat did both women realize Garrus stood in the doorway.

"Playing a little rough, are we?"

"This woman knows nothing of armor. She requested an explanation of why the 'combat' clothing she was familiar with represented a poor tactical choice. I have shown her why this is the case."

"I…didn't ask…to be punched in the chest!" protested Maya through hitched breaths.

"Would you rather I explain the finer niceties of what happens to us women when our wardrobes eschew function for form? I could describe in excruciating detail what occurs when…"

Seeing Sarah apparently about to take off her bodysuit, Garrus intervened.

"That's not necessary. I think Maya has learned a rather…unorthodox lesson today. As have I."

Sarah glared at Garrus. "Which is?"

"Anyone can change who they are. It doesn't make past doings go away, or absolve them for undesirable actions, but at least I, as an individual, can begin treating such people differently."

"You already knew that. You also struggled with Jackie—but me, oh you could _not_ figure out what to do."

Now Sarah couldn't keep the taunting out of her voice. Before Garrus could open his mandibles to question how she knew his private thoughts, she answered for him.

"Your private thoughts aren't so private if I want to dig through them. Turian military training has nothing on the powers of the Current."

"That's kind of rude" he insisted.

"What does it matter? You would have told me the same anyway."

_Actually, no I wouldn't._

"You think you can deceive me, pretend that you had a logical reason for not wanting to at least cooperate with me even though you hate me for burning a good chunk of your galaxy. Given the stakes, you've rationalized leaving me cooped up when I could represent one of your best hopes."

"The humans have a saying…"

"…fruit of the poisoned tree" finished the Siren triumphantly. "What if that fruit's a cure for an otherwise-unstoppable disease?"

"I don't accept that" said Garrus as firmly as he could. "I don't believe that we have only you as an option. As I recall, you weren't able to stop the Flood even though that's what the Eridians created you to do!"

"Who said the drug had to work alone? I've noticed my reliance on solely other Current Channelers and disregard for the native species of this realm may have been a tad shortsighted. But if we work together, the Flood may have a shorter shelf life."

"Your big shtick was _not_ working together!" exclaimed Garrus rather exasperatedly. "Everything I've heard about you from Shepard, Jack, Brick… It was all about how you were a one-woman solution and we just got in the way."

"Your perception is outdated" replied Sarah flatly. "While this was true in the recent past, it is no longer the case. I was operating under rather _forced_ circumstances when I held that viewpoint. Furthermore, is it not logical to utilize different methods when the first fails?"

Beeping from the autopilot disrupted any further discussion. Maya rushed forward to handle descent even though it wasn't necessary—she wanted to perform as many flight-related tasks as possible (other than holding a level flight path as this bored her and was actually rather easy). Through a blizzard, she piloted the craft to a mostly-uneventful landing aside from kicking up even more snow.

"Maya, get suited up" ordered Garrus. "I don't care how strange you think it looks!"

"Stay here, I know…"

_Spirits! Mind readers are weird._

Two armored figures stepped through a hatch into a winter gale. Unlike Pandora's poles, which experienced unusually-warm and mild weather by comparison, Rhea matched what one would typically expect of a "north pole" on a temperate planet. Given insulation built in to their suits, neither noticed a change in temperature from the blastboat's 24C to outside's -45C, though remaining upright required a slight amount of effort due to howling winds.

Maya spoke normally (thank you noise compensation). "The target should be a couple hundred meters ahead."

Both expected angry wildlife to make attempts at eating them, but were happily surprised to encounter no such thing. Perhaps the weather kept living beings indoors, or maybe the Eridians set up some kind of repellent. A combination wouldn't have been unreasonable either. Upon reaching a large cliff, Maya wondered if they'd reached a dead end only for the outline of a door to glow.

"Evolved Reclaimer recognized. Uncategorized species detected."

Garrus found himself tossed back a good fifty meters. Communication with Maya through helmets still functioned, however.

"What was that?"

"I dunno, I'm as confused as you are. Apparently, I'm the only one allowed in here."

"Good luck, pilot. My comm's open as long as we have a link."

"Acknowledged."

Maya pushed deeper into caverns shaped from ice. She'd seen similar structures on video—Jack occasionally insisted his "dancers" watch "motivational videos" to remind them "how fortunate they were." Technically, it was true (being a slave indoors beat being sent to the Ice Caverns/Fridge to die) but only barely. Before her were gigantic doors, but not metallic with caution stripes—instead they seemed to be made of pure energy. As she touched one, her key with its glowing orange symbol changed to a very bright white-blue.

"Access granted. Welcome, Evolved Reclaimer."

"Now what?"

Maya remained unaware that her hardsuit could broadcast sound and thus failed to enable the setting (meaning she spoke only to herself with Garrus out of range), but Eridian technology, being what it was, picked up on the Reclaimer's non-action as a sign of confusion anyway.

"Unite the index with the core to complete the process."

"Well, at least that part's obvious."

A glowing orange receptacle awaited her truncated-cone-shaped key she'd been carrying. Sticking her hand in, she couldn't comprehend how it was supposed to capture something when her finger stuck straight through it. Waving around and watching her whole arm pass through, Maya shrugged.

"Oh well…"

No gigantic glows, loud noises, or tremors accompanied insertion of the key.

"Please wait…"

A hovering icon popped up where she'd seen the key disappear.

Maya had no idea how long she ended up standing there, but whatever the time period she heard a voice at its end.

"Neurological attack cycle complete. All Flood on this planet should be neutralized. Please remain vigilant against any leftover specimens that may still exist."

Returning to the surface where skies cleared, Garrus was nowhere to be seen, so she raised him on comm.

"What did you do, watch a movie?" laughed the turian.

"How long was I down there?

"Several hours. And whatever you did caused everything in here to flicker. I think the ship rebooted at least four times."

Maya reached the hatch that retracted to reveal Garrus in his armor sans helmet.

"Also, this…"

Maya stared, before remarking "That wasn't covered in basic."

Her eyes moved to the central targeting computer at the front of the pilot's station. Instead of being blank due to idleness, it had the symbol of the Trans-Galactic Republic. She knew this was wrong from her training—first off the symbol wasn't supposed to be yellow, and second, it usually spun on its vertical axis as systems started up. The weapon charge indicators, red for lasers and blue for ion cannons, were spotty, as if someone decided to randomly flip some of them on and others off. They also blinked, changing a pattern that wasn't supposed to exist. Nearby, the blastboat's shield indicator flashed double-front, double-rear, balanced, critical, fully-charged, half-charged and all permutations between, reminding Garrus of many nights spent at clubs like Chora's Den or the Dark Star. Back then, blinking lights were entertainment—now they meant something was completely fried. One display showed steady—some kind of box with a stack of "plates" in it labeled "Fuel Cells." Not knowing what that meant, Maya ignored it.

Maya tore her eyes away from the distraction of failing electronics. The ground in front of the blastboat looked different to her—upon arrival she'd marveled at how disgusting biological mattings from Flood infestations were to her. Instead, it now resembled the grey hull of _Revenant_ or _Ultimatum_, dull, flat, and unmoving. She smiled upon realizing this—the writhing part always got her more than anything else. It rippled no more.

"Looks like the Eridians weren't kidding. Said something about a 'neurological' attack against the Flood being set off by that key. Whatever it was down there called it an 'index.'"

"So did whatever it was say anything about similar installations on other worlds?" inquired Garrus. "Were the Eridians that forward-thinking?"

"No."

Sarah's simple, yet emphatic statement turned two heads.

"My instructions were to destroy the Flood, not throw switches. The latter being far simpler and much faster, I would hypothesize that if such actions were possible as a containment mechanism that would have been my mission rather than burning everything in sight."

Maya sat down, her hands flying over controls that refused to respond. Pushing power didn't start the reactor, checking the reactor's status wasn't possible because its display had the digital equivalent of static on it…

"Rrrrgh."

She started off toward the ship's rear, only to think back to her training: nothing about power plants. Flying, yes. Energy management, yes. How to interpret the powerplant readout, sure. Actually doing the greasemonkey stuff, though, wasn't anywhere on the much-abbreviated docket.

"Garrus!"

Turning, he opined "Technically, we could just, ahem, teleport off this rock…"

"That assumes the life support works. I'll be fine whether it does or not, of course, but from my understanding you'd probably like to keep living."

Neither knuckled under Sarah's biting sarcasm.

"We're still breathing normal air" snapped Garrus. "If the life support batteries were dead, it would be pulling in air from outside."

"It's your funeral."

[…]

Hyperion at long last produced a starship that passed Jakobs muster after many back-and-forth arguments over degraded, choppy ECHONet connections. The Board elected to run production at Themis, hoping the inter-corporate truce would discourage any sabotage attempts. Jakobs couldn't resist the opportunity to execute on its shareholder resolution—not only would it formally renounce the balance of power that held for decades, it would do so in a very public manner that would be broadcast over what remained of the ECHONet in time for the evening news on the Prime Worlds.

"At least whatever worked over the ECHONet connections seems to have stopped attacking" said a relieved Juan Pablo Rhees, on site for the first Jakobs-Hyperion cooperative launch. Within moments, it became apparent something wasn't right. Instead of shuttles, sensors showed two decent-sized starships matching no known profile drop out of e-space virtually on top of the planet—a difficult feat due to inaccuracies usually associated with e-space jumps.

"I wonder if Bill is in that much of a hurry? Shuttles exist for a reason."

S&amp;S Munitions served as a neutral guardian, uninvolved in the politics that ensnared firearms-makers. The platforms were crewed by loaders and humans to keep costs down, even though S&amp;S had been raising the lease fees it charged to "exorbitant" amounts ("This only reflects the difficulty in policing a world where espionage is more common than breathing" they argued). Eridian-derived particle cannons tracked these new arrivals, both flagged as Maliwan.

"Maliwan vessels, stand down. You are in direct violation of the Themis Consolidation Proclamation."

Receiving no response despite repeated hails, the spherical platforms started shooting until sensors lit up again. This time, two _massive _warships appeared on sensors, within spitting distance of the pair already attacking. Displaying Jakobs IFFs, they went to work on the apparent Maliwan "offenders," demolishing them with little resistance.

Atlas and Athena advancements aside, a fundamental limit still existed as to how fast clones could be grown before encountering mental stability problems. Also considering these clones didn't need to live very long to serve their purpose, nobody worried that they would eventually go insane. After all, the "Vault Hunters Are Terrorists" card still had plenty of mileage left in it—so a couple of raving-mad "Vault Hunters" hijacking a Hyperion ship and going on a rampage seemed very plausible. So did their tearing through security like it didn't exist.

In reality, very little protection surrounded the joint Hyperion-Jakobs launch. These clones were only imprinted with basic combat training—shoot straight, take cover, don't run out of ammo. Juan Pablo Rhees brought high-end mechs, but that was it. Everything else came from the typical "rent-a-guard" bin—someone with an hour of military training could get past those. With enough firepower (read: rocket launchers), the mechs fell too, and "Vault Hunters" easily kidnapped Juan Pablo and took him hostage aboard _Watchful Eye_, which departed its dock and began shooting at everything in sight.

As planned, repeated hails from both _Pollux_ platforms and Jakobs vessels received no response.

"It only makes sense, then, to attack this vessel. We will send Hyperion our apologies and a sum of money, however it must be noted that Hyperion failed to secure their own flagship and thus were at least partially culpable for these events."

So said the captain of _Titan_.

Magnanimously offering to "assist" in management of a company whose shareholders became increasingly agitated at a Board unable to focus and a Chairman incapable of keeping his officers in line put Jakobs in a position of strength. Hyperion's Eridian/Atlas assets would be quickly absorbed while the rest either remained as a sub-brand or fell by the wayside, assuming the takeover went as planned. Furthermore, Jakobs stood as the one who drove off the Vault Hunters successfully—their deaths at the destruction of _Watchful Eye_ gave Jakobs a huge PR bonus. So did running a glitzy show for Juan Pablo Rhees' funeral: gracefully putting aside old rivalries to pay respects.

Recalling maxims about frogs and boiling water, Jakobs refrained from overt hostility initially, preferring to let its opponents place themselves in vulnerable positions. Maliwan came under fire in press releases savaging a "conspiracy to upend the delicate balance we have maintained for the benefit of all." Rule number one when grabbing power: loudly accuse someone else of doing the exact thing you yourself are doing and hope no one notices. Maliwan's secretive stance and non-involvement in the JVLN Alliance only helped Jakobs' accusations gain traction. Wealthy investors residing on the Prime Worlds expected companies to offer robust defenses if slanderous statements or libelous publications attacked a firm's integrity—nobody wanted to put money into an enterprise about to go under. That Maliwan elected to say nothing had almost everyone convinced they were hiding some guilt. A firm that size, with only a fraction of the market capitalization and a sliver of employees compared to its competition could hardly be expected to maintain perfect security.

[…]

As part of "Goodwill Lease &amp; Carry," MALITOR vessels began arriving to support _Ultimatum_. Mallory and Malcolm both had a good laugh at how the Trans-Galactic Republic subverted incompatible power systems.

"Are they…"

"It sure looks like it!"

"Not funny."

Allison Nimitz conceded using giant floodlights wasn't exactly practical or efficient, however it let fabrication of smaller ships and stations commence to build a semi-permanent presence in their new home. By some stroke of fortune, Sarah's teleportation grabbed quite a few hypermatter tankers, leaving _Ultimatum_ able to remain supplied for 3-5 years without heavy combat (a silly proposition, except for there not _being_ any substantial combat since arriving in Gamma-Three).

"Back when we first showed you our ship designs, you weren't impressed."

"I'll be honest, that's putting it mildly…"

Nimitz really found it annoying that the Flood had been redirected to another universe, and _now_ these "friends" show up with more tools to fight a problem that apparently wasn't a problem anymore?

"Well, we have something you might find useful" offered Mallory. "Not only have we constructed and crewed two dozen _Clean Sweeps_, but we also brought some power generators."

"Your efficiency on that thermal to electric to photon to electric has to be, what, six percent?"

Nimitz hid an embarrassed grin. "Two percent."

"Sure, the generators supplied using Tediore funds aren't the best, especially not compared to your fancy hypermatter" (Malcolm injected no jealousy at this pint) "but it's a heck of a lot better than using flashlights!"

Nimitz jerked her head back in surprise. "Who's Tediore?"

"Well, we know we're probably not getting paid" began Mallory good-naturedly. "At least not by you—but again we'll gladly take not being turned into…horrible things…as 'payment.' However, another backer has joined us. They bring mostly financial resources to this fight, hence the comment about them purchasing generators that we've toted with us today."

"How do I know I can trust them?"

"You don't. But seeing as none of us actually pose a threat to this flying fortress, and you've trusted _us_ so far despite calling us war criminals, a bunch of financiers in suits shouldn't be a problem, right?"

Malcolm held open hands in a gesture of helplessness. If she didn't accept this development, things could get sour very quickly. He imagined _Ultimatum_ firing on the carefully-assembled fleet, tearing into it with weapons more powerful than anything except hypothetical Eridian-scale energy cannons no corporation was publically known to possess.

The Admiral's line of thought ran similarly. "If they so much as put a single toe out of line, there will be severe consequences."

"They just supply the parts, ma'am. Nothing more."

Nimitz paced anxiously. "I just hope this entire buildup means something. Sure, it might put people to work, but for what end?"

[…]

As _Gamma-Mu 8_ popped into existence in the general vicinity of _Ultimatum_ courtesy Sarah, lungs continued functioning as expected.

"Well I guess we must have had some kind of backup."

Garrus figured the ship needed primary power to keep air scrubbers working; he was happy to be wrong about that as _Ultimatum_ dragged them into a hanger bay.

"These ships have hydrogen fuel cells that are almost entirely mechanical—they operate on pressure alone. Sure, that limits the time the cells will operate if you don't pump 'em, but it also means EMPs or other nasties will be less likely to screw them up!"

"Okay then."

Upon boarding the _Normandy_ for the first time, Garrus overheard EDI lecturing Joker about "making sure the fuel cells stay pressurized in case we lose the fusion plant." That the much-more-advanced Trans-Galactic Republic would also use the same technology elicited surprise. Moving past the mechanic who'd answered his sort-of-question, he headed to Admiral Nimitz's briefing room.

"Report, Second Lieutenant."

"Yes ma'am. Flood lifeforms were discovered on Rhea, as expected. I believe I received instructions from beyond—from the Eridians—dictating where to take these."

Maya held up a ring that possessed one fewer truncated cone than before. None of them glowed; they all remained dull gray and stone-textured.

"Continue, Lieutenant."

"Yes ma'am. The Eridian, or whoever gave me information, said to fly to the pole, so we did. I landed the blastboat without incident in a snowstorm, suited up, and searched for the indicated…uhh…thing. Thing where these go."

She clinked her ring of keys again.

"Anyway, I reach a wall, basically. Made out of ice. Suddenly a random voice says 'Evolved Reclaimer recognized, boots Garrus, and lets me in. I follow its instructions to insert what it calls an 'index' into the 'core.'"

Maya started giggling.

"What's funny, pilot?"

"It told me to wait. Literally, stand there and wait like a Catch-a-Ride stop or something."

Garrus decided to roll with his assumption Nimitz would react like the old Shepard (that is, not care) as he barged in. "She stood in one place for three hours. _Three hours_. By the time she came back, I almost thought she'd gotten lost."

"Anyway, I'm sure you're interested in what happened to the Flood. It's usually yellowish-brown; by the time whatever I set off finished, it matched your ship's hull."

"So it's dead?"

"On that planet" qualified Maya. "And Sarah thinks the Eridians didn't install anti-Flood switches on every planet—if they had, she'd have been tasked with pushing buttons instead of killing things."

Alarms shattered the quiet hum of a Star Dreadnaught's usual operation.


	58. Monster Mash

**Chapter 57 – Monster Mash**

"What's with the blaring sirens?" _Ultimatum_ Operations couldn't see how a Trans-Galactic Republic starship arriving to assist them should trigger any kind of warning.

"If you looked past the IFF, you'd see" snapped a Science ensign. "Transmit this information to the assembled ships at once!"

Aboard MSS _Lucky Strike Seven_, problems with alleged "reinforcements" were much more apparent. A sickly green-blue beam reached its bow, spreading Flood biomass as it went.

"Raise shields!" yelled Captain Reynolds. Too late. The beam already left a disgusting slimy trail from tip to midships. Unsure whether this represented a ding to the paintjob or actual threat, Reynolds opened comm lines to personnel in that section.

"Whatever it is, it smells like shit!" came an annoyed reply. "And it looks nasty too! Yellow-brown, putrid, fleshy…"

Thanks to Tediore's generous supply of power cells, sets of MISTILTEINN armor were being produced at the Jakobs MODDER as fast as was physically possible. These armor suits were issued to personnel aboard _Ultimatum_ first, unsurprisingly, as a means of showing preference to those who did not fire willy-nilly on civilian targets. Soldiers watched in horror as flesh bulged and twisted, turning a color matching the matted biomass that coated the corridor they were sent to inspect. Muscle swelled in unsightly places as Flood infections took hold, and long whip-like appendages extended from both arms. Within thirty seconds, these former Maliwan commandos turned on their compatriots, who'd already started firing.

"What the fuck?" demanded one, rolling to dodge a whip sent his way.

"It must be airborne!" choked another as what remained of the investigation squad scampered backward away from a relentlessly-expanding line of Flood growth.

Signals from other Maliwan vessels gave much the same impression—Flood rapidly consuming parts of vessels in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Several were able to stabilize themselves to fire their Eridian cannons, whose blasts did more damage than turbolasers. The issue was that not enough shots were let off to affect the battle prior to each ship being overwhelmed. Deus Ex Arma rounds crashed into both shields and armor, relying on high velocity rather than explosiveness for damage. To the horror of observers, impacted areas appeared to "grow back" in flashes of bright blue. It did not escape notice the behemoth disturbingly resembled _Ultimatum_. The hull looked craggy and uneven, but a distinct overall triangle-shape emerged nonetheless, which combined with the ship's immense length sealed the deal. In some places, brown-yellow blobs oozed out, quite a few emitting a yellow "haze" that scans confirmed were Flood spores.

"This again?" fumed Admiral Nimitz.

"You're surprised?" Sarah's holo-image clearly restrained itself from showing amusement, somehow breaking through otherwise-jammed internal communications. "You leave a giant ship behind near something that consumes everything it touches to its own advantage, what do you think is going to happen?"

[…]

"Yes, Commander?"

"I would like to discuss a rather sensitive topic."

She motioned for the turian to be seated.

"I'll cut straight to it. Release the other Current Channelers on the condition they fight for us."

The Admiral sat for a few moments, as if stunned by a blaster bolt. Finally, she blabbered "Are you insane?"

"To fight monsters, we need monsters of our own" argued Garrus. "Nothing we have is working. We've lost a galaxy, we're going to lose this one if the Flood mobilizes…"

"Now hold on one second, _Commander_. You led a mission that took the devices spewing those freak shows into our universe and aimed them somewhere else. Why should I…"

"Because it's already done."

Neither recalled seeing a ruby-red Cortana before, nor had she shown any inclination toward breaking into highly-secured systems in an Admiral's office. The hologram grew in size, until even Sarah would have seemed small.

"I have watched all of you diddle around while the Flood gains a stronger and stronger foothold here. Need I remind you that once it captures an entire galaxy, it starts spreading again?"

Cortana gestured gently with her palms up, as if describing the expansion of a proto-nebula rather than a force that could destroy all life.

"Every time it looks like someone is going to do something, circumstances change. Not by much, but just enough to let the people who could take action go back to sticking their heads in the sand and pretending the Flood problem is solved. Well let me tell you, if that warship out there isn't a big enough wakeup call, I don't know what is. _The Flood isn't solved until it's all dead_."

"Well, that's why I suggested releasing the Current Channelers…" offered Garrus hesitantly.

Cortana laughed. Genuinely laughed.

"You think five people wielding a mythical energy field is going to be enough to stop intergalactic Flood? You…"

Cortana's image fell to its knees without warning. Her eyes squeezed closed and her hands clamped to the sides of her head. Admiral Nimitz frantically pounded on her terminal to silence Cortana's unending screams, but it didn't work—the AI had tapped too deeply into _Ultimatum_'s systems for a simple "off" to suffice. Her avatar flickered and horizontal lines sliced through it.

"YOU HAVE FAILED!" she screeched. "THIS GALAXY IS MINE!"

"I…don't think that's Cortana talking."

Her next words were decidedly quieter, though still laced with pain. "You…think? He's…here…"

Garrus kept his composure, while Nimitz took on visible looks of shock.

"_Who?_" asked the turian with more urgency than a delayed eezo shipment. "Who is here?"

"A MONUMENT TO ALL YOUR SINS."

"That…definitely wasn't Cortana" concluded Nimitz. "Not unless she's decided talking in a bass voice that nearly blew out the speakers in this room is something she should do."

"Where's the Master Chief?"

When a flying brick first appeared out of space and slammed into _Normandy_'s hull, the Master Chief established himself as a man of few words, but of great expertise in fighting the Flood. Finding him at once became a priority. Garrus paged the Chief on every channel he knew.

"Let me guess: Flood outbreak."

"Get up here, now!" yelled the turian.

"What happened, and what are you doing about it?"

"The Flood's here in force. It has repurposed one of the Trans-Galactic Republic Star Dreadnaughts, the one we left behind, and is wreaking havoc. Also, something messed with Cortana."

Nobody in the command office could hear the Chief's footsteps accelerate, nor did he care that at his now-increased running pace he was leaving a trail of dents in an allegedly-reinforced deck. Upon reaching a turbolift, he jammed "UP" as hard as he could. The door didn't open fast enough upon arrival at his destination—it was elbowed aside.

"Warning: Door jam. Please contact…"

BLAM.

Sparks flew from the offending speaker grille.

Thundering into Nimitz's office, he arrived just in time to see Cortana's image shatter into uncountable copies of itself. Upon closer examination, some were crying, others stood defiantly shaking their fists and shouting at unnamed foes. He found one sitting sulkily on the Admiral's desk with her head in her hands. Another bounced all around the room with a goofy smile plastered on her face. The largest remaining copy lay unmoving on the floor—it remained human-sized as opposed to the many toy-scale versions engaging in all manner of activities. No sound assaulted his ears, her torment was silent.

"If the Flood has her, then it knows everything."

"So we blow it up" cried Nimitz as if this were an obvious fact everyone else overlooked. Tapping buttons on her terminal, having shoved several Cortanas out of the way to do so, she attempted to orderwhat she thought were _Shiva_ missiles to fire.

"Nothing survives these!"

Red text scrolled before her eyes.

[ MISSILE JAM ]

"You have got to be kidding me!" she screeched, punching a space on her desk out of frustration and hurling a Cortana-figure there across the room.

"Get a visual on the launchers" ordered Garrus. _Ultimatum_'s computer obeyed, leading Garrus to also pound the desk in frustration. Four green-blue beams, with the texture of old analog static, swept methodically back and forth over _Ultimatum_'s missile launchers. While they hadn't penetrated the Star Dreadnaught's shields, the energy maelstrom above them kept any ordinance from being fired due to fears of premature detonation.

Panic spread through the fleet as more ships found themselves covered in Flood. Those without shields fell first, immediately infested by energy carrying Flood spores reaching out from what was once RNS _Revenant_. Those whose protection held were ignored in favor of easier targets, at least initially. Many tried to dock with _Ultimatum_, only to be denied clearance. At least one flew in anyway, smashing itself into the Star Dreadnaught's unyielding defenses as it simultaneously absorbed turbolaser strikes and crashed into a particle field rated to repel a hundred torpedoes impacting one spot.

"Charge the superlaser, then."

Nimitz figured she either stopped the Flood here, or it would keep rampaging. The Home Galaxy doubtlessly knew about the whole situation by now—unless all the Republic Intelligence Service personnel who took over the missile launchers suddenly decided to stop reporting in. Her computer display changed to depict the laser's deployment by showing a graphic of it, only for the entire image to flash red.

"System Error: Unspecified."

"Is it just me, or does every problem with a supposedly-easy solution end up being way harder to solve than it looks?"

After the years of C-Sec, working with Samantha Shepard, and now acting as an independent operative in his own right, Garrus had to admit the best-laid plans backed with hyper-advanced technology tended to fall apart at the most inopportune time for the smallest reasons. He took the time to recap, out loud, everything that went wrong over the past five years or so.

"The Council would've ignored the Reapers. The Trans-Galactic Republic shows up, but then they start playing us off each other. Some obscure department takes over the entire government, Shepard falls into a pit of despair and commits crimes worth of execution. The Reapers start spreading, and we find out our stellar neighbors also have a problem with these demons. They end up being defeated, but not by any conventional means—and now we have a Flood problem. Our galaxy's gone, this one's going to go, and pardon me if I'm wrong, but we're the last fighting chance."

A frantic blinking light on her terminal caught Admiral Nimitz's attention.

"Yes, Operations?"

"Ma'am, some kind of computer program is altering ship systems—locking us out of weapons, launch control, hydroponics… We've protected power distribution and shields for the moment, but this thing is relentless!"

"Can you isolate it?"

"Admiral, the problem's originating from your office…"

"None of us are computer geniuses—tell me what's going on!"

"Yes ma'am. It seems to be a multi-process distributed neural net of some kind. As soon as we knock connections, it creates new ones. Spawns processes everywhere! We have it semi-contained but it's only spreading more slowly. None of its code makes sense—even disassembled it doesn't follow any logical patterns. It almost looks like the output from an advanced droid, you know, the kind that's capable of producing its own thoughts without being explicitly prompted by programming."

Within the room, several mini-Cortanas disappeared. This change went unnoticed.

"Well, based on what we've been seeing with the fleet, if we lose shields we're in very big trouble."

Nimitz hoped her tech people could keep whatever this was in check.

"We are prioritizing shields, but it seems to be more interested in the computer core. It's managed to crack several lower-grade encryption algorithms already."

More Cortana figures vanished, this time catching the Master Chief's attention.

"Stop."

"Stop what?" demanded Garrus. "We're not doing anything up here."

"Not you. Them. They're deleting Cortana's files from the computer core."

"_Cortana_ is causing this?" Nimitz's look suggested she'd been told it was possible to breathe in space.

"Infiltration was her original purpose. She can crack modulating encryption keys in the gigabit size."

The trio turned to a stricken Cortana laying on the floor. While she apparently couldn't speak, her mouth kept moving. It took a good minute for anyone to figure out what it meant.

"Stop me."

"Stop her from what?" asked Garrus.

"The Flood. She's been through this before, and it's happening again. We need to stop the signal."

Nimitz got it, but didn't get it at the same time.

"And how do we do that?"

_Does he have to wear his armor absolutely everywhere?_

"She's just a conduit. The real source is on that other ship."

It came to Nimitz like a cruiser dropping out of hyper-zero: Grayson. She needed Grayson. Needless to say, attempts to locate him using her terminal were unsuccessful, given the compromised state of _Ultimatum_'s computer systems.

"Where do I find my former Admiral, your-now-politician?" she asked of Garrus.

"I have no idea. But I think I know someone who can find him."

Before anyone could move to depart, stepping over (or on) small Cortana-projections as they did, Nimitz's office door opened again. This time, four women dressed in battle robes appeared and each saluted the ship's commander.

"We were released on the cognizance of the artificial intelligence known as Cortana on the condition we fight for you. Seeing as our original mission has gone out of the supernova and into a black hole, we have no other purpose. Thus, we are reporting for duty."

"This again?"

The conversation quickly turned to the best means through which the Flood-Revenant might be defeated. Garrus took the lead, bringing the party down to the deck on which Sarah currently resided.

"You want to help?"

Sarah looked up from her datapad. Garrus let off feelings of aggression, anger, even hatred (still). She could sense conflict, too, though she couldn't figure out why without forcibly invading his mind due to turian military conditioning creating raised mental defenses at the moment.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"Then find Adam Grayson for us."

As the Citadel burned, she'd saved the seemingly-worthless leaders of the government that called the space platform home before teleporting an entire Star Dreadnaught away. It was one of many actions taken as her understanding of purpose fell apart that made no sense to the dominant personality. That personality, with its order-following obsession, began to fade rapidly as it became more and more apparent in spite of the vast powers bestowed upon the Selfless Servant of the Mantle, she could not accomplish the task given to her: stop the Flood. Her time with the beast aboard Omega also had an influence here—she hadn't been conscious for any of it until she freed herself, but upon separating the curious fog licking at the edges of her brain began to billow into the center of her mind. After surviving a Republic Intelligence Service assassination attempt, she'd deduced the general chilly reception to her actions, which at the time she could not understand how anyone might object to them.

In a debriefing during her stint aboard _Redemption_, she'd admitted that something "snapped" inside her—the idea that her only purpose was her mission no longer made sense. She even began questioning the mission itself, or at least its methods. According to analysis, the confusion and chaos introduced by her curiosity regarding _Revenant_'s computer core while she had possession of the ship had been used as a fine instrument of mental manipulation by some "external actor" (the clinical term didn't do the Flood's intelligence justice). By overwhelming her with feelings and thoughts expressed by those whose lives she'd probably ended during her rampages, the Gravemind broke down her constructed defenses against moral/ethical questions put in place by the Reformers prior to Sarah's placement in a containment chamber on Pandora. Maybe he thought it would confuse her. Perhaps reduce her to being incapable of doing anything. Drive her to want to repent in some form? Not part of the plan!

Seconds later, Sarah pointed on a large map of _Ultimatum_, saying this was her best approximation of Grayson's location. Some thirty minutes later, communications routed through available circuits reached him and he managed to arrive at Nimitz's office.

"Admiral, we have a situation" snapped Nimitz. "Your old flagship has made a reappearance…"

"Again?" he sighed. "Who has it this time?"

"While you and your fellow Councilors have been cooped up safe aboard my ship, the Flood has gone and made a larger threat of itself."

Garrus picked up where Nimitz left off, describing in detail his missions to antagonize the large corporations that controlled their current home, followed by some information about the Eridians, which led to a huge battle on Plutus.

"Wait, so the Plutus battle is where Samantha Shepard put on armor and picked up a gun again?"

"Correct!"

Before the Admiral-turned-Councilor could inquire further, the turian resumed his narrative, ending at the present.

"In short, we need a way to take down _Revenant_. One that doesn't involve a head-to-head fight, since apparently we're going to lose if we try."

"Well, I know one thing. I may not be an Admiral of Spacelane Protection anymore, but _Revenant_ never had her databanks updated to reflect that fact. If I use my access codes, I should be able to take parts of the ship offline, or potentially even detonate its hypermatter reactor."

"You'll have to do it by hand, won't you?"

"Not necessarily" replied Grayson to the Master Chief's question. "Still, if enough systems go offline or are damaged, yes, some things that would normally be push-button affairs do become manual tasks."

"Just teleport us in" insisted Garrus, looking to Sarah. "You managed to jump a Star Dreadnaught over intergalactic distances…"

"Not that you'd care" she shot back, "but I _almost died_ doing that. It's simpler to move about large, open spaces—like Omega's mine shafts or the sparring field at that fighting school. Anything more confined is difficult, _especially if I haven't been there before._"

"So let's just take a tour of _Ultimatum_'s power system" suggested Grayson.

"Except no" said Nimitz. "The reactor on this Star Dreadnaught got fried by our purple-haired friend here. The replacement is very dissimilar to the original design—it's more compact for starts. Most access tunnels have been changed, too. It's a Mark-III Block 2, I think."

That his own former ship's power systems were considered "Mark-I Block 0" caused Grayson to be silent, before asking "They've advanced that far?"

"I'm not an engineer" replied Nimitz irritably. "I just know what it says on the shipyard pamphlet. Let's figure out how to get over there and take that infested mess offline!"

In the time Admirals, Sirens, and commandos spent talking, the Flood-ified battleship destroyed or captured two-thirds of the MALITOR fleet.

"Well, we're not flying over there in a shuttle" deadpanned Garrus. "What about _Normandy_?"

"We don't have time to debate this any longer" insisted Grayson. "Let's go!"

Garrus keyed a command into his omnitool, the first time he'd used it himself. He'd been on the receiving end of the "Shepard Summons" before, but never issued such an order until now. Every crew member on shore leave thus got an urgent message ordering them back to duty. Had _Normandy_'s complement been larger, it might've created a stampede through _Ultimatum_. As it stood, the massive starship saw much larger migrations of crew during its own normal work-shifts as personnel arrived and departed from stations kilometers apart.

With the channel open, he barked orders as he ran.

"We are re-engaging the Flood! External and internal contacts expected. We will go over there, board that ship, and stop it from transmitting whatever signal is interfering with _Ultimatum_'s computer systems."

He deliberately avoided any mention of Cortana's current state. The Master Chief had to be convinced to leave Cortana behind—using the logic that the only way to save her was to disable/destroy _Revenant_, Garrus convinced him to remain in the fight. All who still lived required very little additional motivation to pick up a weapon again, assembling in _Normandy_'s cargo bay as per Garrus' request.

"Today, we make a strike against an enemy more dangerous than any other. You may be a consultant, mercenary, bartender, or mechanic in less-dire times, but today you are soldiers fighting for your very existence. Today, you must be willing to die defending that existence. Anything less insults the memory of those who precede you—Thane Krios, James Vega, and many others are no longer with us. Your actions will either honor them, or have them turning over in their graves!"

Garrus continued using human-isms; he found it helpful when addressing crowds of mostly-human crew. Plus, since humans had been so dominant in the lives of these people (both human and not) over the past few years, via cultural osmosis they were likely to understand the idioms anyway.

"We will have time to acknowledge the passing of our comrades later" he added, preemptively seeking to stem off any comparisons to Samantha Shepard's blingy-by-comparison memorial for EDI, Lilith, and more. "For now, consider it a reward for a safe return."

More than one attendee winced at the notion of attending a funeral as an incentive, but refrained from commenting given the weight of the moment.

"We are committing every available resource to this cause. Even if that means including persons among us whom we might have had past disagreements with. We simply cannot afford to hold back."

His vision lingered on Sarah and her four former acolytes.

"The remaining starships from the MALITOR Alliance will provide a distraction while we fly in cloaked. Sarah can find us a hanger, but in the interest of not attracting the attention of whatever has control of that ship, we're not going to teleport in her usual fashion."

"What about the Psychotic Biotics and Iron Ab Slabs?" demanded Brick, his mechanical left arm clanking.

"Ordinarily, I'd defer to Admiral Nimitz on mobilization of additional assets not directly under my authority. The turian in me is insisting this is wrong, however I will authorize those who were slated for an admiralty demonstration to accompany us, deployed at my discretion. I accept full responsibility should this decision later be judged in violation of established regulations."

Brick displayed far more enthusiasm for this development than Jack. Privately, she felt sick pushing students into straight combat. Death by Sarah would be preferable to death by Flood! Her goal since their disappearance had been the safe recovery of her charges, and now that they'd been recovered, her pupils were to be sent off like lambs to a slaughter? She vowed to ask Garrus about how he might put them to use afterward. She didn't have to wait long.

"Garrus" she snapped, more authority behind her voice than he'd ever recalled hearing.

"You're not seriously going to put my students front-and-center against the Flood, are you?"

The fierce look on Jack's face suggested supreme retaliation for a wrong answer. She'd gone to prison for less.

"That doesn't sound like a strategic use of resources" he replied hesitantly. He'd heard about scarily-powerful biotic abilities manifested by some KOMBT students and had actually planned to put these walking artillery pieces up along with his main team. Given Jack's reaction to the idea, though, Garrus backed off without ever mentioning his initial intentions.

"Good. I'd hate to have to turn you into turian paste." Jack turned and left the CIC.

[…]

Attempts to remove Cortana from _Ultimatum_'s computer system failed. Repeatedly. Whether she was actually in control of her processes or not, at least her capabilities were contained—the ship could not fire her weapons and hanger doors tended to freeze in whatever position they were in upon "Cortana's" attack, but no systems whose failure would imperil life directly (air scrubbers, oxygen pumps) were affected.

"At least our old ship isn't shooting at us" sighed Grayson as _Normandy_ prepared to depart. The heavy frigate would not carry any artificial intelligence for the mission.

"Cloak engaged, awaiting clearance to depart."

Joker sincerely hoped the force fields responsible for keeping air inside _Ultimatum_'s huge central hanger were still under friendly control lest they otherwise crash and be unable to depart. Fortunately, such controls fell under the domain of "shields" rather than hangers (as odd as that might look), meaning _Normandy_ departed unhindered due to the main doors being held "open" rather than closed.

As distance between Flood-infested _Revenant_ (with its tentacles, brown-yellow haze, and biomass-covered hull) and _Normandy_ shrank, the pilot of the latter tensed up. He fully expected to have to dodge bio-bullets, angry appendages, infested fighters, or some combination of the above. Facing none of the above creeped him out.

"Commander, we're encountering absolutely no resistance" reported Joker. "This has to be a trap or something."

"Well, we are invisible…"

"Yeah" retorted his pilot. "But last time, we got shot at anyway! How'd they somehow lose the ability to see us?"

"I wouldn't complain" laughed Garrus. "Take whatever tactical advantage you can get!"

Joker cut back thrust. The closer _Revenant_ became, the less he wanted to rush toward it, you know, just in case something tried to blow the _Normandy_ in half…again.

Everyone fit for combat gathered there—divided into "Sword" and "Shield." The former would move ahead, clearing out obstacles and taking down baddies while the latter protected Admiral Grayson on the extremely long walk. Direct access to either the bridge or the reactor itself would be required.

"Remember, my neural map, voice, and eyes are the only way to activate that ship's self-destruct" he'd said. "I don't mean to sound self-important, but it's kind of impossible not to given the mission parameters."

During the rush, Garrus put in more requisitions for MISTILTEINN suits for the rest of his squad. Modifications permitting injection of nutrients were made because the mission would run so long (slogging through a massive warship whose systems were likely damaged could be a lengthy affair) that lack of food could become an issue. Due to additional power systems provisioned through the generosity of Tediore Capital Investments, Jakobs' MODDER assembly cranked out items many times faster than before.

"Big surprise, this works better than a giant flashlight" said Admiral Nimitz. "Why hasn't the Flood finished us off yet?"

Without weapons, _Ultimatum_ poured all her power into shields, and after realizing this Nimitz understood how the Flood became stalemated. Star Dreadnaughts were designed to be top-tier on offense _an_d defense. If using only one function, such a ship could either destroy all comers at the cost of relying on armor alone for protection or resist all damage for a ridiculous length of time without being able to ward off whatever caused the damage. Hence the failure of purple energy beams ("Thanks, Sarah…"), Flood "paintbrushes," or biological boarding pods to impact the ship significantly for the moment. Should a capital-class Flood ship show up, Nimitz feared the worst as while pods tore through shields and detonated harmlessly against armor, a former-Reaper-now-infested would be far more dangerous.

Joker brought both teams in under the most fortuitous timing as a purple glow surrounded the shape of _Revenant_ before the huge vessel leapt across space toward a seemingly-implacable foe and away from the swarming gnats of MALITOR's fleet. Garrus' teams felt the ground shake underneath them, but didn't realize what it meant until Joker's voice filled their helmets.

"You won't believe this—the Flood-ified hellhole you're on just jumped so it's practically on top of our flagship!"

"Excellent" replied Garrus in a flat voice. "Encouragement to complete our mission faster."

He turned to Samantha Shepard.

"You up for this?"

"I'm back, bitches. Flood is gonna burn!"

A slight tic at his former commander's enthusiasm later, Garrus snapped a salute.

Samantha led Shield while Garrus commanded Sword. Both teams were mostly balanced, though each tipped slightly in the direction of its purpose. For instance, Brick followed Sam while the Master Chief took orders from Garrus.

"We don't want two teams that can only handle one type of situation" reasoned the turian prior to deployment. Since his discussion with Jack, he placed the KOMBT students with Shepard. Their primary function would be barrier support, coupled with both biotic and weapon-based suppressing fire.

"I wanted to get my hands dirty" complained Catalina.

Her classmates Rachel and Marco had no pity.

"We get these giant machine guns and arm braces" replied Rachel, entirely too enthusiastic for Catalina's comfort. "What's not to like?"

Using techniques pioneered by Gaige for her "Deathtrap," auto-digistructing supports would manifest themselves when a heavy weapon such as the M-85 Revenant "FireHose" needed to be used. The light machine gun, difficult to control and highly inaccurate, had seen several iterations throughout the nascent Flood war. Trans-Galactic Republic miniaturized power systems enabled a set of active counterweights rather than purely mechanical assistance which previously existed, cutting the weapon's recoil by up to 70%. This came at the cost of weight, and even reduced recoil would be too much for anyone less than a trained soldier.

"Remember when I tried to use one of the original kinetic-damped Revenants?" asked Marco upon receiving his new firearm.

"Yeah" laughed Rachel. "You hit everything _except_ the target. A two-meter high target. At very close range."

In truth, he'd left a burning circle of fire around Jack and Sarah rather than whaling on Sarah as he'd intended. Jack even yelled at him for causing "friendly fire," though with her biotics vaulting over the encircling flames wasn't really a problem.

"What if it had been you, or another one of your non-biotic classmates?" she'd demanded of him later. "How would they have escaped?"

"No more getting chewed out." Marco operated a lever that would release an internal heatsink from the body of his weapon. It could cool on its own, and did so rather quickly (again thanks to cross-technological pollination via the Trans-Galactic Republic) however if it was absolutely necessary the whole heatsink could be ejected. Every M-85 operator carried three spares as part of a standard loadout.

An all-projected heads-up display resided atop every gun, M-85 included. Scopes tended to lead to literal tunnel-vision while holographic viewers integrated with MISTILTEINN armor seamlessly. Everyone, including the students, would wear such a suit to avoid contamination.

"These are overly technical" griped Ashley Williams. "What do I do if my zoom crashes in the middle of a firefight?"

"It won't" assured Garrus, though he silently agreed with his human compatriot's complaint against overly-computerized weapons. At least his sniper teams carried backup scopes just in case.

In a flash, both Sword and Shield materialized inside _Revenant_'s massive hanger bay. Or, more precisely they materialized a meter in the air, resulting in many grunts and huffs as everyone landed (mostly on feet).

"I will not risk mingling our flesh at the molecular level with Flood" said Sarah simply when an irate Kaidan demanded to know why the dropping was necessary.

"Stow it" ordered Garrus. "We have bigger problems."

"It's like walking in mud" commented Jackie.

"Mud, nothing" snarled Zaeed. "I've walked and swam in worse—you haven't seen half of what…"

"Focus" interjected Shepard. "We're here to kill Flood, not argue over who's gotten the nastiest shit on their boots!"

"Engage hover" commanded Garrus.

[…]

"Do I even want to know?"

Garrus visited Athena after her traumatic experience beginning on Vela and ending with Sarah's brutal removal of Jakobs hardware from the back of her neck on Plutus.

"Which part would you like to hear first? In which Athena tricks the S&amp;S base commander? Or in which Athena is betrayed by said base commander and is sold to Jakobs? Or the part where my armor **exploded**?"

Cortana asked Garrus to retrieve an exact report of how her armor design fared along with the pleasantries of actually caring about the fate of a soldier in one's command.

"The last one" he answered.

"I see how it is" she sniped (playfully). "All you care about is getting straight to the goods, no warm-up at all…"

He didn't respond. Despite being embedded among humans for a great length of time, the turian had no reason to be familiar with human sayings related to innuendos or sex—as a matter of fact his _lack_ of this knowledge led him to make more than one comment that set his human colleagues giggling.

"Cortana did warn me about limitations in the design…"

"Do elaborate as to what those are, so we can hopefully fix them" replied Garrus.

Athena described in great (Garrus interrupted several times to say too much) detail her encounter with Jakobs clones who attacked and ultimately led to the destruction of her fancy armor.

"Well, I guess that sort of worked. Not the way I intended though."

Athena looked at him quizzically.

"How does me being nearly killed constitute a strategy that works? If that's how you view me, you can leave me on the next habitable planet."

She crossed her arms and pouted.

"You remember the whole point of this operation. To get the people who live in this galaxy to pick up arms that can be later turned against the Flood!"

The commando suddenly comprehended what the turian meant.

"It would be nice if we could convince Jakobs to either lend us those clones or employ them against the Flood rather than chasing me…"

"Exactly!"

After ensuring Athena would receive top-grade medical care (who didn't with the Trans-Galactic Republic and its bacta?) Garrus took his promised update on the state of MISTILTEINN armor to Cortana aboard _Normandy_ where she preferred to spend time.

"So she ran into absolutely every situation hitting my armor's weak spots."

Cortana mixed an unimpressed frown with a scowl.

_Then again, the Chief isn't much better about pushing things to their limits…_

"So how can these issues be fixed?"

She doubled-down on a look of disapproval.

"If these things were simple, these problems wouldn't exist. Hypermatter…doesn't make much sense to us. It violates every known convention of physics from both my science and yours. The nutty girl Gaige and _her_ idea of how physics is supposed to work doesn't offer any support either. It generates a huge amount of energy, but smaller reactions aren't as stable. Even a fighter is going to have fewer problems than these suits!"

"What about the power draw that left Athena with no shields?"

"What do you think?"

Garrus looked pensively at the annoyed AI. "You'd need more energy."

"More hypermatter, larger reaction chamber…"

Tali told Garrus in the past (was it really over five years ago?) about the same problem they'd had with _Aspirations Toward Infinity_, then known as "Olympic." The ship got bigger and bigger to accommodate a more powerful reactor, but for each increase in reactor volume the ship's mass went up by so much as to make any larger powerplant almost meaningless.

"Also, any larger and the odds of escaping a runaway reaction become too close to likely death for me to be satisfied."

"So, I just told you about problems that can't be resolved." Garrus wasn't happy with this.

"You rushed the production, Mr. All Solving Hammer" she laughed. "Since then, I've been able to gain some understanding of Trans-Galactic Republic 'repulsor' technology. I'm not the most proficient engineer" (he rolled eyes—she'd designed an entire suit of power-armor in consultation with Gaige/Tali) "but with some assistance I believe I can integrate that ability into the suits for a much lower energy draw during flight, so long as the service ceiling isn't exceeded."

"Well, once those new power generators are installed so we're not pointing floodlights at that digistructor to run it, you can do all the test-engineering you want."

"Sounds good to me, I'll comm the dynamic engineering duo and see what we can cook up."

[…]

"Why walk when you can fly?"

"Wheee!"

Kids being kids, Marco zipped around the perimeter of the group until Samantha Shepard softly yet firmly ordered him back into line.

"We'll have time to play later."

"Proceed along the ship's longitudinal axis to the back of this hanger" said Grayson.

Both groups floated in the direction indicated. Drythlyn Narb and Urthula Shurken made it a point to encircle the Admiral-turned-Councilor, their active lightstaffs warding off any would-be attackers.

Garrus' heads-up lit up.

"Contacts! All directions!"

The very systems derided by several soldiers-by-trade helped cut through the darkness of the hanger, illuminated only by a few failing glowlamps and armor lights from the squad. Highlights went red on any hostile while allies showed in green.

"Be careful!" cautioned the turian commander. "You can still accidentally fire on allies!"

Theoretically, the "total networked soldier" envisioned by Cortana could be barred from attacking friendlies through weapon integration with the system. However, due to the nature of Flood infections it was decided to leave this feature inactive, should someone turn and thus need to be put out of their misery. The IFF might not recognize a partially-infected person as a valid target until s/he became fully Flood-ified (and dangerous). That was a risk Cortana declined to take.

Half of "Shield" deployed SPARTAN Mode with two Current Channelers screening them. Students clustered in the center with Grayson, projecting biotic bubbles over him and themselves. Several grimaced and winced, staggering while maintaining their projections, but in the impending battle this went unnoticed. To maintain mobility, none utilized Cortana's modification of MJOLNIR "Lockdown," relying on on-the-fly digistructed braces should sustained automatic fire be needed.

"I wonder what the nightmare geneticist has cooked up this time?" wondered Sam.

"You won't have to wonder long!" yelled back Kaidan. "Here they come!"

The usual mass of weak "infectors" swarmed first; they were easily dispatched by massed gunfire/heavy shields.

"Also" continued the biotic-soldier, "don't ask that question!"

Purple flashes in the distance caused the party to flinch.

"Ranged Flood!" bellowed Miranda. "Barriers up! Get behind!"

The teams dropped groundside to prevent surprises from below.

Ashley Williams saw it coming. A bright purple comet, streaking toward her she had no power to avoid…until she felt herself roughly yanked aside and saw a calcified missile get sliced out of midair by a lightstaff gripped by "Venera Sola" (said her Combat Management System).

"After we finish this, I wanna know how you did that!"

"Not now, Williams—we have a mission."

For women she'd heard nothing but nasty things about, this "Venera" seemed remarkably buttoned-down and serious. Ashley would be the last person to complain about following proper combat procedures, even if it did step on her curiosity.

Barriers rose above the party, shaped by specialized eezo combined with Trans-Galactic Republic mumbo-jumbo no one quite understood, but they were assured "It works." Indeed, barriers channeled into very rectangular-shaped shields due to some strange glowing device worn on every biotic's belt appeared in the palms of each protector's hands. It vastly amplified the protective qualities of any barrier with the trade-off that said barrier only worked in one direction rather than being spherical as was normal. Incoming fire, whatever it was, splashed harmlessly into these defenses.

"It tickles!" laughed Catalina. "My barrier is so strong that…"

Urthula Shurken dove at the young woman, but was too slow. Her lightstaff weaved and stabbed, cutting down two Slashers that dropped from hundreds of meters up. The other four landed square on Catalina Rodriguez. She never really had a chance. Biotic-infused claws slid through the most advanced energy shielding as if it weren't there. Underneath, mildly-hardened plates might well have been plastic.

Jack's scream of rage could have been heard all the way back on _Ultimatum_ across space and through decameters of armor plate. Showing why she'd been assigned to the offensive team, her first shockwave tossed the four attackers off her stricken student. A biotic dash took her to where they landed. Her incoherent roaring filled Sword's comm—ordinarily Garrus would've muted her but knowing exactly what just happened he elected (in a most Shepard-like fashion, he'd say later) to let her have her catharsis since it didn't appear to endanger the mission. Plus, Slashers were legitimately dangerous, so technically it remained in everyone's interest to remove the beasts from the equation. How messily it occurred wasn't an issue.

Bellowing like an injured animal, Jack's fist powered through the torso of one stunned Slasher. She struck, again and again, its insides rapidly becoming outsides as punch after punch landed on a definitely deceased form.

"Shouldn't she, you know, stay back?" asked Brick hesitantly.

"If there's one thing I've learned, rage can get you through just about anything" replied Zaeed. "I survived a goddamn headshot with it…"

Having lost all rationality, she grinned savagely as she smeared blood from her kill onto her suit. Her foot met the next target as the two she hadn't pulverized tried to jump away. A cluster of panted words, mostly involving "fuck," "shit," and similar poured into the ears of everyone on her channel. It made more sense than her previous incomprehensible fury, but only seemed to show she'd focused herself rather than breaking through the emotional torrent which now tossed her about. Biotic pulls prevented Catalina's last two assailants from leaving Jack's reach.

"Oh no you don't, you sick, twisted, evil…"

No longer did the woman shout; her voice dropped to a deadly low. Smashing a head with the barrel of her Variable Munition Mass Driver, she fired point-blank into the creature's body. It went without saying everyone (or rather, their shields) took a blood bath just then.

During Jack's enthusiastic destruction, calmer heads represented by Athena and Samara contacted _Ultimatum_, now within easy comm-range due to _Revenant_'s jump across space.

"Have possible method of reversing Flood action."

Mordin transmitting from his lab at an inconvenient moment, of course.

"Need time."

"You don't have much" intoned Athena. "She got cut pretty bad."

"There's also the small matter of keeping our flagship from getting blown up!" said Garrus with some level of urgency. "If we wait too long, they'll break through its shields and armor!"

Meanwhile, the last Slasher had been torn in half, punched into paste, and Jack now flung handfuls of its pulverized flesh toward the top of the closed hanger. She spoke no more, wordlessly heaving pieces of Flood biomass at the ceiling.

"Don't even think about it, Garrus" she warned. "I'm not leaving my students. If you send me back, they come too!"

"You're covered in Flood-blood" shot back the turian. "That cannot be sanitary!"

"This armor's sealed" replied Jack, as if this settled the matter.

"And meanwhile," bellowed Athena on a squad-wide channel, "Catalina here is bleeding out!"

"We've flooded her suit's system with bacta, but it pretty much used up my entire supply…"

At this point, the old Samantha Shepard asserted herself with force.

"What the hell were you thinking? You're going to jeopardize this entire operation to save one life? Do you remember what happens if a single Flood cell gets within a meter of bacta?"

"We…don't think she was infected" protested Miranda, trying to defend her earlier comments.

"You don't think? You don't think?" roared Sam. "This isn't a mission to take chances. If half this squad has to die to destroy this monstrosity, so be it!"

Sam found Jack on top of her.

"Who the HELL are you to decide who lives and who dies?"

"Jack. You know what the odds are here. You remember was done in the past when someone fell to the Flood! You were there, I wasn't! Garrus told me the stories once I agreed to go on _this_ mission. Thane, James… They were left for dead because there was too much of a…"

"I'm not the only one feeling the floor shaking, am I?" asked Jackie.

"We need to keep moving" urged Grayson. "We don't have time for this!"

"Sam and the Councilor are correct" said Garrus evenly. "While loss of life is regrettable, the mission must come first!"

Loud, wet popping noises interrupted all discussion.

"It seems the enemy has taken advantage of every possible use of Element Zero conceivable."

"Samara, you are way too calm for this" gritted Ashley, teeth gnashing.

"Panic serves only to undermine proper tactics and jeopardizes the mission" replied the justicar.

"I guess that answers the question." Kaidan pointed at Catalina, who now nearly disappeared under a pile of yellowish flesh that landed out of nowhere.

"Species: hanar. Genetically altered to serve the Flood. Records suggested the Flood possessed no use for the hanar previously. This circumstance appears to have changed."

Trust Legion to remain clinical in the face of possible annihilation.

Arms wrapped tightly around the young woman's body and the creature's former head appeared to play host to an Infection form, which detached itself from its hanar host before latching onto what used to be Catalina Rodriguez.

Spitting fire from an M-85 burned the horror before it could attack.

"It's what she would have wanted" said Marco Machiavelli defiantly. "No way she would've wanted to hurt us."

Jack rounded on Sarah.

"And what's your excuse, Miss All-Powerful Universe Bender? You're here to help us complete the mission, yet one of my students is _dead_ because…"

"…no one saw something drop out of the sky?" finished Zera Zelit. "You seem to think the Current is omnipotent and makes us invincible—quite the contrary I feel as though my powers are damped here."

"Before we left, Cortana went nuts. She seems to have been hijacked by a hostile intelligence."

Garrus turned to the Master Chief. "Would you like to explain more?"

"A Gravemind, a 'Flood Central Intelligence,' once forced its way through Cortana's memories. I believe it is doing so again from this ship."

"So what you're saying is a Gravemind being nearby screws with everything" concluded Sam.

"Correct."

"Shields up!" bellowed Sarah.

Several biotics understood the meaning, projecting their rectangular defenses above their heads. Others immediately followed suit, and not a moment too soon as more Slashers appeared from the black. Those with such creatures on their barriers tossed them high, after which they were obliterated by an outpouring of fire.

"Keep. Moving. Forward." demanded Grayson.

Over the past thirty minutes (it definitely felt longer) the team covered half a kilometer, mostly by floating on repulsors.

"Some ship you have here!" said Tali, "Artificial gravity still working despite no maintenance for years!"

"First off, this ship may be big enough to generate its own gravitational field, not that it would be significant though" suggested Miranda. "And second, we've seen this ship take on Reapers without exerting any effort. That its systems are this durable should not be a surprise."

"There were definitely areas that didn't have gravity" cautioned Sarah. "I just learned to stay out of them."

"If you remember where those are, that would be great…" sighed Ashley.


	59. Rising Tide

A/N: Regarding "Taxonomic Term Confusion," I follow both universes' generally-accepted canonical stances. So, in the context of Star Wars, it's "Humans" and "Bothans" but in the context of Mass Effect it's "humans" and "asari." Consequently, yes, you're going to see "…those Human smugglers…" in one paragraph but "asari commandos" in another.

**Chapter 58 – Rising Tide**

"Executive Minister, you have an inbound holo from President Damien Bishop of Delta."

Charles Day flipped on his projector. Over interstellar distances without quantum entanglement, even boosted S-threads were slow and gave only rudimentary video.

"President Bishop. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"The displeasure is all mine!" snapped Bishop. "I would have hoped your illustrious government would have communicated dangers of this plague to us, but apparently, nobody bothered!"

The structure of a multi-galactic federal republic really came into sharp relief. Though all members of the union were technically equals, in practice the "Home" or "Alpha" galaxy acted as the center of a hub with others held in its orbit due to economic and political dominance. As a consequence, the Home Senate believed it represented the "center of the universe," thinking this "Flood" only attacked it rather than worrying about its erstwhile fellow republicans.

"So you have a Flood problem" mused Day. "How bad is it?"

"At least we're not the Gamma group!" snarled Bishop, dropping all pretense of diplomatic decorum. "Some of those galaxies don't even _have_ Trans-Galactic Republic Spacelane Protection!"

"You didn't answer my question" said Day, still maddeningly calm.

"The outer edges of my territory are covered in biomass" replied Bishop, calming slightly. "Old _Prosecutors_ aren't very good at defense. Or anything, really…" His face reddened again, the coloration change barely visible over a low-definition video link. "It would help if the Trans-Galactic Republic didn't keep all the nice hardware in the totally-not-main galaxy! Or has the intelligence service subverted yet another government function?"

Charles Day shifted awkwardly. The Republic Intelligence Service had far more control over governance than it rightly should have. No mention of it appeared in the Trans-Galactic Republic Charter, so its powers had no constitutional backing. Confusion over what actually constituted a "military" let it muck about even more by classifying warships-in-all-but-name as "intelligence gathering." The GREAT Act pretty much went down in flames as Glia Ham'Del's standing crashed with failure to file proper tax returns and a mistake on some charitable donations.

"We will deploy _Curator_ Mark-IIIs to affected spots as needs warrant" he offered. "The Senate…"

"…probably got stuck debating whose loss it would be to defend the rest of your Republic!"

Though Alpha had the longest history, other constituent galaxies had economic and cultural values in their own right. That led to feelings of neglect when assets became concentrated within Alpha's boundaries purely due to politics of "We get ours first."

"You are correct, Damien, there has been a rather robust discussion in the Senate over how best to respond to the Flood threat. We have authorized the construction of additional Star Dreadnaught league vessels, but even with our incentives program they will not be completed for two years at least."

Two other holo-boxes lit up indicating a conference call about to take place. Representatives from Beta and Omicron came on. They, too, heard of the Star Dreadnaught buildout and wanted to register displeasure with it.

"How many times have we told you" scolded Inyri Garnik, a female Near-Human who served as Governor-General of the Beta galaxy "those stupidly-expensive Star Dreadnaughts' purpose could easily be served by a fleet of smaller ships?"

"I'm sorry…"

He looked down—every galactic leader had a different title—"Governor-General Garnik, but we feel at this time…"

A guttural growl from High Inquisitor Kaia Kolzaar of Omicron interrupted the debate. Through a translator, the (approximately) female alien said "This debate _again?_ We have had the volume-versus-quantity argument uncountable times!"

That she (for all intents and purposes) led a galaxy both new to the Trans-Galactic Republic and a place where baseline Humans were seen as irksome immigrants colored her perception—the Human-led Alpha galaxy making more ill-advised spending decisions didn't surprise her.

"I have half a mind to leave the Republic!"

"Empty threat, Kolzaar" mocked Garnik. "You've said this practically every time someone in Alpha does something you disagree with…"

"But this time…"

"…is different" finished Damien Bishop. "Seriously, I hope your constituents either don't hear about this or tolerate your endless vacillations."

"That said" he continued "the allegations against RISE are most disturbing. Charles, you need to reign in your intelligence agency!"

"Those" (translation failure) "think they can just root around and do whatever they please! You haven't had a coherent military policy for decades—and now look what is happening!"

Kolzaar glared at Day.

"I suspect there will be 'insufficient resources' to protect your newest member—who you convinced to join based on the merits of 'the common defense and connected markets.'"

"I, too, disdain the Alpha galaxy's tendency to hoard resources, but let's be fair" insisted Damien Bishop. "Does Omicron actually have a Flood infestation yet?"

Kaia Kolzaar forced herself to retain composure despite being called-out.

"Not yet, but at the rate it is spreading I don't doubt we'll have one soon!"

Another flashing holobox, this one red to indicate a high-priority transmission, added Admiral Raynor Essard, commander of RNS _Organa_ (and member of the Republic Intelligence Service) to the call.

"I've got good news and bad news."

Simultaneously, the words "good first" and "bad first" hit his ears.

"Well if that wasn't as confusing as having a blind midget find the tail end of a Hutt, I don't know what is. Anyway, the good news is that _Organa_ is intact."

Essard let this hang.

"And the bad news?" asked Charles Day, completely calm.

"We have been forced to retreat, Minister. Our fighters have been destroyed faster than we can remanufacture them. Our escorts fell in less than a half hour."

"How much territory is now lost?"

Maddening for the other leaders, Minister Day refused to show any emotion whatsoever.

"I'd say we gave up an additional five percent…"

"…bringing the total forfeited to around 40%" finished Day. "This is not a concern…"

Damien Bishop exploded. "How in the name of the Sith is this not a concern?"

A pause as all stopped to digest a forbidden word being dropped amongst galactic executives.

Inyri Garnik took on a sarcastic tone. "I'm pretty sure it's because he thinks RISE has some new superweapon that will utterly annihilate the Flood threat. Never mind that said threat multiplies exponentially when exposed to bacta, our otherwise-miracle healing fluid…"

Charles tried to avoid looking shocked. That bit of information was supposed to be RISE-only in the hopes of averting any panic.

"Don't act so surprised" lectured Garnik. "It's not as if the Republic Intelligence Service is a monolithic behemoth—it, too, can fight amongst itself…"

Day cursed internally. Holding the union together represented a challenge even in good times. Now it seemed fighting over how to fight might pose a problem.

"I do hope, Governor-General, you understand _why_ we consider that information sensitive?"

"Oh indeed I do" she replied. "What I don't understand is why it was kept from an **equal member of this federal union**."

A strange sound emanated from Kaia's image. It was, as near anyone could tell, the alien's way of laughing.

"You think we're equals? That's charmingly naive, Inyri. The Humans concentrate all resources amongst themselves, then wonder why they are ill-treated in places they are not the governing majority."

Day held up a small holo-emitter.

"Despite her negative tone, the Governor-General is correct. We do, in fact possess a device that we believe will be capable of containing this Flood. The Flood is quite an advanced lifeform despite its barbarism—we will simply fry its complex neural functions. Apologies—these low-quality video links really do not do the design justice, however Republic Spacelane Protection…"

A cough from Damien sounded suspiciously like "RISE."

"…will do exactly that" he finished. "Accurate records from the time period in which a construct such as this last existed were lost millennia ago, but we have extrapolated…"

"How coincidental" simpered Inyri. "The Humans can simply claim this thing as their own if it works, or blame incomplete designs if it doesn't."

Day cleared his throat loudly.

"_As I was saying_, the Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter will enter a system, activate, and depart, after which all planets in the system will be quite devoid of life."

Not that anyone could see much over a low-definition video link, but President Bishop twisted his face into a look of deepest suspicion. "So not only did you name this thing the PUNT, but you're also using pretty flowery terms for killing every lifeform in a rather large area! Is this not true?"

The non-Human women, not being versed in human slang or idioms, looked on with confusion. Hearing their silence, Bishop explained.

"To Humans speaking Principal, punt means pushing a problem off into the future rather than solving it. Half-measures, smokescreens, even outright lies. Of course, by the time anyone notices that, the people who did the 'punt' are long-gone from office and possibly from life, so they don't catch blame…"

In return, Damien received several alien phrases that made no sense to any translators.

"It means the same thing" clarified Kaia.

Given the situation, Executive Minister Charles Day set himself apart from notorious predecessor Natalie Buchanan, who when ganged-up on (especially along racial lines) resorted to shouting and making threats, mostly revolving around either using Alpha's power to bring others into line or withholding needed resources Alpha had in plenty but were lacking elsewhere. Her other failure, to deal effectively with huge smuggling rings trafficking in non-Humans, essentially led to her downfall.

"I have…contacts…who were able to supply the necessary components and expertise to make the Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter a reality."

He deliberately avoided mentioning the Band of Brothers—that his fellow galactic premiers were angry with him over the Republic Intelligence Service caused enough trouble without also admitting he worked with criminals, even if it was supposed to be in service of the greater good. Never mind the Band pushed _him_ around…

_Between RISE and these smugglers, I feel like a puppet!_

"Oh, and I suppose those contacts will only supply the needed materials to you and no one else in the name of 'galactic security'" said Damien Bishop.

"Well, there are galactic security issues involved" he replied, before being bowled over by one of the alien females.

"You expect us to leave our security to you despite your failure to contain the threat, combined with the Trans-Galactic Republic's own charter providing for 'the common defense among equals?' Do you think us impaired?"

"High Inquisitor, should the deployment of resources not match the scale of the need?"

Kaia knew better than to fall for that. Though the statement made perfect sense, contemporary interpretations of it always favored Alpha at the expense of everyone else. While it seemed to be true that Alpha _did_ face the largest threat right now, it was also obvious that he (or whoever actually controlled the Alpha government) would use this as a pretext to further centralize both power and available materiel regardless of actual needs from other union members.

"If you believe the words you say" challenged Inquisitor Kolzaar, "why have you not deployed Spacelane Protection assets to defend Delta?"

"Our hyper-zero and slipspace drives are not yet widely deployed!" protested Day. "We…"

Damien's grainy image turned to his fellow galactic minister.

"So the rumors are true! Alpha _does_ have advanced propulsion! Just like the rumors that superlasers were fitted to Star Dreadnaughts in violation of… Oh forget it! As the esteemed Inquisitor brought up earlier, we don't _have_ a coherent defense policy. And that, my friend, is a problem."

"It's been the unspoken rule for some time—use the Standardized Regulations of Military Law to enforce discipline and maintain order when convenient, but ignore them otherwise, since none of this is technically a 'military'" spat Governor-General Garnik. "This is ridiculous! Though I feel she has turned it into worthless words, I understand why my honorable colleague Kaia Kolzaar expresses a desire to leave the Trans-Galactic Republic!"

"It is true that a multipartisan compromise that would have led to reform in this area has run into trouble" conceded Executive Minister Day. "The fault appears to lie with the politician, rather than the bill itself…"

[…]

Glia Ham'Del stewed in her Senatorial office. She'd seen dozens of politicians from far more nefarious places than Bothawui survive worse than this—so why was it so hard to get Nova Network off her back? Surely, politicians having affairs in broad daylight, consuming glitterstim _on the Senate floor_, or keeping slaves provided more ratings value than hammering a story about honest tax mistakes?

_Maybe it's because Nova Network is a cheap tabloid!_

The Galaxy News Service and other respectable media outlets ran one or two stories, then let it go. But the columnists at NN seemed to have nothing better to do—and with its huge reach (holo-billboards near the checkout at every foodstuffer) its accusations were impossible to avoid despite their massive exaggeration and sensationalism. The company had actually been subject to an official censure for both slander and libel—a rare moment of multipartisanship in a normally-fractured Home Senate.

As always, the Bothan suspected Republic Intelligence Service involvement. Also as always, she couldn't prove it.

Consequently, the General Retrenchment, Enhancement, and Appropriation Against Threats bill got stoppered up, not that it wasn't already difficult to maneuver legislation through a half-dozen committees at the same time.

"It advanced out of both SELCOMs" she muttered, "normally impossible since they get into lightstaff comparison matches due to overlapping jurisdiction between Trafficking and Smuggling. Spacelane Protection was fine with it. Of course, the number-mashers at Budget didn't like it—newsflash, an appropriations bill contains spending! So why is Intergalactic Relations even getting involved while Intelligence just rolls over and says 'Yes, go right ahead with that'?"

Her lawyers were handling fallout from the tax "scandal"—the charity named as the beneficiary even issued a full statement of support "as we all make mistakes, and there are far worse than this." They even offered to refund the money to the Trans-Galactic Republic treasury (to which the government politely demurred).

The worst had to be the scattershot effect accusations against Ham'Del had on her colleagues, who immediately turned tail and ran at the first sign of additional controversy surrounding an already-contentious (though widely supported) bill.

"I am sorry" said Senator Ordol Lerann via holo. "I simply cannot support this bill with the knowledge that it will not be debated on its merits, but rather as a proxy fight over the fate of one of its backers."

_In other words, if you're going down in flames, I'm not risking my hide for your sake._

Several other Senators Ham'Del counted on backed out as well. Aisha Quee cited falling support among her constituents and Jiran Rennagen changed his mind on account of the bill being too expensive. Syrena Sapan's rejection hurt the most.

"This bill has become too weak. Too many compromises have been made, and it will leave the Republic Intelligence Service with almost as much latitude as they have today! What's more toothless 'oversight' when the faces from RISE moving to these regulatory bodies are as regular as those on my son's hoverbus route?"

[…]

"Well, it looks like those beater freighters finally got here."

In an amusing twist, while pro-Human organizations snuck things _out_ of the Trans-Galactic Republic, Republic Intelligence Service agents were busy trying to sneak things _in_. Mainly precious digistruction modules that would greatly speed completion of various projects, especially the dozen Star Dreadnaughts ordered under various other guises that were so well concealed "in a thicket of paper so dense neutron stars have nothing on it."

David Vance knew nothing, of course. The RISE Council deliberately kept him in the dark, so only through exposing the Council itself could these plans be revealed until they were ready to be activated.

"And when the Home Senate assembled this Council, they placed more layers between us and them than the Maw's black holes" said one such member during their weekly meeting.

"You are absolutely sure no one will find our ships?" asked one man anxiously.

"Nonsense" huffed a woman. "We are building them well outside the galactic disk, a hundred thousand light-years away. Also, up."

"What does up have to do with it?" demanded the man who'd referenced the Senate's creation of the Republic Intelligence Service Council.

"Really? You served four decades in the community and have yet to notice a pattern?" laughed the woman. "Space battles are always fought on a single plane. It's as if space were flat! For millions of years, everyone—republics, empires, smugglers, sorcerers, we've all fought that way! Eons of courses in 'multi-dimensional battle management' have failed to break the stranglehold of a school of thought so ancient it predates modern history. Nobody bothers to look up or down unless they're fighting near a planet."

"I do hope we're not relying on that alone to keep anyone from noticing…"

A list of countermeasures employed at these "black yards" scrolled before all attending the meeting. Cloaking devices (the rare stygium type), space-matte coloration, one-way contractors who in exchange for constructing Star Dreadnaughts in the depths of space would be taken care of for the rest of their lives, the use of statistical modeling to predict exactly how many freighters on outbounds to resupply fleets could be "lost" before anyone noticed…

"The lack of convoys heading out to Gamma-Six is posing a problem" grated the first man to speak. "We no longer have an excuse to slingshot millions of tons of cargo into deep space!"

"Now that we have the digistruction technology, there won't be an issue anymore."

The man turned to his colleague wearing a look of disbelief. "You really expect me to believe that someone is going to construct a Star Dreadnaught in pieces, with the pieces being smaller than the inside of a moisture farmer's hovel?"

"If the pieces are merely a conversion of energy into solid matter, it will be far simpler than trying to divert parts away from other projects. We will no longer have a need for our dear Senatorial friends to conduct a laser-and-lightstaff show to avoid anyone figuring out where exactly all those missing freight shipments went."

"Never mind the removal of money as a worry. Well, at least, smaller amounts of money. Power generators are cheaper than parts."

"And easier to ship."

[…]

"Well, so much for that."

Garrus wasn't surprised his planned exit from _Revenant_'s hanger failed due to the presence of enough Flood biomass to choke a cruiser.

"Anyone know some way around this?"

"Try looking up."

Sarah sounded almost bored. A hanger, massive but still not the largest, gaped before the party's floodlights some distance up the wall.

"This ship is so big the hangers have hangers!"

"Stow it, Arkadios" snapped Jack. Though she had to admit it was true. Once the former convict joined civilized society via serving under Shepard's command, she'd heard a great deal about larger vessels that only existed in the service of governments. Sure, the most cutthroat of pirates might manage to land a cruiser, but dreadnaughts remained the province of the law. And this one was the biggest ever, even bigger than _Destiny Ascension_.

Before anyone could fire repulsorlifts to carry themselves into the higher hanger, the squad felt themselves fly across space and slam into the deck.

"See? Helping" pouted several "Lady Fingers."

"You don't have to convince us of your ability to aid in the mission" replied Garrus. "What we do not have right now is trust."

"I'm usually one who is slow to trust" countered Ashley, "but Venera did just save my life back there. Otherwise I would've gotten one of those biotic infection spikes to the face!"

"This is nice and all that you're bonding" laughed Shepard, "but maybe we could do it when we're not on a Flood-filled dreadnaught?"

"Well, this hanger doesn't have nearly as much" pointed out Garrus.

"Yeah, that's like saying the maximum-security prisoners are slightly less dangerous than the supermax security prisoners" replied Jack. "If there's even one Flood spore, it's a problem."

Sword moved ahead, clearing some biomass with flamethrowers until Garrus halted the process.

"Save that fuel! We can't store it digitally, so our supplies are very limited, and I'm not going to bet on finding random tanks of accelerant in some hallway closet!"

"Ahh, you ruin all the fun" complained Gaige, though she complied with the order.

"Now what have we here?" asked Zera Zelit. None of the Current Channelers had made any point to explore areas of the Star Dreadnaught unnecessary to their plans even as digistruction built into the imposing vessel repaired it during their stay.

"Well, we can only hope some of them still work" said Jackie.

"Unlikely. This vessel has not possessed a full crew trained in its operation and maintenance for at least three standard years. I believe such functionality will be limited."

Tali flinched again at a geth using the word "I" before countering with a point of her own.

"Yes, Legion, but the artificial gravity in that main hanger worked just fine. It's possible…"

"You guys talk too much" growled Zaeed as he jammed a suited finger into one of the elevator panels.

To the surprise of all except the Channelers, it lit up and a smooth computerized voice intoned "Turbolift 52 summoned. Please wait."

A ding announced the arrival of an elevator.

"We're not all going to fit!" whispered Rachel Arkadios as if this was a big revelation.

"Sword, four at a time!" barked Garrus. He turned upon seeing Adam Grayson's bemused look.

"Well?" The graying man paused.

"Well what?" asked Garrus.

"Don't you need to know where those lifts lead?"

Four the turian motioned forward had the same line of thought and stopped before crossing into Turbolift 52.

"Their primary purpose is access to crew quarters a hundred-and-eighty decks up. Head down and you'll reach Reactor Maintenance."

Grayson stopped, as though he had more to say but decided to keep whatever it was to himself.

"I knew these were big" whispered Miranda into a private chat with Sam, "but I had no idea there were that many decks!"

"Yeah, I never got the grand tour either… Lilith might've known more about these things."

Neither wished to dwell on the subject of dead Sirens.

"Keep your comms open" ordered Garrus. "Legion, you take point as the sole member of this group who cannot succumb to Flood infection."

The Master Chief, Zaeed, and Zera moved to join Legion inside. The door hissed shut and a light above indicated the lift departed upward.

"Report any unusual contacts."

"Vakarian-Commander, we are aware of the mission parameters" replied Legion. He almost sounded…irritated.

Thirty seconds later, such an "unusual contact" caused Legion to comm Garrus.

"Vakarian-Commander, the lift system has ceased transporting us upward. We are located on Deck 300, Section 20, subsection…"

"I get the idea" said Garrus calmly. "Any idea why the lift stopped?"

A buzzing filled his comm.

"What's going on up there?"

"The crazy telekinetic woman with a plasma sword figured her own way to see what the hell is going on" came back Zaeed's voice.

Grunt broke out laughing that boomed through Shield's comm channel.

"Our progress has been halted by significant Flood growth seven meters above" continued Legion. "This elevator appears to possess a sensor system which stops it before impact. Notably, the computer did tell us 'automatic safety stop' prior to ending our ascent."

"You may laugh at our weapons, krogan, however they are far more useful than your fists, no matter how enraged you become" lectured Sarah to Grunt as the latter attempted to bash through a wall.

"Grunt, stand down" shouted Sam.

"Oops, sorry Garrus" she apologized sheepishly through a closed comm. "Force of habit."

"Just don't contradict me when bullets start flying and we'll be fine!"

"Based on the count provided by Councilor Grayson, we must travel 96 decks higher to reach a level that will permit us to make significant progress toward the bridge" announced the Chief.

"Waves have told me the next one over to the left is clear all the way to the top" noted Zera. "I believe we Current Channelers may have another use."

More "whooms," "buzzes" and "squeals" greeted Garrus' comm as he presumed Zera cut her way over to the next elevator.

"It seems we're going to go up in groups of four" he said in response. It wasn't necessary to order his people to assemble at that point—they sectioned themselves.

"I have ordered the elevator to return to your level" announced Legion. "Please stand by."

"And where are you?" inquired the commander. "I don't think we need a butler."

"The one called 'Zera' who manifests non-biotic telekinesis has utilized these abilities to take herself and the mercenary Zaeed to the top of a nearby elevator conduit. Her ability to climb without assistance while bearing weight is proving most beneficial to the mission, and may partially be due to her mechanical right limb."

"What about the Master Chief? He's…kind of heavier than the rest of us."

"I cannot make an estimate" replied the geth. "The abilities of this woman exist outside all science known to both the Consensus and, from what information I have seen, your societies as well. Without enough data, a reasonable hypothesis is impossible."

"Stay out of my way and we won't have any unfortunate sub-molecular fusions." Sarah barged through the crowd into the lift. Before anyone else could join her, the super-Siren slammed her hand onto a control panel, closing lift doors and zipping upward.

"Why doesn't she just do her purple flash-thing?" asked Athena. "She, and other Sirens, have done it so many times…"

"From what she's told us, it doesn't work so well if the Siren hasn't visited her destination. Lilith got lucky—big cargo bay for a target, and then only using it in straight-line-dash fashion when she tried to get _Revenant_ fighting again" replied Garrus. "Here, we're in cramped quarters, and if her comment about 'sub-molecular fusions' is accurate, you don't want to miss and end up teleporting into Flood."

Above, Sarah stepped out and before he could react, gripped the Master Chief on the shoulder and twirled him around.

"Hold on."

"To what?" After seeing her motions, the soldier shook his head. "You cannot be serious."

The woman's express remained unchanged. "Hop on."

"I weigh over a quarter of a standard ton in this armor—your back will snap like a stick."

"Have it your way."

Two motions of her hands later, the Chief found himself immobilized facing backward, held by an arm that appeared far too slender for its exhibited strength. The other worked at enlarging Zera's hole, wielding that strange purple glowing blade he could most relate to Covenant energy swords (though even that comparison seemed insufficient). After what seemed seconds, the woman dashed forward with her cargo in tow.

_I've fallen from orbit, this will be easy, but messy._

To his surprise, Sarah answered his doubting thoughts. "You don't think I can get us both up that shaft?"

"My tours have taken me across the galaxy, and I have never seen anything like this telekinetic 'Current' you claim to have."

"And because you have not seen it, it cannot happen?"

"If the Covenant manifested powers like this, I would've heard about it."

"Consider yourself educated."

The Master Chief dropped with a clank onto hard deck plating. Standing, he returned to what appeared to be a lift door. Staring down, he used low-light vision to determine the bottom to be well beyond even his ability to see, though his vision captured another one of the sword's ("lightstaffs") bright blade (orange) flashing around below. Sarah reciprocated while speaking.

"Got Mr. Doubter up here in record time. Coming back."

Garrus tried to order the Siren and her...he couldn't think of an appropriate term…to move one-at-a-time to maximize protection of valuable assets (that is, Admiral/Councilor Grayson). Instead, by the time he got the word out, half his squad disappeared.

Minus the incident of having to catch a falling Grunt ("Awesome!") and Ashley ("I'm beginning to think they aren't so professional after all") as Venera found herself unable to actually carry both resulting in Sarah doing it for her, all made it to the top without a problem.

"Now that we're done having needless contests" (he glared at the women) "what's the next step, Grayson?"

"Through these crew quarters. Strange, there's no Flood up here." The Admiral/Councilor turned to the Master Chief.

"I kill Flood—I don't study it. If Cortana was here, we might know more."

"If you were to build a city, would you raise more buildings than necessary?"

Garrus turned to Samara. She seemed to have a way with words even if she wasn't always the most strategic.

"Meaning?"

"This ship is vast. Larger than anything I have seen in my centuries as a justicar. As prolific as the Flood is, it may also not grow further than necessary to achieve its goals. The notion of limited value may explain why it has not covered this entire ship with biomass."

"_Eternal Protector_ became infested, but was not ever fully covered" said the Master Chief.

"Great, so now we know why the creepy abandoned starship isn't a complete deathtrap."

Ashley turned to Kaidan. "Don't forget the broken decks that Sarah talked about. That sounds pretty death-trap to me."

Gaige drooped slightly at hearing the word "deathtrap." Her own incarnation of said became utterly obsolete in the current fight (having been more useful for welding). However, her prowess as an engineer and technique of digistructing items when needed (within limits) gained the girl quite a bit of attention despite her age at the time (not even grown out of her teens).

"Buck up, kiddo. We still have a war to fight."

Ashley, like many others, felt an imperative to help Gaige along—if only due to her lacking in years compared to the situation she'd been dragged into. Being in your early twenties was no time to be drafted into a war, unless you'd signed up at eighteen (which Gaige certainly had not).

"Forward!" ordered Garrus. "Lamps on, and watch for holes."

"Given the beating this ship took" commented Samantha Shepard "I'm surprised its interior appears to be in such good condition."

"You of all people" said Kasumi. "Have you been watching those omnivids again—what are they called…"

"Persephone's Predators" suggested Tali. "Some on the Migrant Fleet used to watch them—though _Fleet and Flotilla_ was more popular. Some argued the Predators were too powerful, their stories always revolving around how great they were without ever challenging them. I once hosted a discussion on…"

Sam turned red with embarrassment, not that anyone could see at the moment with helmets on. Not only was she an avid consumer of _Persephone's Predators_, she sometimes compared her own life to them and not entirely without basis. The characters in these half-hour omnivids ("No advertising breaks, ever!" they said) seemed to pull off the impossible on a disturbingly frequent basis. Frequent enough that fans often complained nothing was ever impossible for the Predators, to the point of it being boring. Sam still liked the vids.

Grayson burst out laughing. "There is much you all do not know about the Trans-Galactic Republic…"

Garrus headed off the conversation before it could start. "This is a critical mission. We will have time for pleasantries and cultural enlightenment later."

"Suffice it to say that sixteen meters of durasteel laced with several types of even stronger metals to create an alloy withstands quite a bit of punishment."

Grayson knocked an armored fist on a nearby bulkhead as he nodded toward Samantha, acknowledging her comment-question. Even the Admiral wore a suit of MISTILTEINN, modified to be defensive, forgoing any heavy weapons.

"Without coordinated computerized fire control, lacking sufficient energy reserves, and having some vulnerable spots exposed through reverse-analysis combined with a bit of luck, _Revenant_ wasn't able to do the job she'd been intended for" he continued.

"This ship has vulnerable spots?" asked Kaidan.

"How do you think it got turned into a drifting wreck?" countered Grayson, gesturing grandly with his hands. "And you've seen the opposite in how long _Ultimatum_ has lasted against a force that tore everything else apart. Functioning point-defense guns help a lot against swarming enemies."

"Also keep in mind we repaired a portion of the damage" added Sarah. "Though, I will admit the rebuilding may not have followed the original deckplan…"

Garrus spoke again, this time with much greater urgency and some level of irritation.

"This is precisely the sort of distraction we do not need right now. Next person to talk about this ship in a way that isn't related to the mission gets muted."

Jack switched to a private channel. "He's making _you_ look like a walk in the park, Ash."

"So how many engines does this ship have?"

The turian knew Williams only did it to get a reaction, so he ignored her publicly while mildly chastising her over a one-on-one communication.

"Jack started it" she said slyly. "Called me a walk in the park…"

"Well we can't have Hardass Ash being knocked down a notch now, can we?"

The Master Chief silently noted several hundred meters disappearing from their planned journey during these conversations, both those he could hear and non-broadcast ones.

Helmets adjusted automatically without notifying their wearers, so it took time for the squad to notice a faint purple glow which grew brighter as they moved forward.

"And there is some of our handiwork!" Sarah pointed like a proud child bragging about the presence of his/her art on the conservator.

The squad zoomed in on what looked like the barbette of a gargantuan turret—in their vision its edges couldn't even be seen. Gaige squealed in delight, bolting toward yet another impossibly awesome feat of engineering. She leapt off a torn deck without realizing it, fell five meters ("Whooo!"), and hovered as "automatic safeties engaged" (so she heard in her helmet).

"For once, listen to the crazy Siren" sighed Garrus. "Or, you should have…"

The remaining party stopped before stepping into a chasm.

"That doesn't look like a standard feature" harrumphed Zaeed. "Too bad…"

"It's a big gun. Who cares?" asked Grunt.

"We use expansion-grapplers for salvage" explained Tali. "The head pierces the target, then parts of it flare out after impact so whatever we grab can be hauled off. This looks like a much, much bigger version…"

A blinking symbol in the lower-left corner of her HUD caught Ashley's attention.

"Hey, did anyone else notice there's a Level 5 environmental hazard in this area?"

Several reactions resulted in jerked heads, as if shocked. The "skull-crossbones" icon, basically chosen to mean "near-instant-death" to unshielded lifeforms, blinked with an indication that an explanation of the hazard was available for those who wanted it.

"Warning: Level 5 Toxic Hazard detected" dictated a synthesized version of Cortana. "Shields will protect you from this hazard, however shield failure may result in immediate negative health effects."

"And what is the hazard?"

Kasumi wanted to know why she couldn't take her helmet off despite an apparent lack of Flood.

"Concentrated Eridium slag has been detected at this position. The hazard has been present for two-hundred-fifty meters prior to this point at this same level of lethality."

"Did she just say 'lethality?'" asked Rachel Arkadios.

"Damn straight she did." Jack switched to a channel used only by the students, herself, and Brick. "Listen up, you weasly wimps. You take your helmet off or have a suit breach, _you are dead_. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am" replied a slightly terrified chorus.

"I thought all we had to worry about was this Flood" whispered one.

"Welcome to the galaxy, kids. It's got war, infections, invasions, toxic substances… You name it, we've got it in large supply! Order today!"

Jack couldn't bring herself to chastise Brick for his inappropriate humor, seeing as several of the students giggled.

"It appears we have our explanation for lack of Flood" said Samara, indicating some blackened, dead-looking biomass on the floor. She nudged it with her foot, breaking off a chunk that crumbled from the light pressure. What remained fell into a seemingly-endless void below.

"What is this?" Garrus gestured at the massive glowing cylinder. It appeared to have vertical "stripes" of purple within an otherwise-solid structure. The comparison Tali made to expansion-grapplers did strike him as essentially accurate—he could see the bottom end of what he figured was an "arm" holding whatever it was in place.

"It's still the instrument of your destruction." Sarah couldn't help herself from showing amusement at her comment. "Just not wielded by me anymore."

"We already knew that" shot back Sam, annoyed at the Siren's attitude.

"Superheated liquid Eridium projector. Closest analog is probably the Ancient Machines/Reapers and their magnetic-hydrodynamic guns. Except with Eridium."

"Oh look, something more powerful than turbolasers" said Ashley. "Too bad we don't have them."

Samantha Shepard had an idea.

"Does this turret have manual operation like the big guns the Trans-Galactic Republic installed?"

Garrus had to cut her off.

"You don't seriously think this one turret could destroy an entire ship, especially one this large?"

"Cortana's problem wasn't with the ship specifically. You said so yourself when you briefed me on this mission. It's what is being transmitted from the ship."

Shepard turned to Grayson.

"Where are the comm arrays on a dreadnaught like this?"

"Around the bridge, of course. You'd have no hope getting through the shields in that section if this ship were fully operational, but this weapon's great power combined with the fact that I doubt either Sarah or the Flood bothered to restore protection completely might let us do what we have to in order to shut down this ship's communication systems."

"I thought we were blowing it up" objected Jack. Grunt pounded his fists in agreement.

"There may be an easier way—one that doesn't involve fighting our way through toxic sludge, Flood, and a possibly-decayed ship" replied Garrus. "First good news I've seen in I don't know how long…"

"If the Flood intelligence is boosting its transmission power and range through _Revenant_'s systems, destroying those systems should cut the signal. We can do that with this turret, assuming it still works."

Grayson turned to Sarah.

"Your turret, your show."

[…]

Bill Arkansas Jakobs almost couldn't believe how easy it was. Wave after wave of Athena-clones, some more stable than others, washed over what would soon be Jakobs' galaxy. The Prime Worlds, caring more about stability and keeping the Flood out regardless of cost so long as nobody took their stuff, did not care who their guardians were. Hyperion being a shadow of its former self, Atlas having been reduced to a holding company, Dahl's lack of capital, and the secretive retrenchment of Maliwan/Torgue made it a simple matter for Jakobs to take up the mantle of "true defender."

The death of a test subject bought the company an endless supply of mostly-competent clone soldiers in the same mold as the original. And several of them apparently had a means to track the despised Trans-Galactic Republic task force without said group being made aware of their discovery.

"Let us test our acquisition!" boomed Bill. "Set _Farsight_ against those outsiders. Once they are gone, nothing will stand between Jakobs and utter ascension. Not the Trans-Galactic Republic, not Gamma-Six, and not Flood!"

A resolution passed with unusual unanimity among shareholders left Bill Arkansas with significant power over "matters of corporate security" as the galactic situation declined. Fractious politics gave way to iron-willed unanimity since Jakobs' repeated victories left nobody feeling as though their own interests were being ignored. Hence his authority as Commander of Jakobs Forces.

It was noted despite the size of _Farsight_ it mounted the most accurate e-space drive of all. It made sense in a way—the ship stretched so long several _Titans_ could be carried within its hull, negating their own less-than-satisfactory e-space performance. Of course, the behemoth didn't exactly come with a user's manual, meaning the massive vessel popped out of e-space far enough away that Admiral Nimitz found herself able to react.

"Well, sithspit. We've got all our power in shields to hold off a ship full of genetic engineering rejects, and now someone else shows up to the party."

Operative-394, "Kat," hailed _Ultimatum_.

"Hello again."

"What do you want?" demanded Nimitz.

"It appears we have a problem" replied Kat. "You see, I was sent here with orders to destroy your ship and fleet, but it seems someone else is already trying to do that."

"Orders from who?" asked the Admiral. "I thought you reported to no one."

"Have you ever conducted operations that would be denied by those who actually commissioned them if you were caught?"

_Great. Those types._

Nimitz watched her shields fall slightly over a period of more than an hour. _Ultimatum_ still had over 90% of her protection remaining, and by draining unused arrays it would be possible to restore forward deflectors to full. However, she wasn't going to do that with a Jakobs dreadnaught staring at her ship's stern.

The readout about said ship caused her to take on a look of concern—the newcomer nearly matched _Ultimatum_ in length. What hid within its hull could potentially allow it to destroy _Ultimatum…_or the Flood.

Kat noticed this change of expression. "Surprised?"

"Nobody else has ships this size" protested Allison. "No indication that anyone here could build a ship that large existed!"

"No one you knew of" replied Kat. "Atlas… How far they have fallen, and we have picked up the scraps! Including this dreadnaught, the _Farsight_!"

"And what are you going to do with it?" challenged Admiral Nimitz. "Do you really think one ship is enough to stop the Flood? You can attack—but mark my words, the Trans-Galactic Republic _will_ respond. What would you do if that Flood-ified hulk didn't have me for a target?"

Kat paused. She hadn't reviewed her new ship's weapons—just jumped aboard and hit the e-space button. Given that the vessel represented reverse-engineered or found-and-incorporated Eridian technology, there wasn't even any guarantee the ship would function as expected. Atlas hadn't exactly been open about their possessions until Tediore Capital Investments got involved in their liquidation to wipe away the trillions upon trillions in debt racked up thanks to a few enterprising terrorists on Pandora. Funny enough, Jakobs got its own shares back as Atlas imploded—the latter company had invested in Jakobs early when slipcelerator technology first became a big (though secret and proprietary) item.

Now Operative-394 answered her adversary's question.

"I'm…not sure ma'am. I have no idea what this ship is capable of…"

Nimitz resisted an urge to laugh. Her opponent threatened her with a gigantic warship that she had no idea how to use. How amusing.

_These people may have big mouths and big wallets, but they're not military._

The Admiral almost felt sorry for the Jakobs clone, thus dropping her previous confrontational tone.

"If I give you some ideas, are you going to vape me?"

Operative-394 hesitated. She'd seen the strange kindness exhibited by her enemies when a fallen clone drew immediate offerings of first aid from one of the people who'd doubtlessly shot her minutes or hours before during the battle of Fort Jakobs on Plutus. She also remembered watching a sister drop dead without any apparent reason moments later, though she suspected why. Every Jakobs clone possessed a hardwired chip in the back of her neck to allow easy downloading of orders (or easy uploading of real-time tactical information). Of course, as a successful clone, Operative-394 watched some of her sisters be remotely disabled for various reasons including insanity, failure to follow orders, and forgetfulness, all exposed while training. The last wasn't wearing her armor at the time, so it stood to reason some other method existed, which left the chip since no other known body modifications supported such extreme results.

Kat briefly wondered if having these thoughts would get her killed too, but seeing as she didn't feel her eyes bleeding nor had she dropped to the deck, she concluded if she was to die for ruminating on this, it wouldn't be now.

Shield readouts on _Ultimatum_ indicated a near-inconsequential drop of 0.01% from a continued Flood assault. Most of the former _Revenant_'s attacks were energy or particle based, slamming harmlessly into shields designed to repel such things for great lengths of time. The few biotically-charged enemies slipped through shields only to be bisected by the great battleship's point-defense system. Though power was almost entirely diverted to shields, old-fashioned "slugthrowers" using ancient chemical reactions whose fundamentals were unchanged from millions of years ago needed very little energy to do their jobs—an addition made to this member of the class because "turbolasers can't solve everything." Nimitz didn't know if it was foresight or luck, but she'd take it either way.

That she and her ship's sensors could tell, nothing had yet punctured _Ultimatum_'s sixteen-meter-thick hide even if the point-defenses failed to catch it.

"I guess we'll have to work together. To hell with orders!"

Without Cortana (and with crippled computers as a result of Cortana), Nimitz would have to send someone directly rather than interfacing purely through nonphysical means. As befitting of an experienced command officer, she declined to involve herself personally, instead sending three mid-level technicians from her crew of close to two million. Conveyed aboard an assault shuttle launched from a rear hanger (to hopefully avoid Flood attention), the three were to determine how to make use of the enemy's ship and turn it on the hulk that used to be _Revenant_.

Upon receiving her three guests, Kat felt a slight tingling at the back of her neck, but dismissed it as the usual "brain-sparkles" that were commonly associated with a clone's implants. She kept her helmet on, in order to maintain a pretense of professionalism. She got the feeling since her admission of not knowing how to use the behemoth warship she commanded that Nimitz thought less of her.

The next thing she knew, alarms were blaring everywhere, her ship's bridge filled with smoke, and the three techs' heads lined her bridge console.


	60. The Sorrow of Sarah

**Chapter 59 – The Sorrow of Sarah**

Taking the Admiral at his word, Sarah jumped from a torn ledge of destroyed deck onto the barbette's glowing side. Those left to observe didn't understand how she could be hopping from point to point with no obvious hand-holds, but the Amazonian woman didn't seem to be having any problems, so no one moved to intervene. She climbed head-down like some kind of animal, flipping underneath the massive turret base and disappeared into it.

"A year ago I would've given her a push" said Samantha Shepard. "That the universe gives us a woman whose murders are uncountable yet then forces us to rely on her to do the exact opposite strikes me as the height of cosmic powers screwing with us."

"A push that undoubtedly would have done nothing" replied Garrus. "She, and her fellows, have shown an uncanny ability to ignore just about every law of physics we thought we knew without an ounce of eezo involved."

"We were trained to do our jobs" protested Venera Sola. "You are all soldiers, or at least do a good impression of them."

"Just because you can kill someone and feel righteous doing it doesn't mean you should."

Jack glared at the lightstaff-wielder.

"Shepard showed me that."

"How quaint" growled Urthula Shurken. "A lesson on restraint from the person who records indicate burned seven defenseless worlds because she was following orders. You forgive her, yet condemn us. Your hatred runs strong in the Current."

"Do mental illnesses exist in your galaxy, or have you cured those too?" Jackie honestly wanted to know whether their technological superiors had figured out a way to sear her most hated memories from her persona once and for all.

"A drunk is still charged for crimes committed" lectured Zera Zelit. "By reason of insanity still lands one in prison as a ward of the state."

"I did say to the Admiral, the other Admiral, that to combat the Flood we may need to engage in unsavory tactics."

Garrus hoped this admission would quiet the dispute.

"So much for saving weighty conversations for later" muttered Ashley.

"It has taken you this long to face the truth" declared Drythlyn Narb. Of the "Current" women, she seemed the least bloodthirsty to the turian.

"No" argued Garrus. "It has taken us this long to accept that the truth had to be so unpleasant. We thought we had answers before—the Trans-Galactic Republic, the United Defense Command, our own anti-Flood precautions. We failed because of an enemy we did not understand."

"And when Sarah tried to enlighten you, none listened" snarled Urthula.

"Hearing words of wisdom over the screams of those she killed was rather difficult, I admit" conceded Garrus mockingly. "I think…"

"You didn't think" said Drythlyn, annoyingly calm. "We warned you what would happen if you kept it up with those modified hyper-zero engines, but we might well have tried to use mind tricks on Hutts."

Within a huge construct, Sarah dropped herself into a trance. Floating on the Current would permit her to summon immense power—the same she used to run this ship when it had been hers alone (or so she thought—given the presence of RISE free-riders). She became a conduit of energy that brought the soft purple glow outside to blinding levels. She could feel the shock and pain of those gathered through the Current as she pulled more and more into herself.

The single-barreled, triangular-prism weapon came back to life. One of several weapon types she'd installed upon hijacking _Revenant_, it represented the most powerful iteration of Eridium projection cannons. Technically, the gun contained readouts for manual operation, though through the Current Sarah was the turret and the turret was her, so she needed no external stimuli to know its status. Actually, Sarah felt disrupted by the squad surrounding her current position. As a pure channel of the Current, she became extremely sensitive to even the most well-buried emotions of those around her should she choose to explore the doors now open. Aware anyone with sufficient training could detect her, but not caring as this would be her best chance to figure out the real motivations and thoughts of her alleged allies, she reached out to touch each mind in turn. Able to perceive each individual with a mere touch, what felt like minutes or hours to her was in reality a second or two at most as both words and images flashed through her head, pulled from another mind. Not that anyone could see, but she glowed red as she slipped into concentration.

_Garrus Vakarian…turian. Disciplined, orderly, controlled. Conflicted—it was __**he**__ who suggested to the Trans-Galactic Republic admiral that my acolytes be freed to aid in this mission. The hypocrisy grates on him. Yet he thinks he is acting in the greater good, and that Samantha Shepard wouldn't have been able to do the same. She would have locked us up again, in just the same way that she destroyed the Collector Base because its existence was "tainted," no matter how many lives it might save. He despises us, but pushes that down until it almost doesn't register for the sake of the mission._

Her turret rotated annoyingly slowly, so Sarah pushed it with the Current. Hearing metal screech, she desisted lest something be damaged.

_Athena…human clone. The first created from a combination of girls kidnapped at birth trained into supersoldiers. These primitives are not so primitive if they have mastered genetic memory transfers. Immense guilt over being tricked into killing what "family" she had and the subsequent rampage she went on after finding out what really happened during her alleged "test." Feelings of failure for being captured by Jakobs, again not her own doing. Fear she may have done terrible things under the family's control._

Sarah's experiences both directly (in dealing with Shepard/Vakarian) and indirectly (her boredom-digging through _Revenant_'s computer core) combined with whatever the monster aboard Omega did to her caused the Siren to plant a subtle (so Athena would not think someone else came up with the idea), but strong (enough to be a non-ephemeral thought), suggestion in the clone's mind: _These circumstances were not your fault. Move on._

_John-117 aka "The Master Chief"…human supersoldier from another parallel. In his universe, the Flood succeeded but he and his artificial intelligence escaped through sheer luck. The Flood unified species in a way not seen here—old enemies gladly fought side-by-side to contain the menace. Now determined to see this galaxy survive, even if it costs his own life. Cares deeply for the AI Cortana, and will do just about anything to help her._

She felt a door slam and winced. The Chief had pushed her out.

_Unsurprising_ she mused, _given his background._

_Jackie…broken and rebuilt scion of the Jakobs family. Traumatic childhood. _

The Siren felt her thoughts boil. Through her analysis of _Revenant_'s computer core, concepts such as love and non-command relationships entered her mind. In the head of the Jakobs heir, she found more pain than she could have possibly imagined. Jack, the teacher, had furiously attacked the Siren more than once—radiating red-hot anger into the Current as she feared for her students' safety and sought revenge. According to what passed for right and wrong in this galaxy, though Jack's actions would have normally drawn condemnation, the woman felt perfectly okay with cracking Sarah's ribs or punching her in the face. Yet, when compared with the smoldering ember of rage hidden deep inside Jackie's mind, Jack's machinations were in fact quite tame despite her inability (compared with the biotic) to deliver on them.

_A darkness hides, a fury burns, anger borne of decades living in ways that she cannot stand now. She thinks she's overcome her past, but the wrong push would send her tumbling right back into it. Given correct stimuli, she would murder her whole family for abandoning her, or so she believes._

Returning to thoughts of what, exactly, transpired in Jackie's street-urchin years prior to being taken in by Moxxi, Sarah found herself overdue for certain aspects of education normally taught in the early teenage years. She'd figured out the fantasies the late Bart Jakobs had about both herself and his own family member—something relating to physical pleasures. Except, apparently there were certain conventions to be followed: both parties generally had to agree to engage in them. In many situations, Jackie certainly did not, yet was forced to out of fear of her life (or other unpleasant punishments). Sarah herself had yet to experience these things, but Jackie's memories just screamed "wrong" every time. Compared to her readings (and observations—which had gotten more than one holo-recorder in trouble aboard _Revenant_), the Jakobs scion had been used for the enjoyment of many without regard for her own feelings.

The purple-haired woman couldn't really claim to be immune to accusations that she also failed to account for the wishes of others (mainly, to continue living) during her attempts to stop the Flood. However, the more Sarah explored the deepest parts of Jackie's mind, the more horrified she became. Ultimately, the Trans-Galactic Republic attempted to help Jackie address her past, an exercise Sarah remained unfamiliar with. She slowly became aware of a very small presence. It was almost as if a child were trying to push back against the mass of her former ship—it barely registered. Unlike the Master Chief, Jackie's attempts to remove Sarah from her head were entirely unsuccessful, a child beating against the glass of a greenhouse, able to see in and observe another person rooting through her own recollections but powerless to halt a reel of her worst nightmares.

Unable to kick the Siren out of her thoughts, Jackie reflexively did the next best thing. If that woman was going to watch the entirety of her life at leisure, she would have the worst parts of it shoved in her face over and over again. Various nights in which Jackie lacked sleep for terrifying reasons. Her first days on the streets after being abandoned. The red mist that enveloped her mind when Moxxi presented her with a new server's uniform. Even her blubbering incoherence after the bartender dragged her away from fighting with some red-haired woman whose name Jackie could not recall. In a final effort, she dragged up every memory of violation she could, trying to force the Siren to see that this little mental incursion felt no different to her than those of the more physical sort.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Garrus as Jackie Jakobs collapsed in a heap. "Medical analysis, now!"

"Subject Jakobs, Jackie: Experiencing extreme levels of neural stress brought on by external factors this armor is not capable of measuring. Suggest immediate removal of subject from the area."

Sarah could tell this woman had no Current sensitivity whatsoever. She could Channel no more than she could remove the observer from her head. However, she did have some level of conscious revulsion against Sarah's continued presence. Curious, the Siren wondered why this reaction was occurring. That the very act of measuring threw off the scales did not occur to her until a voice she could barely hear spoke.

"Please… Please leave…"

Sarah, having precious little experience with various intonations and inflections, had to dig quickly through her own recollections to figure out why three words could be so strained, like a durasteel plate stretched to its limit.

"Why?" she replied out loud. "All I desire is information."

"You could have asked" whispered the other voice. "You could have asked and I would have told you… But this…"

Without warning, the Siren found her perspective changed. And it was not for the better. Instead of watching Jackie squirm in someone else's grip for the umpteenth time, she _was_ Jackie—or, she viewed the world from Jackie's perspective, though she still saw herself. Infuriated, the Siren attempted to toss this corpulent man off her, only to find her strength utterly lacking. She realized she'd not eaten in two days, been dehydrated, and this was just the past week. The Current left her. Her lightstaff no longer existed.

Through sheer force of will, Sarah dragged herself back to the position of observer. But now Jackie's hopeless whimpers and plaintive cries filled her head. She wasn't sure if this was the memory, the present, or both. Drawing her energy blade, she sought to decapitate the one responsible for Jackie's suffering, but the blade passed right through.

"You cannot kill a memory or alter the past. What's done is done."

Sarah almost dope-slapped herself; the voice begging her to depart had been Jackie the entire time. Except now it was the one she recognized, the adult Jackie. It seemed the previous speaker had been quite a bit younger.

She almost resolved to blast these nightmares from Jackie's brain, but stopped herself. She had no idea whether a Current of Diversion could permanently scour such searing experiences, indeed she suspected a memory-deletion on this order of magnitude might even kill Jackie. Shocked again as the host took control, she found herself watching Jackie laying dejected on the floor. Few on Pandora had running water, and the men holding her weren't about to waste water on a _thing_ they could easily replace.

A new feeling hit the mind-tourist.

"It's called shame" mocked the child-Jackie. "Not that you've ever experienced it. But you will now."

Sarah tried to eject herself from the waking terror she found herself held in. Yet suddenly she could not move—one, two, four Jackies in various states of undress restrained her.

_This can't be real._

"Oh but it is" mocked one, wearing the same gown she'd donned at that Jakobs shareholder meeting an eternity ago.

"It's as real as what you forced me to live through again!" raged another, this one clad in a hospital gown that had been torn and shredded.

"Do you get off on these?" demanded a new Jackie. "Does it make you hot?"

Sarah couldn't quite understand the meaning behind that phrase, but the new incarnation looked even more unnatural. Eyes as red as burning stars. An asymmetrically-bulked-up physique that Sarah couldn't quite place. Then, the newcomer punched her in the gut.

"On your knees" roared the red-eyed Jackie.

Garrus dearly wished Mordin Solis hadn't insisted on continuing his work on "anti-Flood weapons." Jackie's suit lights all blinked red, an indicator of "critical malfunctions" in either the armor or its wearer according to the suit computer. Every readout hit critical but nothing made sense. No Flood approached. No mental assault hit any other member of the crew. The ship could've passed for a tomb, it was that quiet. Yet Jackie convulsed and bucked about as if possessed.

"Does anyone have any ideas?" A note of panic crept in.

Sarah found herself held down by four grinning copies of Jackie Jakobs. Their grips were unbreakable, like a Current of Drowning. The final twisted one knelt over the now-prone Siren, who felt iron legs beginning to squeeze her head. As she lost focus (causing her avatar within Jackie's head to black out), she swore she could hear moans and other sounds suggestive of that physical pleasure Jackie-circa-age-thirty-five was so obsessed with.

Perhaps ten minutes passed in total since Sarah began skimming memories from her erstwhile squadmates' heads. Jerked back to reality, the Siren cracked her head against a wall behind her seat.

Outside, Jackie Jakobs appeared to be in a coma. She remained alive, but did not respond to any external stimuli. Noting its wearer unconscious, the suit automatically muted her communications.

"This complicates things."

"That is an understatement" replied Miranda. "Garrus, we have to protect her."

"Why?" demanded Jack. "By all accounts, she was a horrible person!"

"Was" consoled Samara. "But not is. She has changed. She no longer seeks to dominate or abuse others. Her contributions to the war effort in the form of mathematical equations are as powerful as any gun or bomb."

"Wasn't Sarah supposed to be firing this turret?" questioned Brick. "Why don't you telekinetic ladies figure out what your old leader is up to?"

"She is in a deep state of disturbance" reported Drythlyn. "Her aura resembles a maelstrom—conflicted, swirling, and potentially destructive. Why this is, I do not know."

"She is not making any movements to utilize the turret" continued Urthula. "Her hands are not even on the trigger mechanisms."

"Can anyone else operate it?" asked Grayson. "Or are we going to actually have to fight our way to the bridge?"

"Looks like another easy solution eludes us" said Shepard sardonically.

"You of all people should know nothing's ever easy" replied Athena quietly.

"Would it be too much to ask for something to just work, no finding missing parts or helping someone three star systems over? You know, just once?"

[…]

Admiral Nimitz couldn't believe it. That two-timing, double-crossing, backstabbing nerf herder!

Eridian weapons packed a bigger punch than turbolasers, ion cannons, or anything standard on Trans-Galactic Republic ships. They crashed into _Ultimatum_'s shields, doing far more than the tornado of Flood-fire that only reduced defenses by tiny amounts. Based on an outpouring of reports, Eridian weapons of this magnitude partially phased through shields—not all energy stopped before it struck the hull.

_I'm guessing that bitch probably killed the three technicians I sent over._

This "Kat" wasn't even pretending to play nice anymore. **All** outgoing fire struck _Ultimatum_ and none found a Flood target. With enemies on bow and stern, she refused to double-down on one shield screen as it would be poor tactics. Hell, the Jakobs dreadnaught positioned itself slightly below her vessel, so shields couldn't be optimized to dorsal-side only either. Deciding to hit back at the deceiver first, power diverted to _Ultimatum_'s rear weapons. Unsurprisingly, just like most Star Dreadnaught designs the ship's aft fire arcs were somewhat lacking due to needing space for engine arrays. Advantage: not much taken away from protection. Disadvantage: very little impact on the attacker due to low fire volume.

_That Jakobs dreadnaught is getting awfully close for ship-to-ship combat…_

Nimitz's memories returned to the quick-reference pamphlet she'd been given upon receiving command. Yes, even 35-kilometer-long Star Dreadnaughts came with an intro card printed on durasheet and folded into three sections. Acceleration was listed as 600G, an impressive feat for a vessel massing over two quadrillion tons fully loaded with crew, supplies, and embarked vessels. Without directional dissipaters and blast modulators, the exhaust from a capital ship could melt anything behind it like flimsiplast against a turbolaser. It also caused ecological mayhem to shut down post-processing systems, but the Admiral's concern was not the environment at this point.

She ordered Operations to reconfigure the engines to fire without either environmental safeties or anti-backwash procedures.

"Ma'am? What are you doing?"

"My job. Do yours."

Displays before her lit up. Allison noticed the "danger cone" extended millions of kilometers back, easily covering at least part of the Jakobs dreadnaught whose fire poured into _Ultimatum_'s stern. Grinning to herself, she sent another order down to Operations.

"The Admiral must be crazy" they signed, before spooling up the dreadnaught's gargantuan ion engines. Fifteen primary and fourteen secondary turbines roared to life, pushing against the great ship's bulk. Forward shields would hopefully protect _Ultimatum_ from an inevitable impact against the Flood-covered _Revenant_, while deliberately modified ion exhaust shorted or damaged the shields of her astern tormenter. Without dampers or scrubbers, engine noise rattled ears kilometers away. Furthermore, aside from a power run/thrust-vector check during trials, no _Revenant_-class Star Dreadnaught had ever attempted to utilize its full sublight speed due to extreme fuel consumption resulting from such maneuvers. The fourteen smaller thrusters existed mainly to provide steering, not motive power—but here every single engine spewed energized particles in the cause of pushing _Ultimatum_ forward.

Engineering warned the bridge a full sounding of the rear quarter would be required afterward—since the vessel's builder assumed "maximum thrust" meant fifteen primaries burning, not all turbines.

"I do not care what it takes" replied Allison Nimitz. "We are going to fry that Jakobs double-talker and smash the Flood even if it leaves _Ultimatum_ dead in space!"

Inertial compensators kicked in, though anyone standing still felt a noticeable jerk as two quadrillion tons of mass began to move. It would take four minutes to run the Star Dreadnaught up to speed under normal circumstances—less now that every thruster fired.

"All hands, brace for impact. Seal all entrances and exits. Close down all non-military functions—we expect some spillover from an impending ram against an enemy ship."

Armored doors sealed off hangers, after which powerful multipurpose shields activated to provide a second layer of defense. Smashing two Star Dreadnaughts into each other wasn't a scenario anyone ever seriously studied, so bracings intended to handle capital ships would be tested against an opposing vessel of similar mass, rather than the heavy cruisers any competent large vessel could ram through.

Nimitz remained on the bridge of her ship. It remained highly unlikely, in her estimation, that enough damage would be done to _Ultimatum_ to necessitate an evacuation of the command decks. A digital countdown clock estimated time to impact. Stern-facing sensors indicated a marked drop-off in fire from _Farsight_, the pesky Jakobs dreadnaught. All indicators pointed its bow swinging away as it sought to remove itself from unrefined back-blast from _Ultimatum_'s engines. Its largest weapon(s) appeared to be fixed in the forward position, possibly running the ship's length. Such offensive capabilities vanished once exhaust damage forced the mountings off-target.

[...]

Anyone wielding a "shock" weapon experienced it: the thrill of tearing through shielded opponents as if no protection extended beyond the target's armor. Vault Hunters made explicit use of the technology when digging around Eridian ruins—the tendency of heavily shielded "Guardians" to make unwelcome appearances encouraged anyone at Eridian dig sites to carry shock variants of their favorite weapon(s). Now, ionized particles bombarded _Farsight _to much the same effect. Its Eridian shields stopped everything thrown at it including Deus Ex Armas and Eridian-derived cannons, but hadn't been tested against large-scale electric assaults since no arms manufacturer built space-size shock weapons.

"Kat" watched calmly as shields decreased several percent a minute.

"Tactical data upload in progress" she intoned in a monotonous voice. "The enemy has bombarded us with some form of energy emitted by their engines which is severely damaging our shields. Request permission to retreat."

"Permission denied!" snarled Bill Arkansas Jakobs. "I took command personally for a reason, you will complete your mission!"

"Yes sir."

It was rather creepy to the Chairman that clones under remote operation always spoke in such a flat, emotionless voice. He didn't care—Jakobs remained on the upswing, clones both independent and under control were destroying all opposition. In some cases, the lack of action by anyone else against the Infection/Flood resulted in Jakobs' militarized forces (Nimitz's opinions notwithstanding) being greeted as welcome protectors rather than oppressive overlords, even as the company placed more and more demands on its "wards."

Before the Board, Bill Arkansas happily reported the state of things (while ensuring Operative-394 followed his orders).

"We now have influence or direct control over 40% of the Prime Worlds, with 70% of the Inner Colonies having a Jakobs force within an hour e-space distance."

"How do we have less support within the Prime Worlds?" asked Clayton Jakobs.

"The Prime Worlds really haven't experienced any problems with these…invaders…despite them being here for years" replied Wayne Jakobs. "Why would they welcome us shielding them from something they've never faced?"

"Furthermore" continued Lawrence Jakobs, "our competitors might be boring, bankrupt, or just not talking to anyone, however they still have strong presences within the Prime Worlds. This focus on a fortress in times of scarcity seems to have helped us out perception-wise."

"And I suppose we're not doing anything for the Outer Colonies?"

"Pickens, we know you have family there—if you want to pay for a Jakobs cruiser to stand watch over your mom's front yard, we're all ears. Otherwise, you know we can't be expending resources for a planet that has virtually nothing of value to us."

Bill tried to keep the edge out of his voice as the Board just heard him upbraid a clone for asking stupid questions.

"We are currently engaged in a battle against that meddling Trans-Galactic Republic" continued Bill, "and _Farsight_ may be able to wipe them all out. I have ordered one of our direct-control operatives to finish them off."

A display lit up in the middle of the conference room table, showing the status of Jakobs' reappropriated super-ship as it took the fight to an enemy vessel of similar size. At first, _Farsight_ chipped away at the interloper, but warnings came out of nowhere that Jakobs' new pride (not yet renamed after the family patriarch) was having significant shield trouble. Something emitting from _Ultimatum_ knocked her shields down a few percent a minute.

"Did someone finally build a shock weapon on starship scale?" demanded Carson Jakobs.

"Our clone in charge of that operation, 394, did request permission to retreat in the face what she claimed was engine exhaust shorting out _Farsight'_s shields" said Bill. "Of course, such cowardice is not allowed when in command of the most powerful warship ever seen."

A mostly-blue image of _Farsight_ began to change, with more and more parts blinking yellow to indicate damaged or offline status. The ship's compass, displayed below the model, rotated to indicate that the mighty warship was in fact turning away from her aggressive assault.

"What are you doing?" bellowed Bill, aware his loudmouthing before the Board might come across as uncivilized. "Get back there and fire! You had no problem killing the Trans-Galactic Republic scum once they showed you how to fire that cannon!"

An orange light caught the attention of several more astute Board members.

"Mr. Chairman" began Pickens, his elder status showing through his reference to Bill Arkansas' title, "you might not be aware, but several transmitters for clone control aboard _Farsight_ have received disabling damage. I would bet the source to be whatever weapon _Ultimatum_ has turned upon us."

"So we're losing control of our clones and being defeated by those outsiders?"

A corroborating report arrived from _Farsight_ supporting 394's contention that the thing depleting its shields was in fact exhaust from _Ultimatum_'s huge engines as the latter accelerated away from its attacker.

Bill's normally calm demeanor shattered like a crystalisk's leg ornaments.

"This is outrageous! Those Atlas ships withstood every test we put them to—and now our mightiest ship falls because of engine contrails?"

"It's not unreasonable inasmuch as the usefulness of an engine as a weapon is directly related to its ability to provide motive power" countered Carson. "Still… Quite unorthodox."

"I want clone control restored now!" yelled Bill, almost frothing at the mouth.

"Our technical teams will have to reroute signals through secondary processors normally intended to provide a line to lesser operatives" cautioned Clayton. "We will lose immediate oversight on those clones."

"It doesn't matter" hissed Bill. "We only need to concern ourselves with the officers—the enlisted will still follow orders!"

"Or so we hope" said Wayne with some level of sarcasm. "We didn't put those chips in for nothing…"

[…]

Garrus gathered his team, and was about to ask the Current Channelers to retrieve Sarah from her turret when the whole ship they were on shuddered violently.

"What hit us?"

"Something big, by the feel of it." Ashley Williams, like any Systems Alliance soldier, did have zero-G training and had at least theoretical knowledge of ship-to-ship boarding practices. "Only something absolutely massive could have created a shockwave like that against a ship this size."

"Never mind the shockwave" commented Samantha Shepard. "Is it just me, or is the deck tilted now?"

In an attempt to be helpful, the MISTILTEINN's combat computer used Cortana's voice to inform everyone of the battlefield's newly "off balance" nature.

"Warning: This area has a list of ten degrees relative to your right."

"If we're under attack, we need to either protect the turret, assuming Sarah can still operate it, or get moving so we're not run over!" barked Garrus.

"I do not believe she is in any position to follow the plan" said Venera glumly. "Her aura is…diminished. Something has happened to her."

The four Current Channelers could feel the judgment and in one case, vicious glee at their former leader's predicament. It was less—no longer did their current squadmates radiate pure, unadulterated _hatred_ but they were by no means out of the woods yet.

"There's also the matter of Jackie" added Kasumi. "Something has happened to her, as well."

The former _Revenant_ shook again, throwing several off their feet. Magnetization kicked in to prevent further disruption. Grunt stomped around impatiently. Miranda and Samara knelt by Jackie's prone form.

Grayson gestured urgently for others to see what displayed on a general-access terminal in front of him.

"Based on what's left of _Revenant_'s sensors, Admiral Nimitz has decided to ram her ship into this one. Why, especially considering that we're on board, I have no idea. I will have choice words with her upon our return…"

A near-head-on collision between two ships the size of large asteroids led to a very cluttered readout as it attempted to display the millions of pieces of space junk resulting from such an incident. Grayson manipulated the terminal to show only those pieces larger than 500 meters, clearing up most of the confusion. Most debris came from _Revenant_ due to fully-operational shields aboard _Ultimatum_.

"What about superlasers?" asked Miranda.

"Yeah, we all know the Trans-Galactic Republic is fond of huge guns" continued Ashley. "So why not use it to just pulverize this drifting hulk?"

Urthula's deep voice turned heads. "There is another presence here. Beyond the Flood and our command ship. It is to the aft of _Ultimatum_ and none of those aboard feel familiar."

Grayson rapidly punched commands into the sparking computer. "I'm not seeing any evidence of third parties. However, it's possible that if whatever it is located itself directly behind _Ultimatum_, the position of that ship would prevent us from getting a clear reading beyond it due to its shields being right on top of us. This really wasn't in the design specifications…"

"As much as I'd like to go look, we don't have time" said Garrus. "We have to destroy this ship!"

"That returns us to the question of how." Samantha Shepard tapped her magnetized boot on the deck. "The turret seemed like a good idea, but it doesn't look like that's going to help us right now. So it's either off to the main reactor or the bridge—but which one?"

Outside, _Ultimatum_'s shielded bow began cleaving into _Revenant_. Sarah never saw a need to repair or reinforce the forward third of "her" ship with either digistruction or additional armor. The old rule about "objects in motion remaining in motion" stayed in effect—yes, ramming resulted in an outside force acting against movement, but the vast amount of kinetic energy carried by a ship massing quadrillions of tons could not be ignored. Nor could quadrillions of kilonewtons put out by Star Dreadnaught scale engines. Explosions rocked both vessels as stored munitions unused by Sarah or the Flood (such as proton torpedoes) detonated due to compression.

Sarah returned to consciousness among vibrations, shaking, and violent movement. She suddenly recalled the past few minutes—her somewhat-passive mind readings that ended in a conflict with Jackie Jakobs.

_She thinks I'm no better than the men who tortured her…_

"We must decide on a course of action now!" urged Grayson, stamping his foot on twisted deck.

"Which is closer, the reactor or the bridge?" asked Garrus.

"Depends on how you want to get there. If the ship functioned as the Trans-Galactic Republic built it, the reactor would of course be easier to get to, however, if there is a significant Flood presence deeper inside the ship, it may be wise to head for the bridge instead."

The debate never finished due to a blinding flash of bright reddish-orange light.

"What now?" Garrus could see how Samantha Shepard acquired her exasperated, you-can't-surprise-me-anymore attitude.

Zaeed, Gaige, and the Master Chief dodged out of the way of a circular piece of metal that flew in their general direction, followed by Sarah herself.

"You look...different."

"I hadn't noticed" replied Sarah absentmindedly. "I just wanted to make sure you all can hold off the monstrosities while I chop the head off this beast."

_The least I can do is avoid relying on mind powers to communicate with allies after what happened to Jackie._

Refusing to even look in Jackie's direction, Sarah hopped back into her turret. Its purple glow faded out, replaced with a red close enough to blood that several members of the squad were disquieted by it. The mighty construct's tracking as it rotated to fire at _Revenant_'s bridge sent vibrations through the deck even though most of it lacked any physical connection to the barbette itself.

"It would be just our luck if the Flood intelligence ended up being buried down by the reactor core or something."

"Garrus?"

"Yes Sam?"

"Don't give the universe any ideas. I've learned that never ends well!"

[...]

During Sarah's internal dialogue, _Ultimatum_ continued its grind against the stricken _Revenant_. With her shields functioning, Nimitz's command ship took no damage but found her path resisted as _Revenant_, while shieldless, was still a Star Dreadnaught of similar mass. Particle shields peeled hull plates apart like an over-ripe starfruit. The ramming bow found itself forced downward—though its target yielded somewhat it did not give way completely. Later analysis would suggest a small fleet could be constructed from the wreckage expelled from _Revenant_ as _Ultimatum_ tore into it.

Nimitz stood shocked as red blasts emitted from a place on _Revenant_. Pulling up a set of macrobinoculars, she zoomed in on the spot, expecting to see one of the self-contained, super-heavy weapons normally mounted on a Star Dreadnaught's centerline going to work. Instead, some kind of triangular turret stuck out from the hull that matched no known configuration. Further, based on tears, divets, and cracks around its entry point its barbette wasn't put there by Trans-Galactic Republic construction. Plus, no shipmaster would have permitted a vessel to leave dock with a turret skewed four degrees off vertical alignment.

Her ship increasingly behaved in an erratic manner. The AI Cortana, now possessed by some force nobody quite understood, drained power from primary engines through bleed-out vents design to allow excess energy from regenerative shields to be handled without either creating overloads or providing unwanted thrust. Ordinarily, the ability to convert incoming non-physical attacks simply permitted a Star Dreadnaught to have higher endurance in battle, but right now it posed a problem since the very same bleed-off system now took energy _away_ from a desired function.

Thus, _Ultimatum_'s "attack" against _Revenant_ began to slow as the former's momentum stalled.

Attempts to communicate with the wayward AI were unsuccessful, despite her controlling a good portion of the ship's computer systems. Whoever controlled her seemed to be content with "her" extent of influence for the moment, not seeking to bypass any defenses put in place around critical systems. Nevertheless, crew surreptitiously began switching some processing to airgapped independent networks that, while not as powerful, would be physically inaccessible from the primary computer core.

"Figures" fumed Nimitz. "Moves in, takes over, won't talk."

"Admiral! Look!"

Red pulses connected between the point on _Revenant_ and the ship's bridge. Despite their small size, large sections of the superstructure began to melt, twist, and deform on impact.

"I thought they had to use controls on the bridge to trigger self-destruct…"

Nimitz's questioning faltered as Cortana reappeared. Since Star Dreadnaughts weren't equipped for an AI like her, she just took over the nearest holographic system, in this case a large projector at the bridge center. The purplish projection sounded relieved.

"Thank you for ending my second stint in purgatory!"

"I didn't do it" protested Nimitz. "Someone over there did."

"I can't see anything, remember? Your computer whizzes trapped me after the Gravemind hijacked my processes."

"I find that hard to believe" countered the Admiral. "You're an infiltration and hacking AI that exhibits behaviors far beyond what our most sophisticated droids are capable of. The notion that we actually managed to constrain you strains my imagination."

"Don't underestimate your technicians" teased Cortana. "They literally cut me off from parts of the ship—like life support and shields. Though from what I remember, the Gravemind was more interested in obtaining information from your computer core than disabling your ship… That said, he did force me to bleed engine power."

Nimitz turned to look out her bridge windows. _Ultimatum_'s nose buried itself all the way to _Revenant_'s midsection, though no entanglement occurred thanks to particle shielding on the former ship.

"I hope Spacelane Protection paid up the insurance bill…"

"I doubt such a policy covers self-inflicted damage."

"Very funny, Cortana. Now, let's get rid of that monstrosity once and for all."

Nimitz slammed a hand into controls that activated manual steering and targeting for the superlaser.

"Engineering to bridge, we've received a command to reverse the engines. Please verify!"

"Exactly what I meant to do" she replied. "We need to back up a bit before shoving our superlaser down that Flood thing's throat!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Cortana had limited knowledge of hypermatter reactors from her work on MISTILTEINN armor, and she recalled Athena's annoyed testimony about her armor having exploded.

"What other choice do we have? I doubt _Revenant_'s reactor core is even running properly! The ship running out of hypermatter was a key issue during the Reaper fight, after all. Call up ProVoCo Vakarian, and tell him to get the hell off that ship!"

[…]

"Cortana to Sword and Shield teams, come in."

The Master Chief was not about to fall for some Flood trap. "We need to verify it is really her, and not the Gravemind. Do not answer."

He initiated a key exchange using verification techniques meant to detect Covenant sabotage. It remained possible a sufficiently advanced intellect might be able to spoof the keys, but with a little luck the Gravemind wouldn't have slithered all the way into Cortana's most heavily fortified matrices.

"Yes, it's me. Sending authentication now."

The Chief made an announcement, sounding as close to happy as anyone could ever remember, including Cortana.

"Cortana is in fact in control of herself. This is a genuine message."

The AI in question resumed broadcasting on a squad-wide channel. "You need to get off that ship. Whatever you did severed the Gravemind's control of me for which I am grateful, but Admiral Nimitz wants to blast the whole thing with her superlaser. It's the only way to be sure the Gravemind dies."

"So this is where we call Joker and the _Normandy_ to get us out, then." Garrus proceeded to do exactly that. He turned to Sarah, who'd leapt out of her turret and returned to standing with the rest of the group. She sighed and looked down.

"You people _never_ listen to me! Not about destroying the universe" (she glared at Jack) "or size not mattering" (the Master Chief earned a look) "or the whole teleporting into small areas being dangerous!"

Privately, Shepard asked everyone else whether they heard what she thought she'd just heard: an insanely powerful telekinetic pouting like a child who'd been told to do homework before logging onto the extranet.

"Yeah, sounds about right. Except she couldn't have possibly picked a worse audience with the whole end-of-the-universe thing" groused Jack. "Why couldn't she have appeared to some group of scientists, rather than people whose entire purpose is blowing shit up?"

"Well, let's go back to the main hanger then. I have no idea where we'd find other docking ports big enough for _Normandy_."

Garrus found his train of thought interrupted by Joker. "If you're wanting a ride, we're gonna need to use a different hanger. The dorsal one is covered in biomass and tentacles—I'm not going anywhere near it."

"What?" Garrus sounded confused. "Please confirm: the hanger we found clear on our arrival is now unusable."

"Confirmed. Can't go out the same way you came in."

"We are _not_ fighting through fifteen kilometers of destroyed, possibly Flood-infested ship!" said Shepard, annoyed at this turn of events.

"The further forward you go, the less Flooded it gets. Of course, there's a trade-off; _Ultimatum_ kind of smashed up the front end of the ship."

"At this point, I'd prefer jumping deck breaks to fighting Flood. Thanks for the information, Joker. Now, we either need to find a hanger for you to dock or locate something still flyable."

Garrus wasn't sure which was a better idea, and thus let Adam Grayson take over.

"A ship like this normally carries tens of thousands of support craft" he lectured, as if at a Spacelane Protection Academy. "However, given that my counterpart has destroyed a good third of my ship, if not more, it's unlikely we'll find anything other than scrap metal toward the bow."

"So we get to blast more Flood!"

Brick, as usual. Also, overly excited about combat, as usual.

"I wouldn't want to head further back. Clearly, whatever's controlling these mutants knows something's happening. We're supposed to get out of here alive. Fighting for the sake of fighting…"

The turian found himself cut off.

"Is our job. We will walk you out of the hot zone. Grayson, give me some hanger locations."

Sarah put a subtle emphasis on her words, Diverting his thoughts away from her command so he would obey without question. It took a slight bit of pushing, but he wordlessly transferred several coordinate sets. She transferred them to Garrus.

"Send these to your pilot. Tell him to be ready to pick us up at any of them."

Seconds later, Joker's incredulous voice returned. "Excuse me? You want me to be in three places at once? Who's running the mission, and what have you done with Garrus?"

"I'm still in charge" reassured the turian. "We just need to have multiple options for extraction."

"You won't need multiple options."

Without further comment, Sarah grabbed Jackie over the protests of pretty much everyone else present. Locking the armor and its occupant to her back (though keeping Jackie's arms and legs stiff like boards), she pulled out her lightstaff and began slicing her way in a seemingly-random direction. The remaining lightstaff-wielders wordlessly followed, enlarging the tunnel Sarah started.

Garrus stared.

"Does anyone have any idea where she's going?"

"I still don't trust her" insisted Jack.

"It has not escaped my observation that for the many opportunities she has had to deceive us, this Sarah has been nothing but honest since her…return. Furthermore, given the abilities we have seen her exercise, should she have wished our deaths, to betray us now would be a very, very long wait. I believe as murderous as she has been, she is sincere in her desire to help us now."

"I gotta say, her followers weren't so bad without her around to whip them into a frenzy. Yeah, I could be paranoid and assume the worst, but the last time I did that I nearly wrote off Samantha Shepard, of all people. You remember Horizon, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Sam shook her head. "One of my best and most trusted chewing me out for trying to save the galaxy. That still hurts, you know."

"Doubting and then forgiving Shepard is one thing" countered Miranda. "Even in light of her later…descent…under the United Defense Command, she's still a good person and has always been. Sarah, on the other hand…"

Athena noticed first.

"They seem to have stopped tunneling."

"We heard that" added Zera. "You coming, or not?"

Now free of her previous personality (or was it conditioning? Programming? Brainwashing?), Sarah resolved to do right by the Mantle once again. Her "old" and "new" selves agreed on one inescapable fact—the Flood could not be allowed to consume innocent life. The Forebears had thought it conquered, but clearly, such beliefs were mistaken.

Frustration radiated from the Siren, Current waves that washed over her entire party, making them more irritable than they would have been otherwise.

_They don't need to like me. I don't require their friendship, as it is called. I just want to do what is right. And work toward making amends for what I did before! Yet, they are still suspicious. Why?_

"Can we move it?" demanded Garrus. "It would be rude to keep Admiral Nimitz waiting while we dally about."

"We are not dallying, as you claim" retorted Venera shortly. "Would you like to try being on the dig team?"

To the surprise of the Current Channeler, she found Garrus next to her, his three-fingered hands outstretched.

"I bet I can do that faster than you."

The Master Chief, re-linked with Cortana, opened a private line of communication with the AI.

"Do you have information on the powers and abilities of this Sarah?"

"Accessing…"

A few seconds later, she was forced to report that the files were "heavily restricted."

"I could break in, however, that would arouse suspicion. The teams responsible for my isolation restored access to ship systems under the assumption that I would no longer attempt to access files to which I have no need-to-know."

"Did you get anything while under the Gravemind's control?"

Cortana paused for a moment. "That's an interesting question—I am so repulsed by the thought of that slimy _thing_ in my head that I never bothered to… Aha!"

She silently transferred files from within her own lattices to the Chief. No Trans-Galactic Republic computer would be able to tell she had done so, nor would any unauthorized access be detected. In response, John-117 paged through information inside his HUD. His suit kept walking and maneuvering on its own, so no one would be aware of his lack of attention, at least not now. Much of it made very little sense, first due to SPARTANs being soldiers (not scientists) and second because many of the alleged abilities, similar to Sarah's carrying him up an elevator shaft, seemed to violate every known tenant of physics.

"You kriffing rodder!" squawked the bass voice of Urthula Shurken. "You nearly cut your own arm off!"

Garrus Vakarian knew on some level that he'd breached protocol multiple times as he handed the weapon back to its rightful owner. But the anger, the irrational drive to prove these women wrong when neither he nor anyone else in the party had any experience whatsoever with their lightstaffs, had driven him to this point. He couldn't figure out where this sudden burst of fury came from—one moment he walked with his squad, the next he decided the tunnelers were too slow. The _reason_ was sound, the reaction was not. Why?

"You done being a showoff?" snapped Jack. "We need to keep moving!"

"And without birdbrain there thinking he can out-cut the Channelers" she hissed, believing only Brick to be able to hear her words.

Everyone stopped dead. Jack, though rough, never sassed authority when it was presented by someone she trusted. And now she insulted Garrus.

"You will stand down!" shouted Samantha Shepard. "You will…"

Garrus silenced his old comrade. "I would like to keep outbursts to a minimum…_what the hell has gotten into you?_" he snarled.

"I would ask you the same question" retorted Brick. "What makes you think you can wield that laser-sword thing?"

The Master Chief observed this all silently. Cortana had pulled up data while under the Gravemind's influence suggesting this "Current" granted some level of dominion over the mind, similar to that which controlled her until the destruction of _Revenant_'s transmission systems. Such rapid personality shifts could only be explained, in his view, by some kind of outside influence. But why now? Why attack everyone's minds now? There were certainly easier and simpler methods to cause discord or death.

"…been full of yourself ever since you got that arm!" finished the turian commander.

"Well, just because I have a bigger gun than you…"

Sarah did not speak, but raised her arms with hands curled, as if holding small beverage containers. Both Garrus and Brick felt their feet leave the deck despite being magnetized, followed shortly by gagging sounds on every channel.

"She does manifest telekinetic powers far beyond any native to this galaxy" said Cortana, having observed the goings-on through the Chief's visor. "She appears to be choking them."

With a sweep of her arms, the two arguers crashed headlong into each other, landing in heaps on the deck. Stunned, neither reacted immediately. Shields sparked in reaction to the impact.

Switching to a Channeler-minus-Sarah frequency, Drythlyn took on a tone of urgency. "She is off-balance. I believe her anger is affecting the rest of us."

"You don't say" growled Urthula. "Certainly, Garrus is a karking sith-head for trying to wield one of our weapons, but even my own reaction to his idiocy seemed…ill-proportioned."

"Do we know why she is angry?" asked Zera. "Perhaps if we can help her figure out what emotions she is unintentionally projecting, she might be able to calm down."

"Recall that shared emotions gave us our efficiency in battle" cautioned Venera. "This is precisely what she taught us to do—feed on the feelings of others to grant ourselves greater power. Why she would be doing it now, I don't know, but it seems sheer force of habit may be causing a problem."

The opposite of calm, Sarah angrily shoved away a pile of wreckage that resisted attempts to be hewn by lightstaff with a burst of Undertow Current. Its clanking was loud enough to catch everyone's attention.

The four dropped to meditative poses, seeking to project a calming atmosphere to counter the roiling feelings radiating from their former leader. At first, each face clenched up and turned red as though something unpleasant had been eaten and had to come out the other end. However, as their influence began to soothe Sarah, the required effort on their behalf consequently decreased. Were no one wearing armor, it would have been possible to see shaking heads, quizzical looks, and rolling eyes as all present realized how odd the past twenty or so minutes had been.

"What happened just now?" asked Gaige. "I felt like I needed to punch someone in the FACE! But the feeling's gone away."

"Yeah—I'm sorry, Garrus. Totally out of line."

Jack apologizing, now _that_ might have qualified as unusual even as recently as two years ago. Now, though she tended to use colorful language and blunt metaphors, Jack had become quite the productive member of society compared to her old, parade-ruining, moon-vandalizing self.

"I don't understand what came over me" said the turian in shock. "Every part of me knows I cannot wield those weapons, yet, for some reason, I felt compelled to try anyway!"

Venera figured Urthula could maintain a calming influence as easily as she'd hidden a whole Star Dreadnaught with a gargantuan Current of Diversion, and as such broke her own trance to speak.

"We have an answer."

Pause for dramatic effect.

"And?" asked Shepard.

"Let me guess. That goddamned 'Current' thing." Zaeed fidgeted with his rifle.

"Indeed. For reasons at present unclear to us, I believe Sarah has been projecting her own feelings onto this group. They were, as you can imagine, quite negative and hostile feelings. Hence why Gaige wished to 'punch someone in the face' or why Garrus felt the need to make an attempt to show me up at wielding my own weapon."

"I must interrupt" intoned Legion. "While it would not be expected for a geth to be affected either by the metaphysical or the emotional, I am compelled to reveal that I, too, felt a disturbance in my thoughts during this time period. From exactly…"

Venera cut him off. "Thank you, Legion. Returning to the topic, I believe it is essential to figure out why Sarah lost control."

_That's a lie_ Venera thought, _and a bad one at that. She knew at least that her feelings were leaking, but whether she did it on purpose…_

"I did not" answered the Siren, despite Venera not having asked anything aloud. "I did not purposefully seek to fill us with conflict, though it appears my inner turmoil did so on its own."

Only now did she realize that Jackie Jakobs struggled against her armor and the magnetic locks holding her to Sarah's own suit. Switching to Jackie's channel, Sarah fully expected to be hit with a diatribe of curses and insults, but heard nothing. Detaching the magnets binding them together, Jackie landed with a "thump." Her first words went untransmitted as the suit mic wasn't set to broadcast.

"…sitting here coddling that horrible bitch. I've tried, I really have, to overcome and outgrow my past, and then this…this…"

She couldn't find the words. Her eerie calmness didn't help anyone else, either.

"What happened?" The Current-Channelers could feel pain, anger, and sadness radiating from the Jakobs heir, but lacked explanation as to why.

"Your friend here… She violated me. Rooted through my head like it was some _ECHONet vid_ for her amusement!"

Garrus and Shepard slowly turned to Sarah.

"Is it true?" demanded the former.

"Why?" asked the latter. "Why piss away the small amount of goodwill you gained on something that doesn't even gain you or our cause any benefit?"

Sarah felt a burning sensation, similar to that which she experienced while reading Jackie's memories after being confronted by the child-Jackie. Even before her forced change in perspective, nonessential thought processes (such as emotions) were only minimally inputted—her sole experience had been hatred of her creators for their hypocrisy regarding the Mantle.

"I think she's embarrassed" whispered Venera.

Garrus checked the Siren's vitals. Yep. Elevated heart rate, faster breathing, more blood flow to the face than normal, increased electrical activity within the brain…

Feeling like a child, Sarah asked the obvious question.

"What is this? Why am I experiencing these feelings?"

Shepard knew this was Garrus' mission. She also knew that turians placed relatively less emphasis on emotions—especially if they got in the way of performing one's duties. They were to be kept private, revealed only to the most intimate of friends and family. Or to military counselors under certain circumstances. But most definitely, discussing such thoughts mid-mission was not the turian way. So she answered instead.

"To be completely honest, Sarah, based on what I've just heard that you did, it's entirely normal and natural to feel ashamed or embarrassed when you realize you've done something wrong. That you've recognized these acts as wrong is a huge step in the right direction—unless I'm mistaken you previously had no emotions whatsoever, correct?"

"Well, I had some…"

"This is great and all, but could we _get off this ship_ first?" asked Garrus.

Neither Jackie nor Sarah were pleased with this development. Both wanted to address their issue right now, regardless of the inherent danger of remaining on a ship slated for destruction due to hazardous contents. Consequently, each spoke up.

"To me, reading minds is natural!"

"Yeah, hide behind some notion of anything that happens in nature being right" huffed Jackie. "You know what else can happen in nature?"

She didn't have a chance to say as Garrus ended the conversation. "We need to focus on the mission. I am getting the impression that both of you have serious issues to work out, but now is most definitely not the time."

"And why not?" pouted Jackie. "After what she did to me…"

Garrus knew this would not end well, but pulled rank anyway. "Because I said so. And I'm in charge of this mission. It won't matter who did what to whom if we can't get off this ship."

"They surely wouldn't fire while we're onboard?" Miranda had to ask the question.

"The needs of the many often outweigh the needs of the few" replied Samara. "While this runs in direct opposition to the Code in many ways, the morality guiding justicars is not the dominant form of law in this galaxy, or indeed our former home."

"I seriously question the wisdom of firing a big bow-mounted weapon with _Ultimatum_'s nose buried in its target. Furthermore, I'm ordering everyone in this squad to focus on one thing: us escaping. All grievances are to be aired later. Is that understood?"

Murmurs of assent filled the comm, some firmer than others. Sam wouldn't have handled it this way, but she wasn't in charge. And she wouldn't contradict Garrus unless she felt him about to make a critical error—the same as he'd refrained from countermanding her own orders unless a good reason presented itself.

Sarah resumed furiously cutting through bulkhead, door, and plating as she and those with similar weapons created a path not intended by the massive ship's architects. More conscious of her feelings now, she tamped them down lest another burst of irrationality and anger take over. At some point, the entire group of lightstaff-wielders stopped, forced to alternate cutting duties by an incredibly thick bulkhead.

"Internal division to make the ship harder to take over" explained Grayson. "Not that anyone would manage to board a ship this size. Not with all the guns, starfighters, and shielding…"

The quintet of women stood back, palms facing forward as they pushed, pushed, pushed, and with a screeching tear that caused many hands to clamp over ears reflexively the last obstruction between the tired group and their ticket off _Revenant_ appeared: a _Vorknkx_. Not that anyone would have recognized it, unless they'd seen the news-vids of the krogan delegation being dropped off in a very public display of a ship design so secret only a few Admirals outside the Republic Intelligence Service were aware of it. Two hundred meters long, it packed more spy gear than some ships five times its length. A few had been retrofitted as personnel transports (such as that which carried Wrex's delegation), but this was not one of them.

"I have no idea what this is" declared Sarah, "but I could sense it when we took over the ship in the first place." She refrained from mentioning her personal ejection of the other Republic Intelligence Service section during her attack on the Citadel.

"Well, let's hope it starts" added Sam, as much under her breath as one could be with a squad-wide comm.

According to regulation, everything before the soldiers around him was classified at the highest level, Alpha-One. They would have to be debriefed and indoctrinated into the Republic Intelligence Service. Of course, the current situation seemed to be something outside existing rule-making. Plus, from what Grayson heard, the Republic Intelligence Service had become less trustworthy of late. He vowed to pretend none of this had happened. Or, at least was so crazy as to excuse the breach of protocol. Like when his whole fleet got hurled into another galaxy and fought off extra-galactic invaders.

"It will start, Samantha Shepard. This ship was placed here under the auspices of the Republic Intelligence Service."

"Who gives a shit who put it there?" asked Brick. "Just get us off this hellhole!"

Using the frigate's forward ramp to board, Garrus' squad beat a hasty retreat from a surprisingly Flood-free (in this area) ship that had been their mission for the past few hours.

"This vessel was only meant to be used by the agents assigned to _Revenant_—let's see… Iksura Bhatti and Rob Walker. I can override this restriction."

"For only two people, this thing is pretty big" remarked Kaidan. "I'd ask why, but I bet the answer's classified."

"Let's just get this thing fired up, and get out of here!"

Everyone agreed with Sam's assessment.


	61. Science, Bitches!

**Chapter 60 – Science, Bitches!**

Padok Wiks sighed in defeat. Their efforts had been monumental, even legendary. Yet, the intractable problem remained. Solid in concept, but extremely difficult to execute, his plan to destroy the Flood (they'd long since ceased with the rather lame "Infection" as a name) through actions at the molecular level ran into insurmountable complications.

Previous attempts to deal with the Flood had revolved around turning the invader's ravenous nature against itself. Such efforts failed, and could have possibly made it stronger. Before his sources within the Republic Intelligence Service dried up, he'd been placed under the impression that RISE had deployed an experimental anti-Flood weapon doing just that. And then Flood attacks intensified.

Looking to naturally-occurring processes for inspiration, Wiks and his few non-cryogenically-frozen remaining scientists wondered if the Flood could be disrupted, rather than actively destroyed. Its extremely rapid consumption of biomass meant it had to rely on some kind of fast-acting mechanism to convert host tissue into something compatible with its own biology. Studying "Flood Super Cells" (as the AI Cortana had called them), it became apparent that transformations into Flood tissue relied on a complex sequence of proteins that acted like viruses in a sense—the best term probably would be "prion," as the proteins would transfer their altered states to healthy molecules within the host to better suit the Flood. Without the Flood cells, these mutations were of little use—a vehicle with no driver. Of course, such cells invariably produced the corrupting proteins and would soon follow them upon receiving a chemical signal that a habitable environment had been established.

Viruses were known for an obnoxious ability to adapt through traditional evolutionary processes—that is, viral mutations happened so quickly it amounted to throwing everything and the kitchen sink at any attempted treatment in the hopes that a few viral particles would survive to reproduce and pass on their resistance. Since viral infections inevitably produced millions if not billions of particles, changes would eventually crop up beneficial to the invader through random chance combined with an extreme number of attempts.

If anything, Flood Super Cells were _worse._ They actively evolved within two to three generations at most to produce new prions capable of avoiding neutralizing agents. Whether it be breaking them down, rendering the prion unable to attach to its target, or blocking receptors on the target protein, Flood Super Cells found ways around defenses disturbingly quickly. One idea showing promise was the creation of specialized cells to digest the prions, but they were unable to keep up. Though it had not yet occurred, the possibility that a Flood Super Cell might subvert these engineered organisms could not be ignored. Such a result threatened to be worse than when the Flood first acquired exposure to bacta, an otherwise-harmless, near-miraculous fluid brought in by the Trans-Galactic Republic. In their own galaxy, it seemed pedestrian, even ordinary, but for the inhabitants of Gamma-Six with their more limited medi-gel, bacta's healing powers were nothing short of supernatural.

The Flood moved fast enough; in the presence of bacta it shifted into overdrive. The Special Tasks Group, along with Republic Intelligence Service scientists, had engineered a "kill switch" into the genophage cure dispersed on Tuchanka. Given the correct stimuli, the "cure" would turn on its hosts, causing (by krogan standards) a relatively quick death via unstoppable cancer. Such a turnabout remained possible because the four catalyst pieces would incite cell division in key redundant organs faster than could be sustained without error. The only requirement to activate this hidden weapon was to turn it on using specialized DNA resequencers.

From this research on setting up a twisted cure, a hypothesis formed that if the Flood were _over-exposed_ to bacta, it might produce proteins so quickly that the prions themselves would become malformed, unable to do their deadly work. The primary issue was pretty obvious though: where to get enough bacta to test this idea? Furthermore, what would happen if the Flood simply made use of additional bacta to enhance its growth still further? It hadn't escaped Wiks' notice that not every scavenge team returned with the same number that left; in fact more than one failed to return at all. Thus, sending any number of his personnel on a very risky, lengthy trip in attempts to salvage bacta from the Citadel would be a foolish idea.

With his rations dwindling and facing the prospect of becoming a solo act within less than a week, Padok Wiks made the decision to join the rest of his staff in the cryo-chambers, while committing every explored option to nonvolatile storage in the hopes that someday, someone might be able to pick up where his team's efforts ended. The Flood itself made zero effort to attack (or even investigate) Capek, so he remained confident his time capsule would only fail due to random chance—like an asteroid collision.

Finishing his recording should anyone find the base, he stepped into a cryo-tube. In theory, support systems would last for centuries, and critical project staff would remain viable for at least a millennia as power to less-valuable contributors was reallocated. A cold choice, but against the Flood it seemed very little crossed the line of "off-limits." Before laying down and activating his resting place, Padok Wiks played back his hologram one last time. It would only work should the triggering individual(s) be free of Flood.

"If you have found this message, there is hope. The biological nightmare that has taken over our galaxy has either faded, or you are fleeing it but seeking a way to destroy it. Regardless of whether you are victorious or on the edge of being vanquished, this facility has been working on a way to defeat the menace. While we cannot bring back what it has stamped out, we may be able to offer you a means to put an end to the dominion of the Flood. Here is what you must do…"

Wikis knew such lengthy scientific tedium might be difficult for the less-educated to understand, but he didn't have the time or the resources to create an abridged version.

"I have done all I can. I just hope I have not made a mistake."

Smiling serenely, Wiks allowed his cryo-tube to close over him as he lay back. Within minutes, he drifted off into a peaceful state of hibernation.

[…]

Many light-years away, the Republic Intelligence Service operated on a similar wavelength to Padok Wiks, though their efforts were far larger in scale and suffered fewer supply problems.

"Has the latest shipment arrived?"

In a process that could be compared to the horrors of ancient history in which captured persons were marched into death chambers, many more men and women took part in the offloading, movement, and subsequent introduction of arrivals into "science processing" than was strictly necessary from a purely practical standpoint. Incoming vessels were guided in by the control tower, which then handed off supervision to the first personnel transfer stage. Where the smugglers would leave their cargo had no bearing on the final destination, which was handled by RISE. Once relocated from their first destination, persons were transferred onto hoverbuses very similar to those found on any civilized world moved large numbers of people (all Human) from the docks of a RISE base to intake. There, all personal medical details were taken in a multi-step process which itself represented a single stage in a larger sequence. Once each individual's biological history had been entered, it was decided what experiment(s) they would be subjected to. Walked to smaller, open hover-carts by yet different base personnel, they took a ride to the labs. Once each checked-in (or more accurately, was registered), they would be handed off to Science Intake. Upon passing through this final stage, the hapless prisoners were locked into holding cells. Appointments were very slim—no "resident" ever stayed more than a week.

Freight captains were generally discouraged from asking questions. However, Scarlett DeWinter became increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of handing over a steady stream of convicted criminals to shady government agents. By rights, she shouldn't care. Her name, permanently glued to "Smuggling With a Smile" meant that while she and her compatriots made millions, if not billions, of credits moving goods illegally, nobody thought ill of her. The core of such "ethical alternate transport" revolved around avoiding certain types of cargo—unwilling/captive sapient beings generally fell into that category. Due to their boss's outlook, some of those who worked for DeWinter began demanding to know what went on at the officially-nonexistent sites to which their cargo would be transferred. Of course, such entreaties were denied.

Jack Johnson and John Jackson had come to an uneasy peace over this apparent violation of the Band of Brothers' internal code. Jack Johnson got his "pro-Human" actions on the grounds that Republic Intelligence Service research focused specifically on Humans in its attempts to deal with the Flood. John Jackson got to insist that by committing themselves to supply RISE, the Band of Brothers avoided greater intervention by the Trans-Galactic Republic on an inter-galactic scale. If the biological beast could be tamed at home, why bother sending anything more than relief ships carrying the cure between star clusters?

"The latest group of criminals sentenced to die is a particularly disgusting batch" intoned the freight officer. "Mostly child molesters and slavers."

He sported a particularly nasty grin upon noting the types of persons condemned to serve as living repositories for Flood experiments.

At least the Trans-Galactic Republic, unlike its stellar neighbors, seemed to have stalemated the extra-galactic menace. Some forty percent of the galaxy had been declared off-limits or quarantined, but deployment of fast-acting Flood detectors stymied attempts to further stealth-infiltrate, for the most part. That, and RISE's perfect willingness to use disruptor weapons against anyone even suspected of carrying a single Flood spore…

The Republic Intelligence Service believed it might have a recipe for success against the Flood. Specifically, the plan involved attacking the organism's DNA with the hopes that it would accumulate so many mutations as to become ineffective or easier to contain. As a society with millions of years' experience in cloning and creation of bioweapons/cures for bioweapons, they fared far better than others. Still, that the Flood changed its tactic from explosive breeder to latent infection hiding until the right time disturbed Trans-Galactic Republic scientists.

At Garthmot, research regarding interspatial tears (or "rifts") dropped drastically in favor of figuring out possible solutions to the Flood. The multiverse personnel found their budgets slashed and computing time cut, much to their dismay.

"Figures" fumed Adit Shah. "Our benefactors seem to think we're just laboratory droids, easy to reprogram and repurpose for new needs."

Nancy Cole could only partially sympathize, despite her job potentially being in jeopardy. "The lab knew full well what might happen to our ability to determine our own project priorities when we started accepting those hush-hush government contracts. If something's classified at Alpha-level, even if it's 'only' Alpha-Three, something's up!"

Michael Dickenson didn't like conspiracy-mongering. At the same time, he had to admit his colleague had a point—many projects _did_ have multiple potential uses. That at least half of the funding for such endeavors came from the government suggested even if Garthmot didn't pursue a more militaristic interpretation of, say, micro-manufacturing plants, someone else might.

"This focus on genetic engineering makes sense though" said Dickenson. "With the Flood at our gates, determining the best method to send it packing isn't just in the government's interest—it's in everyone's interest."

Dickenson's long-standing friend Dr. Leslie Ford sidled over. Though teams tended to stick to themselves when working (what would a geneticist know about interspatial harmonic theory?) at the mess hall everyone mingled.

"In our interest, perhaps" mused Ford, "but if I get another 'black' data packet from who-knows-where, I might just scream."

As scientists, none of them liked secrets within their own research or departments. Ford went into greater detail about her latest transmission.

"Michael, I know you think Nancy is being a bit overly paranoid, but this is the fifth time I find my research mysteriously advanced in ways I cannot conceive of occurring without experiments either impossible or unethical being conducted. At least not to this level of certainty, at any rate. I've cultured the Flood in dishes—I've used tissue samples to test the latest 'garbage DNA' attack. But to know for sure, we'd have to infect actual sapient beings. None of us are doing that, however this data seems to suggest someone else did."

"Care to explain how that makes sense in a way someone who studied quantum mechanics?"

"You know how the typical models work. Use nonsentient creatures for testing, like womp rats, then move up to patients who have naturally acquired the disease in question. But we never deliberately infect anyone!"

Dr. Ford handed Dr. Dickenson a datapad. As he read, his expression became more and more alarmed.

"Initial studies using Phase 2 clinical trials report junk-DNA attacks to be 12.4% effective in countering the Flood, but leave 97% of survivors deformed."

Before he could say anything else, Ford finished his thought.

"You're right, phase 2 clinical trials are supposed to be the third stage after sapient work begins. And _that_ isn't supposed to happen without the nonsentient data I mentioned earlier—but I've never gotten any and inquiries about it have either been unanswered or drawn a response of 'irrelevant given the circumstances.'"

"I've only heard rumors—after all, the galaxy is a big place, but supposedly the Band of Brothers is involved."

"The entire Band, Nancy? That seems like a broad claim…"

"Michael, you forget that Scarlett DeWinter is a relative of mine. We're not particularly close, or haven't been, but ever since the Flood showed up and the government became interested in curing it she's been holo-ing me more frequently than in the past ten years put together. I believe it has something to do with my work here at Garthmot, as she's been privately expressing reservations about her group's contracts with unnamed Trans-Galactic Republic government agencies to deliver…special cargo."

Cole couldn't be certain whether revealing the full extent of allegations leveled against what was assumed to be the Republic Intelligence Service would be a wise move. While she knew Dr. Ford would undoubtedly support her, she wasn't so sure about Dickenson and Shah. Besides, even if everyone were to be well-meaning, too much socializing after work might leak the secret anyway, albeit unintentionally.

Thus, when Dickenson changed the subject to shockball, Nancy dropped her line of thought. Instead, she vowed to pursue her link to DeWinter and hopefully obtain information she could give to Leslie that might enable some kind of internal investigation into everyone's suspicions. Of course, it could end up covered up and buried with her career as a casualty. However, in light of the Republic Intelligence Service's blatant militarization she felt something had to be done—if they were conducting off-the-books research that might catalyze real reform since the death of the GREAT Act. If enough people saw RISE as interfering in their interests, a coalition large enough to take it down suddenly didn't seem so far-fetched.

[…]

Charles Day took a report from David Vance. In typical Republic Intelligence Service style, the alleged point-man of the organization didn't even know the specifics of what his agency was doing. This fact failed to surprise the Executive Minister, himself constrained by the agency at least as much if not more so than its titular leader.

"We are ready to test the Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter. We also have advanced our research in what I am told is a solid backup should the PUNT fail."

Minister Day smiled. First positive news in too long.

"Good, good. Deploy the Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter as soon as you can!"

The device in question ended up being rather large, with explanations as to how it worked far exceeding Day's desire to hear about such things. Suffice it to say that the entire spinal-mounted structure of a _Curator_ Mark-III had to be replaced from the bridge to the boxy front of what normally held large turbolaser turrets. Speaking of turbolasers, power requirements for the PUNT were so great the rest of the ship's weapons became useless as it activated. Oh, and it took a whole fleet of these hideously-modified cruisers to theoretically remove Flood influence from a star system—fleet being a dozen ships.

As usual, overlapping jurisdictions between the Republic Intelligence Service and Republic Spacelane Protection meant the former installed/operated PUNTs while the latter oversaw the ships. Interservice rivalries were as old as militaries (or military-in-all-but-name), but the whole RISE vs. everyone else took it to a new level. Intelligence operatives insisted on having an individual essentially equal to the Spacelane Protection Captains aboard "to ensure correct handling of RISE property." Translation: You don't fire unless we say so.

Deployed to a now-abandoned system in the Outer Rim, Task Force Pulsar consisted of sixteen cruisers (twelve carrying the device), assorted frigates, a couple corvettes, and one cloaked _Vorknkx_ nobody in Spacelane Protection was told about. It had been decided to test PUNT against a lightly-Flooded system, one that had very little biomass to begin with and thus wasn't going to have Flood capital ships swarming all over it, though in theory PUNT would result in the disabling of said capital ships should they actually show up.

"All ships synchronized. Prepare to fire."

"You can't do that just yet" protested the controlling RISE officer aboard RNS _Crusader_. "Not until our escorts get out of the way!"

Not that anyone felt like listening, but several science officers launched into long-winded explanations of why "disruption" from the presence of other, nonparticipating ships would cause the entire process to fail. By the time this semi-monologue completed, three of twelve ended up drifting slightly out of position, necessitating a further half-hour of realignment by firing maneuvering thrusters.

"Next time, we're using smaller ships" groused one captain. "Expecting fine maneuvering from something classified as a Star Destroyer is like expecting table manners from a Hutt."

An hour after the time firing had been scheduled for, PUNT finally went off. Bathing the entire system in energy, its intent was to disrupt and destroy any neurological activity in steps, gradually increasing its output until nothing outside shielded areas survived. Seven power levels were used in all, each greater than the last. Sensors aboard _Vorknkx_ spyship _Looking Glass_ detected no traces of neurological activity in the system after the seventh firing. Transmitting this information to RISE operatives aboard PUNT-equipped vessels, _Looking Glass_ hyperspaced out.

"Our work here is done" declared each intelligence handler to his or her Spacelane captain.

The fleet conducted an orderly exit, leaving the system as empty as it had been before. Or so it was thought. On the surface of a former terrestrial world, what Cortana would term a slipspace rupture formed. Only a few meters in diameter, it nonetheless deposited several Flood lifeforms derived from the human crew of RNS _Amerigo_. Captain Ricker followed many of his subordinates in vaporizing himself with a disruptor rather than being taken. However, not all personnel had access to or knowledge of these devices, leaving them (or their corpses) free for the taking.

When the ship failed to self-destruct, Flood organisms did their usual of assimilating all available technology and biomass for their own benefit. That included not just crewmembers who lacked the ability to turn themselves into ash, but also the old cruiser's computer banks. Simultaneously the worst thing that could happen and not—on one hand, _Amerigo_ carried very little in the way of immediately-militarily-useful information as she was a research ship. That being said, her status as a research ship meant that zettabytes of experimental data were still made available for hostile forces. Kevin Filner would've been flabbergasted to learn his research on wormhole/blackhole threshers now aided the enemy. His former lab-mate Katie Ballard even more so; she'd been hoping the rapidly-growing gems on crystalisks could have some kind of societally-beneficial purpose. Instead, Flood attack forms rapidly catalyzed these growths into hardened armor plating. Combined with the ship's bacta stores, it was a nightmare waiting for an unsuspecting dreamer to stumble in. Perhaps the only positive remained that the Gravemind's influence was not yet felt, so these advances were not immediately incorporated into the Flood rampaging throughout the cluster.

Captain Ricker's intent to dump the more disruptive Pandoran wildlife (read: threshers) back onto its native planet never materialized, leaving them uncared-for in their enclosures. Many died; some resorted to cannibalism. The largest, a forty-two meter blackhole thresher that twice teleported _Amerigo_, was the Flood's first target. Similar to Cortana's improvements on Covenant plasma turrets during the capture of _Ascendant Justice_ (an event rather consistent across parallels in which she existed), the Flood rapidly made use of thresher portal bio-technology. Instead of impaling food, these back-mounted gravitational manipulation devices were instead used to project slipspace tunnels.

Though the Gravemind aboard Omega/the Citadel exerted no control of extra-galactic Flood, at some level these lifeforms recognized the presence of their own across the stars, leading to the first tunnel-target being the same system cleared by a dozen Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitters less than an hour ago. Flood poured through; first light scouts mostly derived from Humans, then more potent forms, and finally a handful of bioengineered creatures original to the Flood but constructed with material harvested from other life-forms. Finding a world covered in its own, the neigh-unstoppable tide went to work reshaping available resources—neurological death hardly stopped the use of suitable biomass. It just had to be recycled and rebuilt. As available combat and utility forms increased in complexity, intelligence within these new Flood increased, buffing both the combat and analytical abilities of Flood within the Home Galaxy. All that remained was to establish a Gravemind…

While the threat reestablished itself, glasses of champagne were clinked aboard Spacelane Protection vessels in the Pulsar Fleet.

"Civvie comforts and very relaxed interpretation of 'military' regulations!" cheered one.

This was the precise reason why as much as some people hated Star Dreadnaughts for their cost and apparent war-mongering in what was supposed to be a peaceful society, they couldn't help but envy the lifestyles afforded by such gargantuan ships. Some luxury liners made do with less and this double-contradiction (luxurious warships in a peaceful society) provided fodder for HoloNet commentators at least once a month.

A _Curator_ downscaled it a bit, or a lot, but still wasn't nearly as barren as purpose-built military ships of eras long past. No need for a secret moonshine operation—just the permission of the Captain to open the ship's stores.

That celebration was woefully premature did not cross any minds on the outbound Pulsar Fleet.


	62. Missing Dustpan

**Chapter 61 – Missing Dustpan**

Jakobs shareholder meetings were raucous affairs, rarely proceeding in an orderly fashion. In fact, by-the-book meetings were so uncommon as to actually be recorded in the company's ledger as unique events. The fractious nature of family politics kept decisions from being easy or quick until recently, since the Flood threat (publically denounced) caused a circling of the wagons, so to speak.

Little did Jakobs realize part of the cause of its unstable meetings had less to do with family and more to do with underhanded competition. Though they were unable to secure any family-class shares (thus being locked out of elections for the Board or sitting on the Board) dozens of Tediore Capital Investments proxy-shareholders played the role of contrarian-advocate at every possible opportunity. Skillfully (and sometimes not-so-skillfully) playing the various family factions off each other, these moles both received dividends from their Jakobs shares and payment from Tediore for engaging in such behavior.

The Economic Development Group declined to intervene in what it deemed "paper fights" after (predictably) Jackie Jakobs seduced information out of one of Tediore Capital Investments' _auteur de saboteurs_ exposing this long-running tactic several years ago. Of course, corporate corruption existed pretty much anywhere powerful and unchecked corporations did, however in the Trans-Galactic Republic such behavior would have at least drawn a slap on the wrist. Not so here.

"This is not our concern" droned an EDG arbiter. "Corporate law grants wide latitude that these actions do not exceed. Feel free to engage in similar activity, or perhaps…use more creative" (he sniffed in Jackie's direction) "methods. Nevertheless, these records will remain sealed as requested by Jakobs."

Now, as Jakobs sought to sweep up the remnants of Hyperion and Atlas, a sudden roadblock appeared. Though Jakobs received a warm welcome in many places, Tediore Capital Investments saw their actions as selfish, dangerous, and reckless. Bringing Torgue's eccentric genius, the Maliwans' expertise, and Tediore money under one roof wouldn't have happened in absence of the Flood threat. Jakobs and its Hyperion puppet liked to simultaneously pretend the Flood wasn't a problem (by refusing to call it by its name) while justifying their takeovers because of…the Flood. Instead of sowing more confusion at shareholder meetings or leading Jakobs family members off-track, Tediore decided to take more direct action despite the risk inherent in doing so.

"Sell."

With that one word, every Tediore proxy-shareholder dumped his or her holdings in Jakobs onto the market at the same time. The opening buzzer at Aquator's Prime X-Change led to a sharp drop in Jakobs' stock price—with 30% of its shares suddenly available others began to wonder if someone knew something. It wasn't the Chairman or any Board member (whose dumps typically precluded much worse news). Still, that much of the company up for grabs at once seemed to herald bad news.

Ronald Dahl ran Board meetings, but unlike his compatriots, that his surname also matched the company gave him little real power. As he gaveled open the current gathering, Tracy Frame immediately proposed making Dahl's covert aid to MALITOR public.

"We should at least let the rest of the galaxy know where we stand!" she insisted.

Roman Martin gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "And have a tide of Jakobs' insane clones come down on our heads? I think not! The current arrangement works perfectly."

A chart at the boardroom's front displayed Jakobs' (JKB) plummeting stock price. With almost a third of the company up for grabs, some were snapping up shares as quickly as they could while others reacted by trying to unload their own before unrealized losses became any bigger. Supply outstripped demand. Combined with fears of this event precipitating a catastrophic collapse of the company, the stock continued to drop throughout the morning, stabilizing at a 47% loss vs. the opening bell.

Of course, during Dahl's meeting this future conclusion was hardly known to the participants.

Kimberly Cabot suggested a more moderate course—"Let us increase our supplies to the MALITOR Alliance, but remain hidden while doing so."

Tracy grumbled but went along. Ann Silver, not known for being talkative, only said "Aye" in support. Ronald silently concurred with his aggressive colleague, but knew his endorsement would mean little. As part of the compromise, Dahl security would be beefed up at the request of Roman, concerned if these larger activities came to light that Jakobs/Hyperion would seek vengeance.

"And what of Vladof?" asked Dahl. "They have not made any position known on these matters other than their usual bombastic rhetoric about 'the people's uprising.'"

"If they are not against us, we should not worry about them" replied Ann Silver, breaking her usual silence.

A blinking light indicated an incoming call.

"It's Maliwan…"

[…]

Mallory, Malcolm, and Torgue (Flexington) found themselves in a bit of a quandary. Their newly-delivered equipment had been utterly trashed by a Flood super-ship that looked suspiciously similar to their current residence, RNS _Ultimatum_.

"Well, at least we tried?" Mallory almost phrased it as more of a question, looking out the bridge windows and seeing a debris field consisting of _Clean Sweeps_ mixed with collision-pieces from _Revenant_.

"Inexplicably, our enemy neglected to attack our digistructor" mused Malcolm. "Any ideas, Admiral?"

"It's possible they would have if I hadn't rammed them" she said. "Though I'm not exactly going to let them free to check."

Nimitz excused herself to deal with the dishonest clones who'd begun attacking her ship while it fended off Flood. Their imposing vessel failed to do significant damage while Garrus &amp; Co. put a stop to the Flood signal. Now, with Cortana back in order and the Flood flagship unable to target her, Admiral Nimitz let loose the fury of her Star Dreadnaught on the backstabbing bitch "Kat" by diverting power from forward shields to aft weapons.

_Ultimatum_ ended up having her bow dipped downward somewhat in order to successfully ram the Flood-ified _Revenant_, which left her aft and ventral batteries able to better hit the Jakobs dreadnaught _Farsight_. Said vessel only used part of its armament, as Kat murdered her Trans-Galactic Republic assistants before they could make good on their offer to guess their way through many of the ship's systems. Under complete control from Jakobs itself, the clones attempted to attack but failed to do more than simply capture the attention of their nemesis. When that nemesis lashed back, everything went to hell.

Blue ion fire utterly eviscerated the strongest Eridian barriers, leaving the ship's structure reliant on armor. Which proceeded to melt as turbolasers drilled into it by the dozen. Unbeknownst to either party, had _Farsight_ been able to utilize her heaviest weapons, the same could have been said about _Ultimatum_—Eridian cannons were far more than the equal of turbolasers and would have pounded through shield banks without much effort. But without their protective barriers, Eridian designs, including their Guardians, rarely lasted long. This is the situation Kat found herself in once her senses returned to her—adrift, having gutted three innocent men, and facing the wrath of a betrayed Trans-Galactic Republic admiral.

Said admiral now spoke with Provisional Operations Commander Garrus Vakarian, whose squad arrived in a commandeered Republic Intelligence Service vessel that apparently had been wedged aboard _Revenant_. Pulling the turian and his former-InterSpect-agent second with her into a secure briefing room, she waited for them to fill her in on what transpired aboard the old flagship.

"Provisional Operations Commander Vakarian, reporting, ma'am."

"Skip the formalities, Vakarian, just tell me what happened!"

"You're aware of our mission parameters" he began. "We were either to use the reactor or bridge controls to self-destruct that ship. However, mission parameters changed upon discovery of a working turret installed by our dear friend Sarah."

He wondered briefly whether to mention Sarah and Jackie's conflict before deciding against it.

"She was able to utilize the turret to destroy outbound communications systems. I take it that since the whole ship isn't under the control of an insane AI that the destruction of _Revenant_'s transmitters was successful in solving the problem."

"Correct, Vakarian. Now, we do have the matter of the Siren—the pilot who was able to activate Eridian artifacts…"

"Now that our ship isn't about to kill us, I'd like to get back to it, as weird as it was." Garrus had little enthusiasm for playing babysitter, but if Maya could utilize lost technology to smash the Flood and he was needed to facilitate her actions, he'd gladly go.

"You recall the other Siren, Sarah, saying that such abilities were not available on all planets?"

"And I suppose this has more to do with that inane Eridian religious conflict we got stuck in the middle of." Garrus really disliked the notion of being caught between beings who altered existence on a galactic scale who might just be having a spat.

Patricia Tannis, pulled up by holo for explaining exactly these sorts of things, spoke.

"I believe the Eridian 'Reform' faction had a very poor concept of having others do their job. For a people who stylize themselves as 'Guiding Hands' they've ended up sticking their hand everywhere they shouldn't while avoiding intervening in situations that merit their involvement. Their initial attempt with the Selfless Servant failed, so they attempted to distribute the power through Legionnaire Protectors—such as less-empowered Sirens like Maya. These individuals were supposed to be able to do Sarah's job without Sarah's backfiring. Hence the keys."

"That doesn't explain why Maya looks like she's wearing rocks."

Neither Garrus nor Allison could make sense of that.

"One saying both Eridian factions agreed on is this: When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all. Therefore, nobody wanted tools intended for Eridians or Sirens to fall into the wrong hands—hence our inability, quite literally, to grasp these items."

"Well I guess if you gave a caveman a mass accelerator…"

"…or a hyperdrive…" suggested Nimitz.

"Either way" continued Garrus "they're going to be confused. Unfortunately, I think we're the cavemen in our own analogy."

"You are quite correct" sniffed Tannis. "Simply accept that the Siren Maya will be utilizing tools beyond our comprehension—regrettably this includes myself—and there won't be any further confusion."

"I'd ask about how she thinks they work, but I don't envy the prospect of having to listen to Tannis talk for three hours" whispered Garrus to the Admiral, who nodded in agreement.

"Any idea what other planets Maya could plug in those keys on?" He returned to addressing Tannis' hologram, hoping she'd not been aware of the little exchange at her expense.

"After the defeat of Jack and his Warrior, the Vault Hunters did find that the Vault Key they obtained listed locations of hundreds of other Vaults throughout the galaxy. However, as to whom might possess that information, I do not know."

Nimitz ticked off the living "Vault Hunters" to herself. Maya, Axton, Mordecai, Brick, Salvador (the loud one), Gaige, zer0 (location unknown), Krieg (insane, probably lost on Pandora). She put in a holo to the aged Maya, wondering if the woman who spent most of her time reading might have any knowledge about this topic.

"This is Maya."

The two no longer insisted on distinguishing from each other—specifically, the younger had so loathed the older for a bit she'd insisted on adding a silly-sounding "two" to the end of her name for a time.

"Yes, well, Maya, I have a question."

Maya could recall the Admiral sounding this uncertain.

"I need to know what you know. Patricia Tannis tells me" (her icon had minimized to a corner) "that after you defeated Handsome Jack, you obtained information on where to find more Vaults. Is that correct?"

The older Maya's laugh seemed creaky, worn-out. "Even if I did remember, there is no way I could help you with them. During my inter-dimensional travels I was given the impression that I was not the correct person to activate these Vaults."

"It doesn't matter" cut in Garrus. "We just need to know where they are. Your, um, younger version can do the whole activation thing."

"Oh." Maya looked down slightly. She knew it wasn't fair, but she felt useless. Physically weaker than her other incarnation, she could no longer participate in combat. Whatever aging acceleration hit her finally stopped—leaving the Siren around 70-something. Still, Maya's only solace now came from reading rather than fighting. Her inability to participate as she'd done before had calmed her. She still recalled the alternate-Jackie's words about lacking purity of heart, though.

"I still don't know where they are" she continued. "I don't think grabbing that key was a priority when we left Sanctuary."

_Well this complicates things…_

[…]

After getting permission from Garrus ("Just because you're not Commander Shepard anymore doesn't mean you have to ask me for everything" he'd chided) Sam dragged Jackie and Sarah off to see Caitlin Flanders.

_She helped pull me out of a black hole—maybe she can get these two to stop sniping at one another._

Knowing the two might not agree to go together, she spoke to each separately while setting up a communal appointment that would begin with individual sessions.

"Uhh, Jackie?"

"What do you want?"

Sam hadn't heard this tone in a long time. And it was a bad sound—petulant, annoyed, irritable.

The Jakobs heir skulked in her quarters. She'd come so far, only to be dragged back by feelings of violation and self-loathing. And it was all that horrible Sarah woman's fault.

_Is she actually human? She seems like some kind of… I don't even know!_

"What happened?"

"Well" began Jackie haughtily. "At least you can pretend to care, because you acted like you did before."

Shepard stopped herself from tearing the woman several new ones. Though she'd not liked Jackie at first, she had genuinely wanted to help her get better, even if it meant an arms-length relationship. She wasn't going to engage in kicking-while-they're-down the way the aged Maya had, though in the Siren's defense the first time the two met she had no idea Jackie was on the path to reform. The second—attacking an apology—went too far in Sam's opinion.

"Just between you and me, I would have handled that situation aboard the Flood ship differently" she said calmly, trying to soothe Jackie before she potentially lost control. Jack's background seemed very similar, though arguably far worse (Jackie did not have a history of being experimented on). The former Commander endeavored not to speak ill of Garrus despite disagreeing with his actions.

"You would have let me at her?" asked Jackie hopefully. "That bitch…"

"Garrus… He's a little focused on the mission" she hedged. Turian insensitivity to anything not directly related to the assignment at hand was entirely natural in their culture. In fact, it was expected every soldier would put the well-being of his or her squad and their objective before everything else. Personal traumas were to be dealt with later, in private. Even if those problems could directly affect the situation, they were to be repressed until such a time that addressing them did not take away from military goals.

Among humans, such attitudes had been a sore point in cross-species cooperation. Even in non-combat settings, turian "hardasses" (that being the mildest of pejoratives used behind their backs) drove their human compatriots nuts whether they were subordinates, equals, or superiors. During construction of _Normandy SR-1_, a turian overseer refused to permit a human who had been made aware of an illness in the family to take leave, citing the necessity of ensuring the ship became operational on schedule. Ultimately, the turian found himself overruled by human project managers (some of whom were Cerberus sympathizers), though as a sop to "cultural cooperation" all human members were then required to attend "cultural diversity workshops" in which it was explained to them that the turian work ethic differed from their own, among other things. An earlier incident involving the late Kaidan Alenko (pre-convergence) resulted in the death of a particularly disliked turian who used hunger and thirst as motivators for his human students (torture under Systems Alliance law). He deliberately broke the arm of a student who reached for a glass rather than moving it biotically, provoking Alenko's reaction. This caused "a political shitstorm" and a metric ton of paperwork.

Obviously, Garrus' refusal to let Sarah and Jackie vent on each other in the bowls of a Flood-ified dreadnaught hardly reached these levels of cross-species mishaps, but it did stem from the same tree, even though the branch was quite a bit smaller.

"So if I get shot he'll just leave me?" Jackie demanded.

"No one gets left behind" replied Sam firmly. "But that would be…"

She stopped. Now was not the time to try and explain the difference between turian and human problem-solving. Doing so would probably seem to Jackie like she was trying to excuse Garrus or minimize the scope of what happened—which Shepard wasn't even fully aware of yet!

"…a discussion best saved for another day. I came to hear your story, however you choose to tell it, not write essays for Intergalactic Politics 101."

The black-haired woman chuckled weakly. "I keep forgetting you're the galaxy's last, best hope whether you admit it or not. Even if someone shoves a gun in your face, tells you to go fuck yourself, you _still_ find it in you to try to help them anyway…"

"I guess it's just how I am."

_Except that time I murdered millions of civilians and…_ Sam cut her train of thought off before self-recrimination defeated her attempt to figure out what happened to Jackie. _Not going there. It's my past, but I own it. I'm not afraid of it, and not afraid of you, either!_ She buried the doubting voice once again.

"Garrus actually shoved a gun in my face once" she continued. "I'd asked my family to contribute toward the anti-Flood effort. They refused. Typical" she snorted. "Even though I wasn't successful, I knew which end was up—Vakarian had command, not you. So I had to face him with the news."

"And he kept you at arms' length."

"That's putting it mildly."

Jackie used her hand to approximate the shape of a gun, then made "FSST" sounds in Shepard's direction. "He would've vaporized me if he thought I'd become a threat. As if."

The woman before her represented anything but a threat in Sam's opinion. Without weapons, armor, shields, or cannon fodder at her disposal she really wasn't very tough or intimidating. She'd voluntarily given up her last asset—using herself and her sexuality as a weapon, when she decided to abandon her old life. Besides, that bag of tricks didn't even work on Garrus—Shepard suppressed a smile remembering that story from him.

"So what happened?" Sam sensed she might get an answer this time.

"If you ask me, it was rape, plain and simple."

Sam recoiled as if slapped. "You'll have to expl…"

"You're thinking physical" countered Jackie before she could finish her sentence, pointing at her crotch. "She forced her way into my _head_," (accompanied by placing hands on temples instead) "rooted around, made me relive what you were thinking about just now. Wasn't even kind enough to explain _why_. She just watched the worst parts of my life like some trashy ECHO-vid."

"I would never say it didn't happen" began Sam, "but this Current mumbo-jumbo makes exactly zero sense to me. I presume that's how she did it."

"It wasn't an asari meld, I can tell you that…"

Displaying the same keen, though informal, understanding of psychology she'd had with Dr. Flanders, Shepard quickly changed the subject to keep Jackie from becoming too traumatized.

"Where did you hear about asari melding?"

"The same place I learned almost everything else except for the slipspace formulas I derived" Jackie answered, as if this was a dumb question.

"If you say you were reading the extranet…" Sam put up a shaking finger in a mock scolding.

"But it was educational!" protested Jackie. "Filtered access through the hospital network on RNS _Veritas_!It wasn't like I just pulled up 'True Blue' or 'Vaenia' because I was bored!"

"And, how would you know what those are?" teased Sam.

"Uhh…"

"It's entirely normal" continued the former Commander. "Hell, I sometimes need some extra time in my bunk. That's not the issue here."

"The issue is Sarah treating me like some sort of ECHO-vid. Like my life exists for her perusal."

Jackie glared at Sam, as if daring her to disagree. Anyone who knew Shepard could predict her reaction.

"There's absolutely no way to defend what Sarah did. In every society and legal code I've worked with, bodily and mental integrity are two of the most sacrosanct things an individual has—and breaking them has to have a damn good reason. Curiosity doesn't count."

"Here's the problem though. No one other than you will care. Look at how everyone treats her like you or Garrus—just another soldier with a sordid past. She murdered untold numbers of people, but because she's sorry slash was brainwashed all of the sudden we're going to ignore what would probably be capital punishment crimes in any jurisdiction?"

_And you were raped and abused, so you went on to manipulate and deceive others into getting what you wanted as some twisted coping mechanism or revenge thing. You realize you've also just accused me of getting off scot-free, right? _

Sam knew when to get herself out of a situation. "I'm not a therapist, but I'd highly recommend the one I've been seeing… Here's her address. I called ahead and you should be able to get in this week."

"I guess…"

Jackie suddenly laughed. "This ship is so big it has internal addresses!"

"Yep. Only one I've been on with such a system."

"Thanks for hearing me out."

"I'm the one who barged into your quarters demanding information." Sam stood to leave.

Apparently, Jackie turned into quite the hugger, as Sam found herself unable to depart just yet. Though she'd not been in a relationship for almost ten years (wow…) she knew the difference between warm, friendly hugs and I'm-going-to-rip-your-clothes-off-now embraces. Jakobs seemed to be obsessed with the former, perhaps as some way to try to convince everyone she wasn't who she used to be. Sam decided to desist entertaining the idea Jackie remained her old self hidden under playacting, but in the case that she was she was damn near impeccable.

"I should go."

[…]

Upon return, Sarah deftly avoided medical personnel who wanted to run yet more tests on her. Instead, she disappeared into her quarters halfway down _Ultimatum_'s bridge tower. Had she bothered to run Current Waves through the architecture, it would have become plainly obvious the reason for her apparently luxurious appointments revolved around the ability to instantly eject said structures should anyone want to get rid of her, a perversion of its original intent (to allow the ship's Admiral to escape).

Sam's finger hovered over the buzzer before Sarah's voice emitted from the intercom.

"What do you want, Shepard?"

Sam couldn't help herself from making a smartass response. "If you know I'm here, you probably know what I'm here for!"

"Oh, you're clever" snapped Sarah. "There's a holocam right over the door, dingus."

Shame crossed her face as Sam looked up and of course, just like most other quarters, a small holocam could be seen above the frame.

"Are you going to let me in, or not?"

No verbal response, but the door did open.

_Geez, for a person nobody likes, they sure gave her posh quarters…_ The entryway alone had more space than some double-bunk setups aboard smaller warships. Beyond, she could see what looked like a kitchen with an island, to the left a sitting room, and to the right an entertainment area with what looked like an exercise mat in it (why someone this powerful would need yoga left Sam scratching her head).

"I hear these normally belong to the ship's Admiral" said the Siren, walking into said sitting room from another part of her quarters. "Instead, I get a hundred and fifty square meters of living space all to myself. I guess I smell or something."

_Well, you don't smell, but glowing purple is kinda weird…_

"Let's just get this out in the open" began Sam. "What the hell did you do to Jackie?"

"Ugh. I had a feeling you came to talk about that. Why does anyone care as long as someone stops the Flood?" Sarah's aura shifted to a slightly pinkish hue before settling back to purple.

Sam sat down, ready to launch into lecture-mode.

"You haven't learned anything, have you?" Worn out already, as if she'd spent the past hour arguing with Sarah despite just arriving. She exhaled loudly before continuing. "Before I get into a useless fight, just who, or perhaps what, are you?"

"Do you think I'm going to suddenly turn into a green alien with tentacles and claws? Garrus surely briefed you on our experience with the Eridians."

"That doesn't tell me everything" countered Shepard. "Sure, I know why the Eridians, Guiding Hands, whatever we're supposed to call them, supposedly want. I know there's a religious dispute going on that probably exceeds my small mortal mind's ability to comprehend."

Sarah interrupted, not harshly this time—just enough to get the former Commander to stop in her tracks.

"It's not actually that hard. One faction wants to keep the whole species in perpetual slavery, says the other who wants to foolishly hand off sacred duties, says the former."

"If it's that simple, why the fuck didn't you tell us?" shouted Shepard. "Why blow up planets, mock people as you strand them in space, kidnap Jack's students? You could have just, you know, made a simple extranet announcement!"

Sarah took her turn at sighing. "It wasn't that simple. And it isn't."

Remembering Jackie and desiring to avoid a rush to judgment, Sam reluctantly switched to listening.

"Then I'm here for an explanation."

"You and pretty much everyone else are aware of my original stated goal—to avoid an inter-parallel convergence that would let in the very monsters we now seek to fight."

Sam nodded.

"Except that wasn't my goal. The Sarah you knew then was a construction of the Reformers."

Shepard stopped the Siren to head off confusion.

"Are you saying you were brainwashed?"

Sarah huffed.

"Garrus really didn't do my story justice, did he?"

The former Commander thought back.

"Here's the skinny on that Sarah character" he'd said. "She's obviously done things we objected to. You know, like killing millions of innocent people, even though she technically had a valid reason for doing so. The Eridians, the ones who created her, had a strong hand in that, so try to at least not kill her next time you see her—she's on our side now, as distasteful as that sounds."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Not really" replied the turian. "I should get going. See you on the _Normandy_."

Returning to the present, she found the Siren giving her an amused look.

"I'm guessing if that's all the time you needed to recall what he said, he didn't really explain anything."

She had to admit Sarah had a point. "He basically said I shouldn't try to kill you because we're not enemies anymore."

"Ordinarily, I'd offer to just dump everything you need to know into your head. The reverse of what happened to your friend Jackie."

Sam flinched at the other woman's cavalier tone surrounding that incident. It still sickened her that Sarah could think so little of breaking into someone's mind.

"I see you think ill of such methods, and your feelings aside it wouldn't exactly be easy. You're not Patricia Tannis, whose brain is so cracked I'm surprised it hasn't spilled all over the deck."

The easy contempt for others reminded Sam of Tannis, despite Tannis being the subject of such dismissive comments.

"Even if you tried to let me in, your mental conditioning would make it virtually impossible. So we're going to have to sit here and talk about it. Would you like me to get some fresher spray?"

"What I'd like is some demonstration that you've learned the rules are different if you want to be our ally" replied Sam through gritted teeth. "Just because you can use your strange powers doesn't mean you should without thinking of the effect they have on others."

"If you're that opposed to working with me, I'll just sit this out. And this conversation will be over." She moved as if to leave.

Sam heaved a huge breath. "Okay, start with the Eridians…"

_This is going to be one big excuse-fest._

"Here comes the boring history lesson. The Eridians once all had the same philosophy—hence the actual translation of their name. Guiding Hands. They sought to cultivate lesser forms of life like your gardeners or fishkeepers would tend to their beds or tanks. The essence of Eridian being was to follow the Mantle of Responsibility, which dictated among other things that no Eridian was to ever take a life. They don't even eat meat, for crying out loud!"

"I hate to ask, but how is that relevant?"

"You short-lives are so impatient!" chided Sarah. "All in due time! At first, there weren't any divisions in Eridian society at all. It remained completely without controversy to empower the lesser races to better manage their own affairs through the Current and extremely small Symbiot Lifeforms that let them utilize it. That is, until some became concerned these seemingly-unnatural powers might attract unwanted attention Eridians would eventually have to deal with."

"The Flood?"

"Well, that was one possibility. The Eridians already had this problem on their own, including the Flood. They didn't want anyone else causing it. Some felt it was best to keep cavemen from playing with fire, others just didn't want the Mantle-mandated responsibility of cleaning up any resulting conflicts."

"So what'd they do about it? What is this Mantle you keep talking about?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Garrus didn't tell you about that, either?"

Shaken head no.

"The Mantle represents the core of Eridian society, and it is over this that the dispute between Reformers and the Purists emerged. The Mantle of Responsibility is the notion that Eridians, as the apex race, are responsible for the care and nourishment of others, up to a point, anyway—if those under Eridian care were able to fully deduce the influence of their guides, the Eridians would have interfered too much. When done right, nobody is sure you did anything at all."

"And that means no killing."

"Among other things. As I said before, there is a group within the Ecumene that believe the Mantle is actually holding back Eridian society. At their most extreme, these 'Reformers' wish to completely sever the relationship between Eridians and guiding other races. In general, they believe the Mantle itself has become oppressive. Opposing them are those calling themselves 'Pure,' who hold the joy of serving as a benevolent protector is its own reward, that using the loophole of letting others kill on behalf of the Mantle is abhorrent, and regardless of intentions subverting free will by creating slave races is fundamentally wrong. The last two viewpoints only became a stated part of the Pure faction's ideology in light of failures resulting from both the killing loophole and engineered lifeforms not accomplishing their stated goals. They've always believed in such things, but couldn't point out any evidence of the righteousness of their viewpoints to the majority Reformers until recently. They preferred standing on their first point rather than being wiped out on all three…"

"This is a lot to take in." Sam scratched the back of her head.

Sarah grinned. "I'm recording it. You said something about a wide-scale broadcast…"

"Well, I hope you're not actually doing this live?" If she was, Sam wouldn't be surprised—Sarah's morals/ethics hadn't shown much consideration for others that she knew of.

"No. You think I have transmission privileges?" Sarah looked incredulous.

"Being told no hasn't stopped you before…"

Glare.

"Tell me more about these slave races."

Sarah held up a hand. "There were two that I was made aware of. One you know and love, the other hasn't existed for millions of years."

Shepard's face lit up in comprehension. "Reapers!"

"Indeed, though I knew them as the Ancient Machines, both while under Reformer influence and now. You realize this element zero you prize so much is actually an Eridian waste product? It wasn't supposed to be useful at all, but once the Eridian Lifeworkers noticed how the races under their care were utilizing it, studies by Builders confirmed it actually posed a problem."

"So that explains why we have it and no one else does, right?" Somehow, Sam both understood more and less.

"Why create more than one landfill? Your galaxy and those like it in other parallels were the dumping grounds for this unwanted substance. Application of it for faster-than-light threatened to tear the universe open though, so the Ancient Machines were created. You know the rest about cycles of extinction, but what you don't know is that each cycle is, on an Eridian time-scale, precisely calibrated to let space return to its natural, undamaged state between extinctions and the evolution of new sapient species."

"Let me guess: the Pure guys didn't like that trillions of innocent lives were ended every time your machines did their thing."

Now that she knew not every Eridian deserved contempt, she could almost dislike Sarah less.

"Since you bring that up, the Pure faction actually originally supported the Ancient Machines over the previous incarnation. The machines were crated with very little free will of their own, rather than being built as a fully-sapient race spawned from a test-tube."

"So I take it the test-tube baby didn't work out." Sam sat on her hands and shifted uncomfortably.

"It is only thanks to the Pure faction overriding the Reformers' attempts to alter my memories that I can even recall what happened in that situation. I knew there was a mess before, but now I have details. The Yuuzhan Vong were entirely engineered by Eridian Lifeworkers with an intense hatred of all technology. The goal? Destroy the society making extensive use of hyperdrive engines, and hunt down Current Channelers while they were at it."

Sam couldn't recall where she'd heard that term before.

"At one point, the Trans-Galactic Republic admiral, Nimitz, thought the Flood was a return of the Yuuzhan Vong" clarified Sarah, seeing Sam's confusion.

"Aha, 'Vonglife' came up in a conversation once…"

"I find myself forgetting that you are not what you once were. Garrus Vakarian has supplanted your role in many situations."

Shepard wasn't sure whether to be offended at this observation.

"At any rate, the Yuuzhan Vong were an abject failure. This convinced those who were leery of the Reformers, though neither faction formally existed at the time, to support the Ancient Machines, or Reapers as you call them. They would have zero free will, so the issue of creating a form of life that possessed only limited autonomy was avoided. These creatures did well, until the Trans-Galactic Republic showed up."

"They use hyperdrives" protested Sam. "You said in the past that hyperdrives, eezo drives, and hyper-zero drives were destabilizing space. You also just told me the Yuuzhan Vong were created to destroy the societies that used hyperdrives, but since that failed, what was done?"

"You're not familiar with that galaxy's history" replied Sarah dismissively with a wave of her hand. "And I won't bore you with it. Suffice it to say that since the Yuuzhan Vong were unable to destroy them, Eridian manipulation has attempted to do so from the inside—by subverting those who Channel the Current in the hopes that they would destroy society on their own. Unfortunately for those plans, they fell apart as civilization kept rebuilding itself. To add insult, those blasted hyperdrives kept getting better and better. Not necessarily faster, but able to plot courses closer and closer to stellar phenomena that would have resulted in an auto-reversion centuries ago."

"Technological plateau theory…" suggested the former Commander.

"Exactly. Certain advancements required either immense resources no one was willing to spend or wholesale re-evaluations of physics. Neither came about, so these technologies remained relatively unchanged for great spans of time. Periodic near-self-destruction didn't help either."

Sam almost felt as though she were in history class.

"Once some of the more radical Reformers saw what was going on, that is when the actual official split happened. Influencing the Current failed to have the desired effect. I hesitate to extrapolate that the Eridians could have the same emotional responses you _Homo sapiens_ do, but they were almost frustrated. Borne of that frustration, they harvested most of the Symbiot Lifeforms for my creation, and killed any that were left."

Her conversational partner's eyes widened in shock. "That's a direct violation of the Mantle!"

"The Reformers believed a more…flexible interpretation…of the Mantle would not frown upon what they had done. The risk of a re-contamination by that which we know as the Flood was too great. I believe your most equivalent phrase is 'The ends justify the means.'"

Shepard failed to keep it in this time. "Well, I see what informed your point of view, then."

"This is an undeniable truth, as much as you may dislike it" said Sarah. "With the obstacle of complete prohibition on ending life out of the way with appropriate circumstances to rationalize it, outsourcing upholding the Mantle of Responsibility to someone like me was trivial. The Reformers announced their intention to pursue a different interpretation of the Mantle."

"Surely, the Pure faction must have protested!" insisted Sam.

"They did. Their arguments rang hollow among the then-apathetic majority since they'd gone along with most of the Reformers' earlier wishes, like extending the Current to lesser life-forms, the creation of the Yuuzhan Vong, and the building of Reapers. If the only problem they had was that Eridians no longer were literal Guiding Hands, most believed the argument to be pointless. The Pure side already conceded so much what was left drew very little passion and even less support. Reform became the law of the land, especially due to fear of a resurgent Flood that had been observed to break free in several parallels. Ironically, the best way to contain it would have been full-on Eridian intervention. Instead, more outsourcing took place through the creation of the 'Reclaimers,' or those empowered to activate Eridian defenses. Out of a desire to avoid direct intervention despite having no problem manipulating events otherwise, those most involved took up the fiction of 'Forerunners' to enable themselves to interact with the lesser races directly."

"Except given past patterns, I suspect the results were not to their liking" remarked Shepard.

"The lesser races started poking around. They became too curious, among other problems—mainly fighting each other—and unleashed the Flood. In most parallels, the Flood ended up winning, but because each of these universes remained self-contained, no leaks happened. Not until recently. I think you'd call it a perfect storm."

"My usual is 'Everything that can go wrong, will'" said Sam.

"That would not be inaccurate. Somehow, Ancient Machines from one parallel intersected with Flood from another—no universe had both. You've seen what happens when the two mix. And then they got their hands on element zero."

"Now we have cosmic horror stories. Where do you fit in between your creation and the present?"

"If Garrus had bothered to pass on everything he'd seen—I can't imagine anyone not but apparently he didn't—you'd know that when I was first awakened, it became apparent to me that based on how the Mantle was described to me, the very individuals responsible for my creation were in fact in need of punishment for straying from the true path. Punishment meant death."

"Not following rules about innocent life—get yourself killed. Got it." More confusing logic from the inter-universe gods. Figures.

"You said so yourself" chided Sarah. "_Innocent_ life. Those who deliberately went against the Mantle no longer held this protection, so gunning them down brought no strain to my belief system at the time. As you can imagine, just like anyone else finding that something they created no longer behaved, the Reformers, by now a large majority within the Ecumene responsible for interpreting the Mantle and virtually all other segments of society now that I think about it, activated backup units you know as 'Sirens' to take me out."

"Why the hell would you need a backup for a neigh-unstoppable juggernaut of destruction?" Sam couldn't believe it.

"Backup, or control?" replied Sarah. "Some among the Reformers were concerned the very thing that happened would in fact occur—they forecasted if I were to turn against them it would be very difficult to stop me unless others were grown with similar abilities. Obviously, another Selfless Servant would not do—she would have the same issue of a god complex…"

_At least she admitted it. On a recording too!_

"…therefore mandating scaled-down versions" finished the super-Siren.

"For once, something worked!" Despite softening toward Sarah, she still showed glee at Sarah's downfall.

"I did bring justice to many of the cowardly Reformers who sought to hide behind false loopholes in the Mantle allegedly permitting wanton killing and overriding of free will. It only began to occur to the downtrodden Purists they might have a chance when I burst into a meeting of the Conclave of the Whole—like your Citadel Council—and started killing those responsible for leading Eridians astray."

"What'd they say? I can't imagine the legitimate no-kill faction would take too well to this…"

"They stopped objecting once I dissolved any notions that the Reformers were innocent and deserving of protection. I showed them everything the Reformers had been doing. I was a secret project, you see. The creation of a being so powerful remained controversial, even for Reformers. I chased them with their own class-20 combat skin design they'd built specifically for me. I destroyed many of their more errant scientific endeavors. But the Legionnaire Protectors were actually complete, not just plans as I thought. They stopped me."

"So fear of the Flood kept anyone from complaining, even though the Reformers did a lot of questionable things. But when the chips were thrown down and these normally passive conspirators were directly confronted with the results of supporting so-called reforms, I'd bet a lot of minds changed."

Sam couldn't ever recall Sarah smiling. At least not anything resembling kindness. Was she imagining it?

"Though the Pure faction wasn't able to give me all the information they wanted to before we left, it appears their faith in the lesser races is not entirely misplaced. The Pure faction believes in self-determination, and by extension self-defense. The Flood are of no fault of any of the curated sapients, nor are they lifeforms deserving of protection—they violate the Mantle in every way it is possible to do so. Therefore, encouraging societies such as your own to take up arms against them does not violate the Mantle. The Pure faction realizes the error of having gone along with the Reformers—many hoped to lessen more radical instincts from the inside. That never, ever works… Many become just as corrupted as those they seek to save."

"So you still haven't gone into detail about what happened after the Reformers, erm, changed your outlook…" Sam needed to hear this, even if she didn't want to listen to what she assumed would be a laundry list of poor justifications for ending so many lives. Sure, it seemed a bit closed-minded of her, but anyone or anything created by the same people who thought Reapers were a good idea would be a difficult sell.

"The Reformers wanted to ensure I would never rebel again. Aside from designating themselves as perpetually exempt from retribution for violating the Mantle, they also pushed the notion of ends justifying the means to the fore."

"This is gonna sound rude, but did anyone ever give you a sense of what was right and wrong outside the Mantle, regardless of how it was interpreted?"

"No."

"Well, that explains a lot" said Shepard, slightly stilted as she spit out each word separately. "Like a turian on steroids…"

She then proceeded to give Sarah the same lesson in turian culture she'd given Jackie. Sam saw the Siren's brow furrow, as if for the first time she actually gave her (lack of a) concept of ethics/morals some thought.

Upon finishing her description of turian ethics, Sam continued in a different direction. "This isn't the first time I've faced someone whose concept of right and wrong is different enough from my own that disagreements are practically inevitable. That said, a belief that 'the ends justify the means' isn't so alien that I find myself unable to have an opinion. As opposed to a race that was entirely okay with me forcibly rewriting the minds of an entire subsection of their people because they'd erred. With geth, there is no individuality."

Even Sarah found this odd.

"I also noticed you never answered my original question" replied Sam. "I did learn quite a bit, but you never told me what happened with Jackie aboard that dreadnaught."

Sam's omnitool lit up, indicating a high-priority incoming message from Admiral Nimitz.

"Looks like that story is going to have to wait. What is it, Admiral?"

"We've got Flood coming in all over. Sensors indicate a whole swarm of former Reapers, inbound!"

"So what happened to asking Garrus about these things?"

"He's already here. He strongly recommended your tactical expertise."

"I should go."

Shepard excused herself after again repeating most of what she'd said to Jackie, this time about the appointment with Dr. Flanders.

Sarah returned to the mat that caught Sam's attention upon entry to resume meditating.

[…]

The Maliwans always prided themselves on producing quality "elemental-based" weapons. Sure, they lacked the hitting power of a Jakobs, but apparently Jakobs had been using devices of alien origin to vastly improve their otherwise unremarkable weapons.

When Jakobs first began producing guns, a plague of "shock-sickness," degeneration of the nerves from repeated use of shock-based weapons, scared up their sales with promises of great power without any of the risks from element-derived toxins. Poison leaking from acidic firearms caused similar problems, except with digestion—diarrhea at a minimum, irreversible scarring and damage to the gastrointestinal tract at worst. Many believed incendiary effects to have no downsides, until rumors of men and women literally on fire (while continuing to live) started trickling in from the Borderlands. Initially dismissed as "spacer's tales," the sheer number of ECHO-recorded videos of these "burning men" caused a stir in the Prime Worlds.

A decade later, scientists discovered (with great difficulty as weapon-manufacturers used the Economic Development Group to hamstring every turn) some part of "incendiary" weapons to be responsible for this phenomenon. Combined with significant loss of neural capacity, public perception of fire weapons took a nosedive. It seemed none of these "special" weapons were safe, posing a huge problem for new arms manufacturer Maliwan whose entire product line contained these substances. Marcus Kinkaid laughed off the potential issue, but many other vendors were skittish.

"In the Borderlands, no one cares!" he'd boomed. "I don't use them, so it won't affect me."

Mallory spent uncountable hours in her lab, using robotic assistance when necessary to minimize her own exposure, which had been negligible to begin with as she designed weapons but rarely fired them. She eventually discovered a solution, albeit one that would be costly: promethium, from some backwater planet from which the substance's name was derived. Said world had no value before, but this new resource could be used to line the weapon's elemental reactor and chamber with the downside that the material could not be digistructed or digitally stored. Such a coating would ensure all toxins were projected forward with the round, splattering the target but not the shooter. Given Maliwan's status as a relative newcomer, her attempts to prevent others from duplicating her work through both legal and practical means failed miserably, though she took in in stride since "at least it will make elemental weapons safe for everyone."

Now, she and her husband faced a renewal of the catastrophe from over a decade ago. Shipments of promethium no longer arrived at manufacturing facilities owned by Maliwan. Malcolm dialed up Dahl's headquarters—the one who'd actually bothered to pay license fees for Mallory's work.

"We are also having troubles" sighed Ronald Dahl. "Though with the market in turmoil over Jakobs, this problem may not get the attention it deserves. A pre-existing supply of elemental weapons scattered throughout the Borderlands that were built before promethium seals became common is still in use—that's why so many of our people went nuts after settling Pandora. They were sent with shields and ECHOs, but not anything more than basic guns. Most of them weren't educated enough to know about the need for promethium seals. Among those that were, a healthy skepticism existed, of which I will admit this company was a part, about the necessity of such things. Hell, this is why the Borderlands are so damn uncivilized to begin with!"

Seeing Mallory's judgmental face alongside her husband's glare, he quickly clarified. "I had nothing to do with those decisions!"

The pair believed him, if only because Dahl didn't run on the family name the way Jakobs, Maliwan, and Torgue did.

"Our mines on Promethea have stopped transmitting" said Malcolm. "We sent scouts, but they too went dark. I wonder if our dear friends at Jakobs have something to do with this."

It only made sense. Jakobs represented the sole personal firearms manufacturer that had no use for promethium or the planet it was mined from. In space, nobody cared about byproducts; only the most sloppily-built ships had even a small risk of exposing crews to toxic substances from their weapons. Outfits like S&amp;S were more concerned with Eridian-derived weaponry anyway. Atlas, now gone, did have millions of promethium service contracts going unfulfilled due to bankruptcy, however its wares would simply join the ever-growing pile of technically-unhealthy weaponry present in the Borderlands.

The Maliwans elected to visit their unresponsive mines personally to see what caused them to cease communicating and shipping needed materials.

The Harvester War only exacerbated the problem—weapons everywhere were coming up on their "maintenance required" periods quicker than expected. Some more advanced arms actually reduced their elemental charges as their internal shielding declined, until they fired only normal rounds. However, most firearms in the Borderlands lacked such sophistication and simply began leaking mind-altering substances once their promethium coatings were depleted from use.

"Business as usual" grumbled the few non-bandits on worlds like Pandora. Well, as usual as having a planet split open yet continue to function entirely normally otherwise could be.


	63. Say Hello to the New Boss

**Chapter 62 – Say Hello to the New Boss**

Nancy Cole holo-ed Scarlett DeWinter on a private channel. The two were absolutely certain they would not be spied on—even the Republic Intelligence Service hadn't found a way to reliably break three-stage quantum encryption. In order to know what was going on, agents would have to be there either in person or with recording devices aimed at the holoprojectors themselves. Both women swept their quarters for every known bug and used small EMPs to take out everything short of their shielded HoloNet transceivers.

"It's funny we're talking so much" started Cole. "Ever since most of my family encouraged me not to speak to 'that crazy DeWinter woman' when I was a child…"

"It's a big galaxy—and it's easy to avoid someone if you want to. Now, onto business. You've said that your colleague Leslie Ford is highly suspicious of some data she's received?"

Nancy got a distinct feeling her mother hadn't been entirely wrong about DeWinter. Something about the way she spoke and carried herself suggested more than just your average sweet old grandparent-age woman. She decided not to ask.

"Dr. Ford had been stuck for months on certain parts of her research. You probably don't know how Garthmot's geneticists are trying to attack the Flood, do you?"

"All I know is that something smells like bantha droppings. Can I trust you?"

_Straight to the point, huh? I'd have to ask her the same question._

Cole decided to stick her neck out. "I'd be asking you an identical question. I suspect we both have something to share that we need to ensure the other won't spread beyond ourselves, is that correct?"

"We both agreed when this connection was set up that it would be recorded on both ends. So if one of us talks, the other can immediately upload the entire conversation to the HoloNet. We both have insurance and an incentive to keep what is said in confidence." Scarlett hit the other woman with a penetrating stare. She wasn't a member of the usually-male Band of Brothers for no reason—she'd _earned_ that spot many times over!

Nancy spoke first, getting the impression the smuggling queen wasn't about to tip her hand. "Ford suspects questionable methods have been used to answer questions she has about how the Flood infection works. She would have needed living test subjects for animal models, but couldn't get any for obvious reasons. Suddenly, stage two clinical data shows up and questions about what preceded it are ignored or deflected."

DeWinter's head tipped in a sign of confusion. "I'm sorry, I'm not a scientist. I might've moved a few quantum microscopes at some point but it's the farthest thing from my mind most days…"

"Well, first off, most experiments start with an animal model. Like a womp rat or something. Probably not actual womp rats in this case because most of the research has focused on Humans, who are quite physiologically different, but you get the idea. No sapient subjects involved. Clinical trials mean that sapients are being actively worked on, which is only approved after sufficient work is done with the animal models. Stage one consists of safety tests. Even if the drug looks like a miracle cure in the animal models, if it causes the intended sapient group to drop dead, it's a non-starter. We're not even seeing how well it works at this point—just making sure it's safe. Stage two consists of testing the effect of the substance. Are the animal model results duplicated when compared against a control group that received a placebo?"

"So what's the big deal?"

"Stage two clinical data means the animal model is finished and the drug is safe. At least with normal procedures. Thing is, whoever sent the data did so in ways that can't be traced, _and_ told her to stop asking questions when she wondered about the animal studies or stage one."

"I could almost admire that. This process sounds needlessly bureaucratic and burdensome" insisted DeWinter.

"Would you want to get your annual immuno-booster shot without knowing that it wasn't going to cause you to cramp up, vomit blood, and die?" challenged Cole. "Absolutely every aboveboard pharmaceutical goes through this process for a reason."

"I suppose. So they skipped some steps. Desperate times call for desperate measures!"

"You don't get it, do you?" snapped Nancy. "Look at this! It strongly implies that not only were the usual initial trials skipped, but _people were deliberately infected with Infection/Flood spores!_"

Scarlett's expression changed from neutral to shocked to horrified as line after line scrolled across her terminal.

"We will not be adhering to the Rhinnal Academy Testing Procedure; investigations will begin immediately with stage 2, including close examination of the reaction from host tissues when exposed to the agent in question…"

She kept reading.

"…zero chance of blowback as these individuals were already sentenced to die…appeals exhausted…no family support…"

Nancy pulled Scarlett's attention back to the present.

"I don't suppose you know anything about where these doomed souls are from? The Band isn't supposed to deal in sapients…"

"We…we have some contracts with a certain entity who wishes for their identity to be kept out of the public eye. It would be a retraction of everything I worked so hard to build if word got out that we'd broken our vow…"

"Weren't you the one the HoloNet said tamed the Band? Serene Smuggling or some new-age sounding phrase?"

"First off, it's 'Smuggling With a Smile.' And yes, that was mostly my doing. And it appears we are no longer following it."

Nancy blurted it out before she could stop herself. "I think it's the intelligence service! On both ends! Sending Ford and her fellow geneticists unethically-obtained data, and using your groups to get them the bodies they need!"

DeWinter, aware that the whole thing was still being recorded, avoided directly agreeing. She settled for not disagreeing.

"I won't argue that point. Suffice it to say that we no longer can claim the moral high ground—things other than blasters or spice have been in the holds of some of my vessels for the past few months."

"So how do we stop this?"

DeWinter took on a dangerous look. "You assume I would want to stop this. It is highly profitable, and as far as the general public knows, the Band no longer deals in slaves, prostitution, or hard drugs…"

Cole steeled herself before responding. "Don't play games with me. If you actually cared as little as you said, you wouldn't have set this whole thing up, nor would you have insisted on all this secrecy."

"Maybe I only led you to believe I cared so I could confirm my suspicions as to where my cargo is going."

"Says the woman who personally bought out the contracts of sixty-three slaves, in front of a Galaxy News Service holo-crew before declaring that Smile venture of yours? I don't think so. If you've changed that much, the galaxy at large would have noticed, what with RedLine being as old and well-respected as it is! Your company was the first to send Class I drug business elsewhere!"

Scarlett dropped her mask of disinterest. "You are correct, Nancy—I do care, but not for the reason you think. The compact we had under Smuggling With a Smile was for the government to look the other way so long as we avoided certain…morally-degrading activities. In exchange for self-policing, the government would get off our backs and leave our credits alone. Now, we bend to the will of an unwanted master."

"As I suspect Garthmot Scientific Center has been co-opted. More of our work than usual seems to have multiple purposes, depending on who's asking. The usual Republicorp demand for micro-manufacturing plants to help its agents carry out their public service has taken on a disturbingly militaristic turn of late. They want to know whether we can assemble 'volatile materials' instead of electropumps, mini-conservators, or solar-freshers. The filters for your average turbo-agitator that uses water with a Level V biohazard suddenly aren't enough—that covers 97.8% of all inhabited planets! Why the sudden specificity?"

"It seems we are trapped in the same black hole's gravitational field, then" concluded DeWinter.

"You're only in this for the credits" spat Cole. "Fine façade you put on sobbing over slaves on the HoloNet…"

"If my goals agree with yours and my methods do no harm, who are you to care?"

Nancy Cole found herself in the same situation Samantha Shepard, Allison Nimitz, Garrus Vakarian, and many others during this conflict were forced into: working with someone with whom one had intense disagreements for the sake of a greater good.

"I did not become the undisputed leader of RedLine by appealing to moral sensibilities. However, greed can be a powerful ally when channeled properly, and RedLine's reputation bears this out. We are constantly considered the most ethical and clean of all the seven in the Band. Does it matter that our motivation is credits if we're upstanding citizens?"

"And what if being good stopped being profitable?"

"It won't, not in this galaxy. Not with those do-gooders and their 'Everyone Forward, Everyone Upward' sloganeering in charge."

"Let's put motivations aside" suggested Cole. "So what actions should we take in pursuit of our shared goal?"

"That is the difficult part. Compared to reaching agreement despite divergent reasons for making our choices, figuring out ways to intervene in matters that RISE has set is practically suicide…"

"If it's just us, yes. There's a Senator, Bothan, Ham'Del I think? She was the one agitating for intelligence service reform and the formation of an actual military rather than this pseudo-bantha poodoo we have now…"

"You realize your theorized savior is still digging herself out of the wreckage of a scandal bombing run that nearly flattened her speeder garage, right? Also consider the fact that the populace was never passionate about reforming RISE—it sounded nice but as soon as the Flood became a serious issue, RISE's claim to be the only ones doing anything about something that came up in scary HoloNet documentaries cooled what little anger was pointed in their direction. I may not be a scientist, but you, my friend, are no politician."

"Then to whom can we turn? The Band would never bite the hand that feeds it—as you just said. Scientists make for a poor constituency."

Shaking her finger as if dealing with a child, DeWinter leaned forward before speaking. "I never said we cannot use Ham'Del's help. Only that we would be wielding a tarnished weapon. However, a tarnished weapon is better than none at all. I will arrange a meeting with her within two standard weeks."

Dr. Cole could only be floored. That pirate must have more influence than she thought possible…

[…]

Bandits in the Borderlands regions were never known for their sanity. Ranting about killing their own parents, eating each other, or even _eating themselves while burning to death_, there existed a 99.7% chance that anything coming out of a bandit's mouth would make very little sense. Though the Trans-Galactic Republic pulled its presence from Pandora (including its hyperfast communication systems), word got out quickly enough of a strange portal bored straight into the planet. A planet which by all known laws of physics should have spun itself apart, disintegrated, or at least experienced severe seismic events since a good portion of its mass now hung in space. Instead, none of these things occurred as the planet continued to orbit and rotate as normal.

Jakobs, having assumed direct control of a chunk of the galaxy ("At least 12% of it!") and possessing enhanced dominion over much more, tried to move in on Pandora seeing as the cache of Eridian tech at its north pole had been discovered years ago but gone unexploited. The Trans-Galactic Republic guarded it like an angry dog but did nothing with it that the company was aware of. Then they left and took a bunch of it with them. Jackie was supposed to have done something about that; instead she disappeared only to log in to Fort Jakobs years later—so much later she had to reset her password. And then she went and made herself normal instead of a walking Jakobs advertisement.

The clones didn't have much issue subduing most of Pandora. The disturbing part was what they found among the bandits still calling the planet home. Some of them blathered about the usual, a cult worshipping Sirens as "Bringers of Life" and "Redeemers" who would end the latest threat as they had apparently been involved in defeating the Harvesters. Though their "priest" Rakkman died years ago, his faith continued but found itself opposed by a new faction. Being semi-insane, religious conflicts among the outlaws skipped the arguing part and headed straight for the shooting.

"Deb," Operative-10548, relatively new but assigned to an important mission due to being graded as "more Athena-like," found herself scouring the "Fridge" area solo for clues. The first hint she got that things were not normal was finding a gigantic statue in the middle of one of Pandora's many deserts—one that lit up sensors from orbit due to using a series of Fresnel lenses to focus massive amounts of energy into one spot. A spot where blood could be plainly seen.

"This seems fresh" she remarked into her ECHO recorder. "Looks like whatever died here did so recently." Her suit warned of a temperature variation on that spot, about fifty degrees higher than the surrounding area.

Thing was, the closest bandit settlements were behind the huge metal doors of "The Fridge," so she headed off in that direction. Though she'd been issued a rare vintage Atlas personal teleportation device, she dared not use in closed quarters like the ice of the Fridge lest she inadvertently phase herself into other solid matter.

Deb easily gained admittance to the icebox. Even if the door had a lock, she doubted the crazies here would bother using it. Though her armor qualified as "nuclear, biological, and chemical" sealed, it did not block out nasty smells, like the one assaulting her nostrils now. Rotting flesh was her best approximation, and upon reaching a large junction hallway with several open doors along each side, she quickly discovered the source of her olfactory torment. They weren't dead. Just..holey. Each one had at least one severe burn mark which had then been cut into with the typical crudeness of Pandoran "medicine." She documented it on her ECHO recorder while muttering about the insanity that gripped the place. Instinctively, Deb checked over her weapons.

[ SEAL INTEGRITY: 79% ] read her Maliwan SMG.

[ MAINTENANCE REQUIRED SOON ] glowed angrily on the side of a Hyperion shotgun. "Conference Call" arms were highly sought-after and expensive, but had a trade-off of extreme promethium consumption. As with most premium products, they actually ceased firing once the lining failed, so she wouldn't be exposed. Not that she would have anyway with her armor, but Deb took no chances. Ducking into the room of one half-clothed man with not one but two deep burn/cut wounds, she picked his pistol off the nightstand.

"Dahl" could be discerned from very faded letters. Green glop dripped from the gun's chamber—the safety systems were long gone. On a lower-end weapon, integrity warnings came in the form of color changes on the promethium parts themselves. They started off inconspicuous, but eventually turned red as seals wore down from use. On this example, most of the edges of that coating were absent; only a few tattered strips remained—blood-red. Once you saw red of any shade, you were supposed to re-seal or replace. She supposed if you were stubborn, the color might change from the bright-red she'd been taught through flash-training.

"Shock-sickness" she muttered into her ECHO recorder. Despite the actual cause being corrosion rather than shock, the name had become genericized to any elemental malady. That didn't fully explain why these nutters cut and burned each other, though. Plucking his knife from his hand, Deb examined it. Noting strange symbols carved sloppily into its wooden handle (it resembled a kitchen utensil), she photographed it before sticking it point-first into the ground out of disgust as yet more blood (and chunks of flesh) fell off.

A distinct chanting caught her attention, causing her to advance cautiously down the corridor while ignoring to the best of her ability an overpowering stench from dying flesh. Emerging into a cavern, before her three circles of obviously unbalanced men and women moved in alternating clockwise/counterclockwise patterns around a single individual held down by what looked to be an elaborately-dressed bandit. None of the sound made any sense to her, but she could see what was about to happen. Unable to cross the distance, she watched as a knife went to work.

A taste filled her mouth that reminded her distinctly of her last ration-pack (beef), mixed with bile. She made herself scarce.

[…]

"Shepard."

"Wrex."

"Surprised to see you so up and about. Thought you retired and left all the save-the-galaxy stuff to Garrus!" he barked.

The two entered a turbolift headed for the bridge where Shepard would join Garrus, Nimitz, and others coordinating a battle that involved fighting off newly-arrived Flood.

"You know what Wrex? It's weird. When everyone was constantly staring over my shoulder, demanding I do everything from defuse hostage situations to taking out the entire Reaper fleet, I felt like a pyjack in the grip of one of your children who thinks playtime equals squeezing. But now? I do what I want. Even though it's the same damn thing, the fact that no one's asking or pushing me to do it makes it so much more bearable."

"Well, I did technically ask you to come visit." Wrex laughed, a frightening sound for those unused to him. Sam didn't flinch.

"Well, some people are allowed to request that I do things. What's going on?"

"That Cortana AI was pestering me for more _samples_" groaned the krogan, sounding tired of whatever such "samples" entailed.

"The genophage is cured. What would she need tissue for?" She spread her hands apart in confusion.

Arriving at the rear of _Ultimatum_'s command center, the pair found themselves confronted by a projection of Cortana.

"You know, you could just ask!" Since her reversion from whatever state the Flood signal put her into, _Ultimatum_'s internal communication/holographic systems once again were opened to her.

"So, I'm asking." Sam stared at the purple woman.

"Remember _Nova Vita_?"

"Yeah." The bitterness crept back in. She, along with virtually everyone else, had been led to believe Cortana had a plan to beat the Flood, only to find out later it was all a ruse to buy time for her to gather genetic material. What'd they'd do with this material, Sam had no clue (being a soldier rather than a scientist). She did have suspicions, though, which she voiced.

"New Life. But not through the ship. You're planning to clone everyone back to existence in our galaxy somehow, except the Flood took over entirely so is there any reason to continue pursuing this?"

"The krogan are a unique problem to which I am ill-suited" explained Cortana. "Though I am multi-talented, genetics are not my field of expertise. However, I do realize that if the krogan race is to be reconstituted at some point, it will be trickier than the rest due to the lack of variety imposed by virtually none surviving the Citadel Rout."

"At some point?" demanded Wrex suspiciously. "You're not going to just let us die off and then think about unfreezing those eggs centuries later for a zoo, are you?"

"As I just said, I'd rather the job be done right or not at all. You yourself told me about Saren's krogan clones. Shadows of true krogan. I don't want to repeat that mistake. Creating a line that would be reproduced by cloning is simple, but I doubt that's how you want to live, dependent on technology to keep your species viable. Unless I'm wrong?"

She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head in a sort of "Oh yeah?" pose.

"Sorry I'm paranoid" sighed the old krogan chief. "I'm so used to having a knife in my back the moment I turn it that it's hard for me to accept people as actually wanting to help."

"So why'd you ask for me? It seems like Cortana answered all your questions quite handily…"

"Cortana doesn't know our history. You do. Assuming the best—and with you involved I wouldn't hesitate to do that—the krogan will see the light of day sooner than later. Your voice would lend a lot of credibility if my plan is to go off without a hitch."

"And what plan is that, Wrex?"

"Call me power-mad, but I see an opportunity. The krogan have always been fractured, disunified. Except when it comes to killing things. Now, I daresay I am the strongest one left standing…"

Shepard realized what he hoped to do before he could finish.

"You want to rebuild the krogan along your own lines. If anyone else suggested this, I'd shoot them dead on the spot. But just like you believe I am not like other humans, I don't think you're like other krogan."

"It's easier to shape a society when all your rivals are dead, or worse" he added darkly. Presumably, what was left of Tuchanka courtesy that backstabber Athena was covered in Flood biomass just like everything else.

"New planet, new rules, new everything!" he practically shouted.

"The last time we were talking about your home, you almost killed me for not caring about its destruction. And now you're happy?"

Sam could only show confusion.

"I could also be upset about the death of most of my species. But I see this whole thing as a chance to start fresh. Start new! And force the rest of the krogan to drop their obsessive hatred of turians and salarians. I have a feeling we're going to need the salarians anyway—where's Mordin?"

Neither had spoken to or of the fast-talking doctor in some length of time.

"I guess getting messed up in the head _again_ combined with not going on missions really did in my social life…"

"Hah" chuckled Wrex. "You can say that again. Being trapped on Tuchanka was almost the worst thing ever."

Sam realized the implication of missions being a primary source of talking to crewmates about things beyond shooting. "That's…kind of disturbing. I don't even bother to speak with anyone unless it's related to the operation…"

She'd been quite the gadfly when in charge of the "Suicide Mission," learning of Miranda's sister, Samara's daughter, Jacob's father, and more. She assisted each with a personal matter prior to heading off through the Omega-4 relay, something that paid off as they all fought harder and were more coordinated under pressure.

Maybe that explained her terrible luck with dating, or, really, her lack of caring about the subject altogether. It wasn't like Sam was unattractive—quite the contrary during Xytler's "reign" she'd proven the exact opposite (for all the wrong reasons).

Wrex grabbed her shoulder.

"He's in the hospital."


	64. Political Machine

**Chapter 63 – Political Machine**

"In case you haven't noticed, we have a battle to win" interjected Garrus. "Whatever you and Wrex are plotting surely cannot be more important than dealing with a horde of Flood."

"That's great" replied Sam. "So someone explain the situation… I've been playing warrior-therapist as usual."

"We're buried up past our nose in a Flood dreadnaught I rammed to stop it from attacking us" began Nimitz. "Also, those slippery Jakobs clones…"

"Wait, what? Jakobs clones?"

Both forgot Shepard hadn't exactly been briefed on that either.

"And you trusted them?" she blurted post-exposition. "Seriously?"

"I didn't trust them" protested Admiral Nimitz. "I just didn't think shooting first represented the best way to handle the situation!"

"Well, that is fair" conceded the former Spectre. "Still… What's their status?"

"Drifting and harmless" reported Garrus confidently. "You should have seen the volume of fire from just the ventral and aft batteries when the Flood stopped hitting our front…"

A sensor technician repeatedly requested his commanding officer's attention, and finally got it.

"Admiral, when the clone ship started firing, I detected an extended burst of communications activity both to and from the Jakobs dreadnaught. It seemed to be some kind of hyper-dense, semi-repetitive signal."

"Why do we care?" asked Garrus.

On the verge of abandoning his comment, the ensign only spoke again upon encouragement from Nimitz.

"Well… The signal resembles experimental remote-control being employed by our supercarriers. That code began downloading a month ago but only recently completed, which enabled my comparison. As requested, I've evaluated its feasibility from our systems and this ship is very easily capable of running it—though we cannot operate as many support craft as a supercarrier due to insufficient transmission capacity."

"Are you implying someone else was brainwashed too?" Sam couldn't keep the annoyance out of her voice. That would be the third time in her memory (including her own issues with deep depression) that someone might make a legitimate claim of mental distress causing them to act in undesirable ways.

"Is there something wrong with that hypothesis?" The ensign looked terrified at having been criticized by the great Samantha Shepard.

"It's just too convenient" she snapped. "I don't like it. That would be the third time someone plays the head-card to explain doing something horrible. First me, then Sarah, now these Athena clones?"

"But is it entirely unreasonable, whether you think it coincidental?" challenged Garrus. "We saw one clone drop dead, and Sarah insisted Athena herself would have been killed had she not detached some kind of strange module from the back of the commando's head…"

Shepard stewed while Garrus put in a request to summon Sarah through Cortana. Who, like Sam, remained suspicious of the notion that Jakobs exerted some kind of mind control. Quicker than expected, Sarah arrived from her space halfway down the bridge tower.

"How am I going to be judged today?" she asked, pointedly looking over both Shepard and her turian friend. "You also interrupted something" she fumed.

"You all realize that the main reason everyone still thinks about Sarah's past is because you all keep voluntarily bringing it up at every opportunity" chided Cortana. "Including Sarah herself just now—expecting to be chewed out, again. Maybe if you stopped talking about it, it wouldn't be such a sore point."

Sam opened her mouth to launch into a tirade about forgetting the past only to be shushed by Garrus.

"The mission. Focus on the mission!"

The chastised woman could only laugh to herself, having discussed this very turian tendency with Sarah and Jackie less than an hour ago.

"You claimed Athena would have died had you not violently removed some kind of device from the back of her armor."

Garrus turned to the Siren.

"Yes, I did say that. Why do you ask?" She mentally stopped herself from adding "Are you going to argue that point as well?"

"Ensign Mendel here thinks the clones are operating under some kind of remote control. His observations point to a signal transmitted only during the time _Farsight_ attacked us that resemble a Trans-Galactic Republic control transmission for its own automated fightercraft."

Nimitz looked the two-meter woman over as she relayed her ensign's idea. Sarah appeared tense, but who wouldn't be if every move made drew scrutiny? And why would she _not_ be placed under a microscope? The fact remained she could probably kill everyone aboard _Ultimatum_ and steal it for herself.

Sarah's eyes rolled and she let out a lengthy laugh. It wasn't the evil cackle or twisted giggling she'd been known for in the past—if it was possible to categorize a laugh as friendly then that would be a prime example.

"As sure as I am the tallest person in this room, those clones can be given orders from afar. I guarantee it."

"I'd ask for proof, but Athena's Jakobs armor got destroyed as a precaution when we recovered her" said Garrus.

"You speak of proof" replied Sarah. "You all constantly imply that in order to further earn your trust and to be treated as something other than a bomb that might go off any minute I must show that I truly am not the woman who terrified you for close to a year. I will go to that ship, collect evidence, and return. Will that satisfy you?"

An awkward silence followed. Each considered the Siren's offer.

_Unlike Jackie, I really, really don't want to admit she might be helpful somehow. Or that she could gain even the smallest bit of redemption_ thought Sam angrily.

_If she proves Mendel's theory, we might be able to enlist these clones for our own cause. Mission first. I say go for it. _Garrus braced himself for a Shepard dress-down that would occur after voicing this line of thought.

_What's one more crazy person in this pile of insanity? I already committed to the Maliwans and that ape Torgue. We're defending a place that the Home Galaxy would probably consign to death as worthless in a heartbeat… Their non-action already did exactly that! Why are we doing it? Principle? The hell with it._

All spoke at once. Though she didn't hear individual words, she got the gist of it.

"So you're probably going to…" Sarah changed sentences mid-stream, mindful of Cortana's earlier point (thus not saying "…dump me in an escape pod and expect miracles") "…ask me how I plan to get over there."

"Well, we shot Lilith out of an ordinance bay once" suggested Garrus.

"Har har" deadpanned Shepard. "I think we have other options."

Ensign Mendel called out again.

"Ma'am, the Jakobs dreadnaught is closing distance with us. It is four hundred meters closer to our stern than it was ten seconds ago, but I detect no power to its engines nor any change in our own position."

Garrus took a peek at _Ultimatum_'s sensor readouts. Clearly the enemy ship wasn't under power—its bow pointed almost thirty degrees port yet it moved straight toward _Ultimatum_ as if drawn by a tractor beam.

Only then did Sam gesture toward the Siren. Her hands balled into fists, her arms moved in rhythmic motions, and she looked almost…constipated with concentration.

Before anyone could question her, Sarah disappeared in a flash of purple.

"I hope she doesn't get herself stuck in a bulkhead trying to prove to us that she's not a fanatical killer anymore" mused Garrus. "After all, this different outlook of hers is almost starting to earn a tiny amount of respect."

"I doubt that" replied Nimitz. "She's teleported herself into empty space, though she's pretty close to _Farsight._"

"She's not even wearing any…"

Before Sam could finish her statement, Sarah disappeared into the target vessel.

"Never mind" observed Shepard wryly. "Siren physiology is pretty robust, in any case…"

Alarms blared, shattering what had been a relatively quiet discussion.

"Flood capital ships in range and they are firing" observed another sensor officer.

"Divert power to weapons and shields" ordered Nimitz. "Prioritize greatest threats, but within that guns are free."

Several putrid Reaper-corpses blossomed into explosions courtesy of _Ultimatum_'s numerous weapon emplacements. Upon seeing their brethren fall, the remaining ships began employing their most feared ability, leaping across space in flashes of purple to slam into the Star Dreadnaught's hull.

"All we need is for Sarah's old ship to start shooting" hissed Sam, "then we'll be really screwed!"

"You know better than to give the universe ideas!" shouted Garrus, struggling to be heard over yet more klaxons. "Don't do it!"

Thankfully, the hand of fate was not tempted by Sam's inquiry and guns aboard _Revenant_ (Siren-installed or otherwise) remained unmoving. Still, more than one Flood-Reaper managed to reach its target—weapon batteries aboard the Trans-Galactic Republic's Star Dreadnaught. Though they were destroyed in short order, the attackers managed to each render one or two turrets inoperable before being taken down. These represented the first opponents to actually significantly damage Nimitz's flagship since its arrival. Friendly fire also caused some havoc as turbolasers hit other turbolasers, twisting and melting guns that moments ago were destroying Flood.

"I suspect our former home is the source of this" added Shepard regretfully. "Don't you have long-range missiles?"

"They are aboard this ship, but I no longer have authority over them" said Admiral Nimitz.

"Let me guess: the Republic Intelligence Service" snorted Sam.

"Correct. Though I have been discreetly monitoring their transmissions since they took over. I cannot actually decrypt the messages, but they are no longer communicating with their handlers and haven't in some time."

Red bolts continued to race through space, impacting Flood-tainted Reaper ships. The sheer numbers (Sensors reported an apparently unending stream) were starting to wear down even a fully-powered, battle-ready Star Dreadnaught.

"Whatever Sarah's doing, I hope she does it fast!"

Flood attacks intensified, leading to a belief that even _Ultimatum_ might eventually fall.

[…]

Glia Ham'Del experienced a mix of emotions as of late. On one hand, that the news media no longer cared about an error in her taxes did wonders for her standing in the Senate, even if no one said anything publicly. People who refused to return her holos or speak with her even on relatively mundane legislation opened up to her again. At the opposite end, the actual reason the media stopped paying attention to her was itself negative for ideas she passionately supported. Republic Intelligence Service reform appeared dead on arrival, what with the Flood having taken over almost half the galaxy and the apparently-heroic RISE being the single bulwark between citizenry and a fate too terrible to imagine.

The intelligence service had its tentacles everywhere. Naturally, anyone whose wallet might get lighter from having RISE's wings clipped objected to the General Retrenchment, Enhancement, and Appropriation Against Threats Act or anything attempting to enact parts of it. Falling public support made it easier for co-sponsors to bail and potential backers to disappear before putting their names behind the bill on-record. Without the threat of her bill becoming law, Ham'Del no longer rated as a pariah.

Her fur rippled in confusion as her bedside holo went off.

_This address is not even one I give to my closest colleagues, and that includes the three Senators who still support GREAT publicly…_

Ham'Del tapped a button to accept whoever was calling—"ID Blocked."

Unsurprisingly, whoever it was couldn't be identified. Wearing a hood and using some kind of voice disguiser, he/she/it implored her to "remember the old days" and "be there at the usual time."

Glia mentally went through a list of the few who could have contacted her at this address before one name stuck out like one of Spacelane Protection's bloated Star Dreadnaughts.

Weaving her speeder through traffic and thoroughly abusing her Senatorial privilege to cut through morning commuters, the Bothan hoped this wasn't another one of DeWinter's tricks. For a "friend," the current leader of RedLine had pulled some shenanigans the Senator did not care to dwell on in years past.

"Whatever it is, she wouldn't just call out of nowhere unless it was important."

Unlike some planets, Coruscant held the same name for millions of years, if not longer. It helped that it hadn't been utterly depopulated by a bioweapon or blown up or gotten destroyed by some cataclysm the way so many worlds had been over the course of civilization in the Home Galaxy. Such an event would have extinguished trillions of lives in one stroke—the planet had a higher population density than any other world in the Trans-Galactic Republic. That staggering level of inhabitance allowed anyone, even a Home Galaxy Senator, to disappear easily for meetings with the merchants of the underworld.

In years past, Glia Ham'Del raced swoops in her free time. Given the types normally associated with such activities, it came as no surprise that she made the acquaintance of what were essentially organized crime syndicates. After suffering a significant injury during a highly-visible (for such an illegal activity) race, Ham'Del left her hobby behind. Though opponents tried to attack her participation in such "lunacy" upon her run for office, the fact that this was the _most_ egregious thing anyone could stick to her actually worked in the would-be Senator's favor. Her connections to ready sources of campaign cash also gave her a leg up as her old friends (and "friends") sought to ensure influence with the Senator after she won her election.

This particular garage had seen far better days, but it was the first place the Bothan visited upon arriving as a new Senator. Her mysterious financial backer revealed herself at this place—Scarlett DeWinter, head of RedLine.

Now, she arrived to once again meet the smuggling master, though under far different circumstances.

"I will be very clear and forward with you" began DeWinter as Ham'Del stepped out of her speeder. "You are here because you represent a political faction with which I would like to discuss a matter of mutual benefit."

"What benefit could I possibly be to you?"

The Bothan's incredulity was expected—DeWinter observed her entire fall from grace with some level of interest.

"What if I told you that you were right about the Republic Intelligence Service?"

"So what?" demanded Ham'Del. "Great, another person who agrees with me. Now how is that actually going to help when every opinion poll shows over sixty percent support for the intelligence service as-is, with almost as many opposed to changing it in any way?"

"What if I further told you that I possess credible evidence that could sway public opinion? Illegal and unethical dealings that would cause the citizenry to demand action."

"I'm listening, but I don't know why you think that would matter. You surely remember my attempts to stall construction of those idiotic Star Dreadnaughts—billions of credits wasted on so-called peacekeeping ships!"

"Yes, and though you thoroughly aired out Kuat's dirty laundry, no one cared."

"Let me guess: you've found proof of something so repulsive that the hundreds of deaths, dozens of settlements to avoid convictions on labor violations, nepotism in contracting, and outright theft no one gave a bantha's hide about with the Star Dreadnaughts will actually look trivial in comparison. Don't forget the Big Yards conspiring to rip off the government since no one else proved capable of assembling ships on such a massive scale!"

"That is precisely what I am offering. I have confirmation that the Republic Intelligence Service is using smuggled Humans as test subjects. Test subjects who are intentionally infected with Infection, or as RISE calls it, Flood spores. I believe this will actually draw a reaction from the apathetic citizenry, unlike price-fixing between Kuat, Fondor, and Corellian Engineering Corporation…"

Granted, DeWinter wasn't absolutely sure she could count on the evidence supplied by scientists at Garthmot (it or those offering it could disappear) but such shocking allegations would surely inflame the public consciousness.

After recovering, Glia rounded on her sometimes-acquaintance, sometimes-friend. "Do I even want to know how you are aware that someone is breaking your happy little 'Smuggling With a Smile' agreement?"

"I could tell you, but if you like I can keep that sordid detail to myself…"

"I need to go into this with both eyes open." Her fur shifted in ways that other Bothans would read as fear and anxiety, but such subtleties were utterly lost on a Human.

"You trust that I am not recording this and won't later spread it all over the HoloNet to show how gullible you are." DeWinter gave an open-hands gesture to accompany a veiled threat.

"If you wanted to destroy me, you needn't have gone to all this effort" replied Senator Ham'Del haughtily. "My public reputation is already in tatters thanks to this sudden turnabout in which the people who were complaining about RISE last week are singing its praises now combined with pundits caring more about a mistake on a form than actual issues."

"This is why I trusted you to carry Smuggling With a Smile to the Trans-Galactic Republic. You are not stupid, you are not rash, and you can see further into issues than most politicians care to—it disrupts their neat black-and-white view of the universe."

Thirty years ago, the smugglers were at war with each other (as the Human-centric ones fought off those who weren't as into trafficking non-Humans as slaves) and the Trans-Galactic Republic. Natalie Buchanan, Executive Minister at the time, tried to pretend nothing was going on, having been elected on a "pro-Human" (really anti-alien) platform. Senator Glia Ham'Del had been chosen due to her connection with DeWinter via swoop-racing (this only served to remind Ham'Del how old she was) and relative savvy despite her newness to politics. She'd brokered the agreement between legitimate shippers who wanted to prevent a massive new tax intended to fund anti-trafficking efforts, the Senate majority (Buchanan got shut out), and "alternative shippers" (smugglers).

"I'm flattered, but this is different!"

"Is it?" challenged DeWinter. "You feared for your life then. You protested when a surly guard of 'pirate scum' watched your every move to make sure nobody else from their side tried to take you out because you were 'a prissy high-horsing member of that kriffing government.'"

"You seriously compare angry smugglers to the Republic Intelligence Service?"

DeWinter backed down. Slightly. "I'll admit the Band is no RISE. My point stands, however. Your rhetorical and negotiation capabilities have only improved since then. I'm sure you can generate interest in this data among your esteemed colleagues…"

The smuggling queen handed the Senator a holodisk containing every bit of evidence she'd been able to collect from both her own operations at RedLine and her scientist friend at Garthmot.

"We will meet here again in two weeks, at which time you will fill me in on what you've accomplished, assuming I don't find out everything from the HoloNet first."

Without giving Ham'Del a chance to refuse, Scarlett DeWinter pivoted, stepped into her armored speeder, and disappeared into the blackness of the Coruscant underworld.

In the relative safety of her apartment at 1138 Republica, the experienced Senator dug through all the information supplied by RedLine's leader. Not only was RISE performing experiments that involved infesting live subjects with Flood, they were also using Band-supplied parts for some kind of new weapon meant to combat the Flood. In a way, DeWinter placed great trust in Ham'Del—the Bothan could also implicate the Band in these actions whose revelations was more intended to stir up hatred against RISE. Of course, she wouldn't, not with a gift like this. Besides, even if she remained sore at DeWinter for a few more-than-pranks, those were in the past and the opportunity to strike a blow for just governance was worth far more than settling petty scores.

She doubted she'd be able to get all three of her fellow GREAT Act supporters in one room on such short notice (she'd met DeWinter in the early morning and it was now approaching mid-day) but Ham'Del decided to try anyway. Using Senator-to-Senator encrypted links (which were known to be RISE-free due to five-stage quantum encryption) she sent messages to Cynan Goodner, Nika Dusat, and Caran Ekiam.

[...]

The RISE Council watched events shift with some level of ambivalence. Though they were personally safe from the Flood for the time being, its encroachment on their galaxy despite so-far best efforts disturbed them. Rumors flew the Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter hadn't had the desired effect—the Flood allegedly returned to the system where the device had been tested.

"Our scouts report Flood activity in that area has doubled."

"Unless I'm mistaken" said a dour-sounding male avatar, "if I were to believe in spurious correlations I would almost conclude the PUNT actually made the problem worse."

"At least no one knows about that project outside Spacelane Protection" muttered the one who'd mentioned bad news.

"What about our cooperation with the smugglers?" asked the first woman.

"We continue to supply our sites with the necessary inputs to produce useable scientific results, which are then dispatched to Garthmot Scientific Center for further evaluation."

"Have any breakthroughs occurred?"

A third conversant spoke up. "Yes, but not the type of breakthrough we want. Several of the scientists have become suspicious of the data—mainly that it purports to be from clinical trials that would require sapient involvement. As you know, the Flood is generally not a naturally-occurring infection, and to find those that naturally fell to it would be…impractical."

"We all know what must be done" insisted a fourth. "Better a thousand who were condemned to die than a billion innocents!"

"Nobody here is disputing the actions we are taking" insisted the only woman to speak so far. "Our colleague is only noting that the scientists responsible for the progress we desire are questioning that which enables their research."

"At least that meddlesome Bothan Senator will no longer trouble us" said the bored man. "It is so easy to distract people with stupid shiny things…"

"And even when they were supposed to be focused on us, it was, as they say, a light-year wide but a meter deep."

"We didn't even have to manufacture that one!" crowed another previously-silent female avatar.

"The politicians will all make some mistake now and again. They're not droids—and some scum at Nova Network will jump them for it."

[…]

The latest data to arrive at Garthmot raised more red flags to the science teams. Even Michael Dickenson, who had zero background or interest in the biological sciences (being a quantum mechanics person) admitted amongst the right company that things didn't look right after hearing the opinions of his more in-the-know coworkers.

"This is the fifth supplemental we've received containing what's supposed to be Phase 3 data" remarked Dr. Leslie Ford. "That would mean large-scale trials of whatever the remote workers are doing. If they're actually injecting Humans with Flood spores, then tens of thousands would have been exposed by now!"

"You're the geneticist" replied Dr. Cole. "What are they doing?"

"From what I can tell, the goal is to cause the Flood to self-destruct by, pardon the awful pun, flooding its DNA with garbage so it can't function normally. Problem is, the Flood is very similar to cancer, except in a way that promotes its own durability. Mitosis takes place on a massive scale that should also let the modified cells divide without limit, except somehow it knows which to destroy and which to leave alone."

"Well, if it weren't for their utter disregard for medical ethics, I'd say this is a good thing!" cried Adit Shah. "It's not like anyone else has been doing anything to stop the Flood!"

"Now hold on a mynock minute, Adit!" chastised Nancy. "Spacelane Protection has deployed forces against the Flood including those fancy quantum-armored supercarriers…"

"That the pundits on the HoloNet say we'll be paying for with increased taxes for the next twenty years" fumed Dr. Dickenson. "The reports say RNS _Organa_ got chased off like a Kowakian monkey-lizard!"

"You haven't studied the Flood the way I have" countered Ford. "If you knew what it was capable of…"

"Look, I get it. The Flood is scary. I don't need a geneticist's lecture to tell me that!"

"It's scary because it's uncurable at the moment. Sure, we've defeated millions of diseases from the trivial influenza to Death Seed. However, the Flood is like no disease we've ever encountered."

Dickenson sighed. "That's what they always say. It's never like anything we've seen before, but the cure only comes when we realize it actually is similar to something we've beaten…"

Leslie laughed. "Mike, your lack of a life sciences degree is showing. The Flood is unique because unlike any other parasite, bacteria, virus, or other invasive microbe we've discovered it seems to be able to strategize at the cellular level. You've seen the videos. Explosive Flood infections that are, for lack of a better term, incredibly obvious, correct?"

"I don't follow. So spotting someone who has it is easy. That's a good thing!"

"Yes it is. Except when it isn't obvious. There have been verified reports of latent Flood—it waits around until the host is in an area with high population density. Then it goes off like a bomb. We don't know how it works, but at least we can use sampling to catch most of them. I say most because there are some among us who believe a single cell is sufficient to catalyze an entire metabolic takeover."

"I may not have a degree in the life sciences" said Dr. Nancy Cole, "but even I find that ridiculous. A single cell? Really?"

"If these allegations are true, any one of us could be hiding Flood cells without knowing it" conceded Ford. "Yes, I realize this makes me sound paranoid, but given the rate at which the Flood has utterly obliterated our galaxy, paranoia may be the least of our problems."

The break-room holoscreen played a science section on the Galaxy News Network detailing what had been made public about the Flood.

"As a scientist, I normally attempt to keep a distance from politics" said an articulate female Human with long black hair in response to the question from a Clawdite reporter (in his natural form no less). "However, it amuses me to no end that the pundits who mocked our stellar neighbors in the Gamma region for their inability to handle the Flood have completely avoided the subject since our own galaxy has fared similarly badly despite much chest-thumping on their part over our supposedly-superior technology."

Chuckles were had among those watching the holoscreen as a Coruscanti accent mocked excessive pride and false notions of superiority.

"You can say that again!" crowed Dr. Ford, despite amusement from colleagues at the woman's manner of speaking. "As soon as Garthmot got the first samples, people were having a hard time believing how dangerous this new arrival actually was. Every time something came out worse than our projections, we were told to tone it down."

"Until RISE got involved" said Adit Shah. "Then, suddenly not only were we talking about how horrible the Flood was in the break room while everyone was eating, but the lab put out open calls for anyone with a background in xenobiology."

"Which filled our staff out quite nicely. Except some of these people seem…odd."

"Nancy, not _again_" groaned Michael Dickenson. "Is everything a conspiracy with you?"

"You have to admit that with the Republic Intelligence Service contracts, it's entirely possible" cautioned Dr. Shah. "At first, I thought Dr. Cole was being a bit too on-edge myself, but the more we've seen out of Ford's lab the more convinced I am that she's onto something."

"More like what goes _into_ my lab." Leslie waved her datapad around. "For the first time in my career I would rather not see this type of advancement at these speeds. Not when I'm positive these test results are only possible from flagrant violations of scientific and medical ethics!"

Shah put his hand up. "Sometimes, when you're backed into a corner the only way out is to kick, slash, and bite no matter who gets hurt."

"But there are processes for this!" protested Nancy Cole. "If a drug or test is to be conducted outside the Rhinnal Academy Testing Procedures there are approvals to obtain! Forms to fill out! Consent files to note!"

Ford decided to give her other colleagues the same information she'd passed on to Nancy, who'd couriered it to…certain third parties.

Dickenson and Shah had their eye-popping moment.

"We will not be adhering to the Rhinnal Academy Testing Procedure?" spluttered Michael. "I mean, if I were them I'd at least not write this down!"

"Or maybe it's because whoever's behind this just doesn't care if they get caught" suggested Adit. "They're keeping the records quiet, but know that once they get hauled in front of the Senate, all will be forgiven in the name of keeping everyone from turning into those…things."

A poignant silence followed. Leslie nodded in Nancy's direction.

She could either trust her coworkers and hope no one here secretly worked for RISE, or she could cough and pretend she had an urgent holo coming in.

"Not here" she insisted. Rummaging through her lab coat, she found what she needed. Nancy scribbled an address and a time onto flimsiplast, which she handed out.

[…]

If there was anything he hated more than politics, it would have to be feeling useless. Ever since he and the kids had broken out of Sarah's nightmare-machine, he'd been shuffled around from ship to ship. The kids had been cleared and sent back to whatever training they were supposed to be in but him, oh no. "Restricted to quarters," "Under observation," or just plain "You're not going anywhere."

Armando-Owen Bailey finally managed to stretch his legs after he was called to do "security" for transporting the crazy Siren. Of course, he couldn't guarantee being able to stop her, or even slow her down. Dragged into the realm of some fantastically powerful aliens who'd apparently created Sarah in the first place, he'd mostly kept his mouth shut.

Now, the whole galaxy seemed to be at risk (again), the usual suspects were out trying to save it (unsurprising) and here he was parked behind a desk.

"What's the trouble today, Garrus?"

"Well, it hasn't escaped my notice that you're a Current Channeler."

"Yeah. So? Seems like the only use that's been is making people feel slightly safer when Sarah's around. Not that I could actually do more than annoy her."

Garrus cleared his throat. "You're aware she's kind of on our side now?"

Bailey's eyes went wide.

"No, that's new. What happened? Someone hit her on the head hard enough to make her realize killing millions of innocent people is actually a bad thing? And what do you mean, kind of on our side?"

"Do you want the long version or the short version?"

"I want all the relevant facts" replied the ex-cop. "Even though I'm finding this hard to believe…"

After Garrus finished explaining everything, Bailey found himself simultaneously impressed and repulsed.

"These Eridians sure do seem to be full of themselves" he muttered. "Thinking they can play with the universe like that, and apparently not learning when their attempts to meddle don't work out right!"

"You realize they are hardly the only ones? Who else do we know with advanced technology that likes to stick their hands in other people's private business?"

Ignoring the urge to laugh at Garrus' poor phrasing, Bailey sighed and pointed at a big symbol on the wall behind him. He'd been given a large office, several times that of even an Executor back on the Citadel. He saw it for what it was, an attempt to placate him by theoretically giving him something to do ("Cultural Exchange Officer") that really didn't involve that much at all save a nice-sounding title and desk to sit at.

"Indeed" replied the turian. "The Trans-Galactic Republic may have saved us from the Reapers, but now we face a far worse threat. One that apparently even they can't contain. Look at this."

Garrus handed over a datapad he'd received from Nimitz. Though the Home Galaxy remained officially silent to the remnants of Great Opportunities, someone there managed to transmit a packet explaining the situation.

"Home Galaxy almost half destroyed by Flood. Republic Intelligence Service running Spacelane Protection, working on at least one new weapon to fight off this invader. Other members of the Republic have not yet reported Flood in their own galaxies, but are distrustful of Alpha centralizing resources (again) due to obstinately greater need stemming from Flood attack."

_If this doesn't convince him that he should take a more active role, I'm not sure what will_.

Allison Nimitz reached the conclusion that if things needed to be done on-the-level diplomatically, she had Samantha Shepard (now fully back in service) to handle these things. If, however, something had to be done under the table, potentially with an unsubtle nudge, Garrus Vakarian would be her best bet.

"You know, given what I've seen Star Dreadnaughts do, I'm surprised we haven't been summoned back to this 'Home Galaxy' if things are actually as bad as this makes them out to be…"

Garrus shook his head. "It appears the Citadel Council hardly had a monopoly on only taking action after it was far too late to save the situation."

"So what are you here for, Vakarian? I know Shepard probably would be giving a monologue about the greater good or some other inspiring type yapping, but that isn't turian style. So spit it out!"

"Well, as I just told you, Sarah is kind of…unpredictable. Her abilities would be extremely useful, however both I and others believe you would represent a better way to have those powers around minus the potential for problems."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Garrus?" laughed Bailey. "Shepard's started to rub off on you!"

The former C-Sec ticked off reasons why this wouldn't work out the way anyone was hoping.

"One, I don't have nearly the level of Current sensitivity she does. I can't just teleport myself around like that; hell, I'm not even sure that's Current-related. Two, my training is incomplete. According to the Whirlpools…"

"What's a whirlpool? Other than an oceanic danger?"

Armando took a turn explaining things to Garrus.

"And the worst part is, I don't even have them anymore! They were the most interactive teaching tools I've ever seen. Hell if I know how they work though. Anyway, point being, the biggest one with this little green guy in it kept saying 'Not ready, you are. Until you have had further training from a real Master.'"

Garrus sighed. "Let me guess: the only other Current Channelers we know of are Sarah and her former acolytes."

"I'm not too keen on taking lessons from them. Actually, this whole Current business just creeps me out. Look what happened to my hands."

The turian recoiled as Bailey's hands, previously hidden under his desk, appeared before him—human hands were not supposed to be blackened or charred-looking.

"I highly recommend you seek medical attention!"

"Relax, Garrus. Looks worse than it is. Doesn't even hurt. Though I get your point—you and whoever else put you up to this want me to train with Sarah or something, because you'd rather have her capabilities in someone who wasn't created by aliens."

"Well, this is all contingent upon Sarah coming back, of course. She took it upon herself to retrieve proof of a theory we had. The Jakobs Corporation, one of the residents here, attacked us using clone soldiers. It's possible those clones may be remotely operated, and thus disabling their signal might allow us to work with these clones as actual people."

Bailey's face twisted into a mask of confusion. Garrus took the hint to explain everything else.

"You know" he said afterward, "in Shepard's favorite omnivids, everyone just knew everything when it was convenient."

"And if this were the vids, I think the Flood would be gone by now. Sarah would be serving tea, and the Republic Intelligence Service…" He stopped.

"I don't like them either. Still, without this Trans-Galactic Republic starship, we'd be in for quite the rout. Let's see what's going on with the battle outside."


	65. Woman Scorned

A/N: With the story arc I have planned, publishing this is going to take quite some time if I stick to once-a-week. I am certainly capable of creating content faster, but I also realize I write lengthy, dense chapters and wouldn't want anyone to be overwhelmed. Please message me with any thoughts you might have as a reader on doubling the publish speed (to twice a week).

**Chapter 64 – Woman Scorned**

Having pulled the target vessel closer with an Undertow Current, Sarah reminded herself not to try to move directly into the ship. She had no idea where anything was aboard the Jakobs dreadnaught and thus a careless teleport might get her fused into a bulkhead somewhere, so she transported herself into the empty space next to the vessel instead.

Once there, a few Waves revealed the behemoth's internal structure enough for her to make a safe entry. Unlike most beings, Sarah's engineering allowed her to survive the vacuum of space, if only briefly. As the Selfless Servant of the Mantle, her Lifeworker builders anticipated she might find herself in a situation where operating in zero-G, zero-air would be required. Having given her practically every power they could despite limitations of non-Eridian physiology, surviving in space fit neatly with the Siren's many other abilities.

"Thou shalt not kill, without purpose" she reminded herself. The sudden surge of energy from her teleportation caught the attention of proximity sensors within _Farsight_, bringing half a dozen Jakobs troops down on her head within moments. They all wore the same uniform—the one she'd seen on Athena. Brown armor with white stripes and a large "J" on the chest.

"Surrender, intruder!"

Two waves of her hands sent would-be captors flying into heaps. She slammed them hard enough into walls to knock them out but (hopefully) not cause any permanent harm.

_This should be easy_ laughed Sarah to herself. _You're an all-powerful being created by aliens who think they know everything, even though evidence suggests otherwise. Just find something that shows these clones are remotely-operated and return!_

"Now, where's a bloody map?"

Seeing some kind of projection hovering over one prone clone's arm, she tugged at the device, determined to borrow it. With not-insignificant strength, she wrenched it free, only to recoil as blood splattered her plain brown-and-tan robes.

"Oops."

Sarah knew she was supposed to feel bad about this under the belief system espoused by her erstwhile compatriots back on _Ultimatum_. She'd caused unnecessary pain to a sapient being. At the same time, this was war. Furthermore, until just now it hadn't occurred to her that Jakobs wired their latest generation clones directly into their armor…

Thankfully, the only anchor-points to the clone's body for this part were in the arm; the glove slipped right off. Of course the wrist-mounted gadget wouldn't respond to her commands; something about "unauthorized user detected." Though the Current had many uses, manipulating electronics was not one of them as far as she knew. Realizing the access codes might reside in the head of the individual from whom she'd taken the item to begin with, Sarah grabbed the clone's bleeding arm.

"There we go."

Feeling slightly less guilty having induced a Restoring Tide that would somewhat close off the wounds her removal of the soldier's gauntlet had caused, she now accessed geographical information within.

A small part of her wondered why she cared about this nameless clone—actually, incorrect—her designation was "Operative-14827" and her "sisters" called her "Kim" as revealed via rooting through her head for the access codes. There was nothing this "Kim" could do to her or for her. Nor was the survival of Operative-14827 necessary in the grand scheme of things. In fact, the groaning, wincing Athena look-alike might well pull an alarm and bring more Jakobs soldiers to this section.

"You can go to sleep now" commanded Sarah, waving her right hand in Kim's direction.

It seemed to be the same part of her that found _Revenant_'s computer core interesting. The more time she spent among others, even if she was technically alone in her quarters (unvisited save Shepard), the less driven by her orders Sarah became. Not that those orders were her sole reason to exist anymore—they were merely a set of options along with many others. Many others she'd thought up herself rather than being programmed to follow as she had been before.

_I am no longer consumed by a sense of crippling failure from not fulfilling my designed purpose. In fact, I'm still not sure what my purpose is…_

Sarah had a vague feeling of…wanting something? She wanted… She wasn't sure what she "wanted" in a larger sense, but she knew finding information on this ship would be vital to it.

She cursed her fortune—her teleportation brought her aboard the ventral half of the ship's bow. Primary Comm Arrays were all the way back along the dreadnaught's central spine on the dorsal side, right in front of the main engines.

As if on cue, two dozen uniformed clones appeared. She didn't let them speak before entering a state of Tranquility, greatly enhancing her movement speed. Between this, her Undertow Currents, and what seemed like an artful _dance_ she kicked, punched, and shoved her way through the clones, they were unable to stop her. By the time she finished, Sarah left two dozen dazed operatives on the deck in various states of ache from the nonlethal, though by no means pain-free, defense she'd mounted.

_Why not kill them? A Current of Pain would have left no more than a few ashes. It would have also been faster!_

_No_ said a second voice. _That is unacceptable and wrong._

Before she could start having an internal debate, Sarah remembered part of the discussion she'd had with Samantha Shepard about the race called "turians" and their mission-first ethos. She then elected to apply it to herself at this moment, pushing aside questions until later.

_That's what the appointment with this Flanders is for._

"That requires you to complete this task first."

The Selfless Servant realized with her powers, tearing through the ship and destroying everything in her way would be the most convenient and quickest method to complete her mission. She waved that thought aside and jumped into an elevator of some kind. According to Kim's wrist-com, fifty decks up would be a cargo hauling system—one that ran almost the entire length of the ship. The Siren tapped her foot impatiently at what felt like the slowest lift ever.

Many levels above, "Kat" spoke with other clone commanders about an apparent intruder aboard _Farsight_. That they'd been boarded after being disabled by an engine blast from _Ultimatum_ made tactical sense, but Kat couldn't remember giving an order to attack the Trans-Galactic Republic's battleship. Or, for that matter, killing the three technicians sent over by Admiral Nimitz as a goodwill gesture. None of it made any sense.

"Can we stop this boarding party?"

"Nova" registered her confusion. "The squads we sent down led by Sif reported they suffered a very literal beating at the hands of a single soldier."

Operative-7186 played back helmet recordings from one of the troops sent along with Sif.

"Does anybody recognize this being? Is her manner of dress consistent with any of the known major factions?"

Kat got blank stares in return.

"Well, she isn't obviously affiliated with anyone we know—but there could be a new group from outside the galaxy" ventured "Mal," Operative-4291.

Kat hit herself on the forehead of her helmet. "Do we really need any more sides to this melee?"

A panicked call came in from Deck 32 at a bulkhead whose fore-aft position was very close to the command post, though in terms of dorsal-ventral the call's position emanated from far beneath the bridge (being below Deck 1).

"We can't stop her! It doesn't matter what we use! 50-cals, rockets, they all just bounce off!"

_Must be the Drips_ thought Kat. _Just got out of a tank and aren't even dry…_

"Seal blast doors. That ought to hold whatever this is!"

Kat's confidence took a nosedive upon viewing the helmet-feed of the "Drip" she'd mentally disparaged. Torgue rocket launchers were so powerful using them within the confines of a ship never went well—she could see the warping and distortion of bulkheads from massive detonations. That wasn't what caught the commander's attention. A rocket fired toward what looked like an extremely large Siren-esque being, only to deflect off what appeared to be nothing and slam into the ceiling instead.

"What the hell are we dealing with here?" she asked, as if a common grunt would know.

"Your guess is as good as mine!" cried the clone as she dove away from falling ceiling debris.

Kat snapped into action. "Whatever it is, we can't have it accessing the ship's systems. Lock them down and prepare for automatic erasure of all unencrypted copies!"

When she returned to her own mind, Kat found herself staring at the inside of what was unmistakably a prison cell.

_On her own ship no less._

"Something strange is going on and I'm going to find out what!"

[…]

"This wasn't part of the plan" snarled Aria T'Loak as she stepped out of her escape pod onto Omega. Or, more accurately, what was left of Omega. At the nearest viewport, one second the black of the Nemean Abyss stared back at her, the next second everything basked in a soft purple glow while a five-armed space station spun slowly underneath.

"What the fuck just happened?"

"This wasn't part of Cabal training" replied Nyreen Kandros.

"I think a lot of things weren't on anyone's expected-list. Or did someone actually plan on having an extra-galactic monstrosity show up and take over the galaxy?"

Purple seemed to be the theme of the day as a monstrous dagger-shaped ship disappeared in a flash of that color. Minutes later, a bump caused Omega to shake, before a much greater force tore the top half of the station clean off.

Aria T'Loak was not one to often experience fear. Even during her days-long duel with Urdnot Wrex, she felt exhilaration despite shotgun blasts missing her head either by centimeters of misaim or the strength of her barriers. As the Citadel's ward arm rushed toward her, she realized in her thousand-plus years of existence this had to be the most unlikely thing to have ever happened. Surrounding herself and Nyreen in a protective biotic bubble, the pair rode out a thunderous impact as Omega's top half, once a planetoid of its own, careened into the Citadel.

"This is going to make a hell of a mess…"

Omega's impact was felt further toward the Citadel's center as well. Those who weren't panicking over a breach of what was thought to be the last safe area in the galaxy turned optical instruments skyward to watch the battle.

"Oh, now what?" groused Susan Rizzi, N7 Fury. Whatever it was shook her view of a Star Destroyer fighting for its existence against two Infected Reapers.

"I guess this is something you can't just biotically throw your way through!" laughed Greg Manchin.

"Maybe my drone could…oh never mind" said Neil Edison.

"Considering this is probably the end of civilization as we know it…"

"Susan, really?" chided Greg. "Ever since we met on that mission to Menae, _you're_ the one saying 'I'm going down fighting, they can take our Citadel but they'll have to pry my amps from my cold, dead hands!'"

"It can be the end of civilization and we still go down fighting" countered Neil. Snatching Susan's optical magnifiers, Neil turned toward the general direction from which a rumble like a minor earthquake seemed to have originated.

"That's new. Look!"

"What?"

"Greg, do you remember a big dome of who-knows-what sticking off the Ward arm?"

Grabbing her optical magnifiers back, Susan finished the thought. "No, that's Omega! The place where all this is supposed to be coming from. Or, at least part of Omega, anyway…"

"Looks like you got your battle…"

Susan scowled at Neil's comment but nodded in agreement.

"Grab your gear, and let's kick some Infected ass!"

Once everything settled post-impact, relatively speaking, Aria and Nyreen did exactly that. Omega's rather large vorcha population had been a boon for the Infection, allowing the creation of score after score of "slashers." That there were even more inhabitants than usual (vorcha and otherwise) due to flight from the Nemean Abyss only served to swell the numbers of twisted life that Aria put down without hesitation using her Claymore shotgun.

"They will all burn!" she bellowed, using a quick-reload technique virtually doubling her fire-rate with a normally slow-to-cycle weapon. An incendiary icon projected from the back of her gun let the world know exactly how it would die if it crossed the biotic boss of Omega.

BOOM. BOOM.

Nyreen stuck to a more defensive role, deploying biotic shields to cover her on-again-off-again lover's fire. Between these, she let loose with incineration and warp fields.

Once the immediate area showed no more signs of life, Nyreen hesitantly asked what her partner's plans were.

"What the hell do you think I'm going to do? Sit here and let this shit fester? We're going to go to the Castle, activate the fire systems, and cleanse this place!"

"Your plan assumes the Castle is still accessible, and those jury-rigged systems are still functioning after what appears to have been quite the crash."

About to lay into Nyreen for daring to question her, Aria silenced herself upon noticing bent girders, collapsed walls, displaced deck plating, and other signs of structural degradation. While Omega's outer shell seemed to have held together, its innards had been scrambled somewhat.

"And I suppose you're going to suggest we dig around these ruins looking for survivors?"

Aria shot Nyreen a withering look.

"In an ideal world, I'd already be doing just that. I didn't start reforming the Talons just to make money, you know. There's a reason they've gone from an also-ran to the most respected group on the station despite being fourth in size after the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse."

Imitating a human gesture she'd seen many times over her long life, Aria made a mouth-shape with her hand, which then was accompanied by "blah blah blah, I'm Nyreen, I worry about things like a nesting animal!"

"Laugh if you will, but the Talons were the ones keeping order as more and more ships fled the Abyss. The Blood Pack was too busy burning things on your orders, if you recall."

Some days, Aria couldn't understand what she saw in Nyreen. The turian had the same question in reverse, but for whatever reason the two stuck together often enough that impartial observers would call it a relationship. A rocky one, but a bonding nonetheless. And now, whether they felt like being paired off or not, fate forced them to work together.

"As much as I detest admitting it, I'm not going to restore this station with just you…"

Some sensors must have still been functioning as Aria's omnitool lit up with a proximity alarm.

"What? Ships? Now? Everyone's trying to get out of here—why would anyone head toward this place?"

Further shock registered as many of the ships' IFFs came up…Systems Alliance?

"I've seen some pretty weird shit in my life. Believe me, most asari have. But this has to be some kind of new record…"

"We can't afford to be picky right now, Aria."

"Did I say I was going to shoot them down?" taunted the crime lord. "I'm just surprised is all."

Broadcasting on an open frequency, Aria invited all comers to make for her position.

"Either fall on your own or be part of my effort to remove the stain from this station. Just remember who's in charge here."

_Even in the middle of a galactic extinction, she insists on asserting power…_

Virtually anyone could see Aria's main flaw: pride. Nyreen (and probably many before) had tried to steer the asari smuggling kingpin down a more humble path, but so far nothing seemed to stick. Upon reaching the agreed-upon landing bay, Aria surveyed "her" ragtag army.

A couple of regular Alliance soldiers, from the looks of it. Two turians, a lone batarian, and several loadouts she did not recognize. Though Aria could easily have kept up on Systems Alliance, Hierarchy, Union, and other military developments through her intelligence network pre-invasion, she'd not found it to be worth the effort. Hence her lack of knowledge at the presence of many personnel wearing the "N7" moniker dressed in battle gear she'd never seen before.

"Split up into teams of four" she barked. "Fan out, and burn anything you see that's Infected. Anyone who deviates from this task in some misguided mercy attempt will face me."

The implications of doing so were left unsaid.

A strange-looking man whose armor seemed to be built around hefting a massive machine gun complete with faceplate spoke up.

"Excuse me, but what exactly are we hoping to do here?"

Even as Susan, Greg, and Neil rallied their friends to jump on shuttles headed toward the crashed station, they too had struggled with the question of what, exactly, their involvement here would accomplish.

"There's a specific place in this station. Its location is none of your business, so don't even ask. But within it is the ability to burn this scum."

"Are you even going to give us a general idea of where we're going?" demanded a woman who seemed to have a biotic glow even at rest combined with some kind of face mask under a hood.

"Just follow the directions I've sent to your omnitools" snapped Aria.

[…]

After uploading her videos, Operative-10548 hoped to never venture into that part of the Fridge again. Of course, said desire meant that she received orders not only to "investigate further" but to "obtain as much information as possible since these bandits might be suffering from a new disease which Jakobs should be made aware of. So we can cure it and reap the reward, of course." The universe could be inexplicably cruel sometimes.

As Jakobs military units took control of ever-growing swaths of the galaxy, Bill Arkansas grew tired of micromanaging.

"I'm a businessman, not a soldier" he complained.

"Your plan was very specific: take control of the galaxy" replied Carson Jakobs. "You had to have at least some idea that such actions would require a military occupation…"

"Never mind that" interrupted Clayton Jakobs. "What about this intel from one of our operatives on Pandora? I mean, I know the bandits there are crazy—shock-sickness an all, but this is a new record."

Gagging sounds were heard around the table.

"This is the point at which I sincerely wish we had an actual military command rather than just advisors to handle these sorts of things" sniffed Pickens Jakobs. "Rather than spoiling our lunches."

"Send her back in."

Hence "Deb's" heading straight back into the Fridge.

Normally, sneaking past defenses meant using a different door than the last time. However, Pandoran bandits were hardly organized, in fact no opposition to her entry existed at all. She held her breath this time—not that it mattered since she'd eventually have to pull in lungfuls of the putrid air. Checking the rooms she'd peeked into before, she saw only bloodstained beds. No corpses. Heading toward where she'd seen what looked like a ritualistic sacrifice, a clone like "Deb" could not have been prepared for the sight that greeted her: a mountain of corpses, most of them with at least one cut like she'd seen the last time.

Now, several dressed in (for bandits) complex garments seemed to be tending to the pile, arranging limbs or bodies. Deb gagged on the stench, attracting the attention of the circling savages.

"Deliverance! Paradise! Eternity!" shouted one.

"The Redeemers have fallen! The Bringers of Life seek to save us!"

Two of them attempted to corral her—being a military clone with the training to match, the two half-starved priests of this order were unable to compel Operative-10548 to do anything despite pleas and enthusiastic tugging.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "Who are the Redeemers? What are the Bringers of Life?"

"Blasphemer!" screeched the first. "You do not know, you shall not know. Only after you have been saved will you experience the paradise beyond!"

"She must be sacrificed!"

Several crazed men with clearly-past-due Maliwan weapons opened fire. With their elemental charges hitting their wielders harder than her, not much happened to Deb's shields. Fire from her own Maliwan, still safe and fully channeling its power toward its targets, silenced those who could barely harm her in any case but she felt no guilt in killing.

_What's one bandit, more or less, on a planet full of them?_

"The tide! The waters of life!"

Only then did Deb notice a canister with some kind of brown fluid in it. "Premium Skag Meat" graced its label, despite there being no such thing given that all skag meat tasted like ass no matter how it was prepared. The most elaborately-dressed of what she presumed were priests began sprinkling its contents all over the pile of bodies.

"Free us! Consume us! Liberate our souls from the failures of the Redeemers!"

Seeing nothing happen from what appeared to be dirty water thrown on chilling corpses, Deb took her leave. Within less than an hour, Deb was dead. Along with other Jakobs operatives deployed to that particular area of Pandora.

"Assert direct control over all clones within range of a transmitter. We cannot have this information leak out, nor can we have any rogue clones undermining us at this juncture!" bellowed Bill Arkansas Jakobs.

"What about _Farsight_?"

"Recall it. And if it cannot be recalled, lock down its files! We cannot have the Trans-Galactic Republic in our way!"


	66. Great Expectations

A/N: Publishing has been moved to Tuesday/Friday from now on.

**Chapter 65 – Great Expectations**

"Jack. Excellent."

The salarian limped and seemed to be walking with the aid of some kind of belt-device. Though Jack saw no physical supports anti-gravity systems were fairly common both from her own galaxy and others who since joined the anti-Flood melee that she asked no questions.

"Where the hell have you been, frog-man? Not a mission goes by without Shepard or Garrus saying how obnoxious it is you're not around!"

"Worked with Shiala. Resolved issue with your students. Could have been fatal. Due to my intervention, not."

His speech noticeably slowed from the last time she'd heard his voice, though given the topic of her students, she didn't think much of it and her expression changed from amused-angry to actual-angry. "Tell me what happened, now!"

"Would have kept you up-to-date; advised not to. Unnecessary. Your lack of availability discouraged communication—too busy with missions."

The biotic figured "advised" probably meant Shiala and/or Brick. Words would be exchanged later, but for the moment Jack wanted more information about whatever Mordin did with her students.

"Issue only affected students with biotic potential. Too much energy from Element Zero nodes, caused by changes from captivity with Siren Sarah…"

Jack prepared to go on another rampage about her intense hatred of the strange Eridian creation but elected not to at the last second. _It won't do you any good. Besides, if Mordin solved it, there's one less thing for Sarah to make a mess of!_

"Siren used children as energy sources. Required large increase in biotic potential to do so. Power build-up put to use running ship. Without ship, build-up had no outlet. Dangerous."

"So what'd you do about it?"

"Looked to your history. Obtained both 'Subject Zero story' and medical files when possible. Determined best method to prevent biotic overcharge."

Jack's biotic aura flared. On one hand, the _things_ Cerberus had done to her amounted to some of the cruelest "experiments" known to science. It was one of many reasons she'd hated the organization and anyone representing it—for instance, Miranda Lawson. Jack had dubbed the other woman "Cerberus Cheerleader" despite Samantha Shepard's disapproval. The two biotics got into a heated argument that would have escalated into a ship-destroying conflict had Sam not resolved it amicably, not long before the Omega-4 relay trip. On the other hand, if Cerberus research helped her students…she really couldn't say no to that.

"So what happened? What did that psycho change?"

"Explanation tedious. Likely would induce boredom. Will send files to your terminal."

"At least give me the short version, Mordin."

The salarian did one of his trademark sharp-inhales before continuing.

"Element Zero density within nodules increased by over 1000%. Great power, great danger. Some similar to your own levels. Possibly higher. Your physiology able to handle it. Looked to Cerberus research to figure out why, applied to students to prevent catastrophic explosions."

"I assume once you were done patching them up Shiala got straight back to training them? I didn't see any of my Psychotic Biotics missing from the last couple excursions…"

"Training continued during therapy. Mild discomfort worthy cost to bear. Charges fully capable of assignments despite ongoing treatment."

Jack excused herself from the salarian, who muttered something about "extended bacta immersion" to find where KOMBT re-established itself aboard _Ultimatum_.

"What'd the crazy doc do to you guys?" she asked, a little too chipper for the present mood in the room, having not gotten a read on it upon entering.

"Are we going to give Catalina a proper send-off, or what?"

Jack softened her tone before replying. "Look, I know the last mission briefing even mentioned remembrance of our fallen as an incentive to return safely, but it's kind of been a theme here that paying respects has to wait until the fight is over. You realize the Flood is still attacking this ship, right?"

Marco and Rachel exchanged glances. They'd not heard Jack speak likes this recently. Actually, ever. She sounded almost…motherly. Which made no sense coming from a teacher they were used to having chew them out and cuss them out, then yell at anyone who winced for "being a baby."

"We don't even have anything to bury" said Rachel sadly. "Just an empty coffin."

Jack's expression tightened up as she tapped her omnitool. "I need to know what Mordin did to the biotics."

"You're asking us?" grinned Marco. "Psychotic Biotic seems to come with a bit of memory loss!"

"Shut it, Machiavelli. I already summoned the biotics. I figure you kids spend so much time _talking_ instead of paying attention in my classes that someone probably told you about weird-ass medical procedures conducted by a salarian."

Toby Hameel answered her question.

"Mordin saved our lives. I don't know if he told you what happened to us during our little stay with Sarah."

Jack turned to the new arrival. "Do elaborate. Mordin wouldn't give me details because he thought I'd get bored."

"Are explosions boring?" asked Hameel, knowing full well what Jack's answer would be.

"Hell no" shouted his teacher. "I love explosions. But I don't want you guys exploding—that's the impression I got from the lizard-man."

"That's pretty much it" conceded Toby. "Sarah did something to us, made our Eezo nodules way too power-dense to be safe. Except since we were pretty much constantly connected to her death machine, there wasn't any buildup. Once we escaped with Bailey's help, suddenly our biotic systems started going into shock from being overcharged, so to speak. Leave it alone long enough and yes, you'd have living bombs."

"So what'd the doc do?"

Toby handed Jack a datapad.

"This is my personal treatment log. Different students were handled in various ways—the mildest cases were just told to meditate or something before bed. More out-of-balance students were prescribed special diets, given therapy to reduce the size of their eezo nodules, or even had surgery."

Jack grinned. "That slippery salarian managed to do all this without me knowing?"

Rachel spoke up. "In fairness, ma'am, you're not exactly the most inquisitive person. You've always told us you don't need to know about our personal lives and told us to stop asking about you and Brick."

"I think something that affects your ability to kick ass is pretty relevant and my business." She ignored the jibe about Brick. The usual bluster—all bark, no bite. "Sneak something like that past me again, and see how many laps I have you doing around the cargo bay!"

"But it really didn't" protested Toby. "Because Mordin intervened, there was no effect at all!"

"He told me about needing _my_ records in order to save your sorry behinds. Since I'm the most powerful human biotic _ever_, I figured you all must have gained some extra ability to grind Flood into powder or something."

Her circle of students looked at Jack as though she suggested they breathe in a vacuum.

"He never told _us_ that" added Cassie Lupin. "Just said we wouldn't blow up anymore. We're stronger biotics now?"

"Looks like I'm gonna need to put you all through your paces again. Who wants to beat on the Slabs?"

Her enthusiasm did not drain despite the fact that many of Brick's Iron Ab Slabs were also in the room.

"It's on. It is so on!" yelled Rachel Arkadios.

[…]

"Well, for once something went right. Of course, it's the trivial thing that won't matter in the long run…"

"I presume you have good reason for virtually ordering us to assemble here in this…_esteemed_…place."

Nika Dusat had a penchant for the posh and pomp. A grimy diner two deca-levels down into the underworld hardly met that criterion. Her attitude contrasted harshly with her humble birthplace, a planet in the relatively impoverished Grohl sector deep in the Outer Rim, which she represented in the Senate.

"Nika, you know Glia better than that!" chastised Senator Caran Ekiam of the Chommell sector. "If she thought it would be better to have this meeting at the Naboo Queen, she would have paid for a private room there herself."

"As I was saying" cut in Glia Ham'Del, "at least I managed to gather you all on short notice. You all still support the General Retrenchment, Enhancement, and Appropriation Against Threats Act since I asked only those that continue to do so attend this meeting. Regardless of your reasons for doing so, I have come into possession of information that may give our bill a chance once again. I plan to bring this new perspective to the Intelligence Committee at its next meeting, but wanted to make you all aware of it first."

"So what is 'it?'" asked Cynan Goodner, a rare RISE skeptic from the Core Worlds. It helped he represented the Atrisian Commonwealth, a very-long-standing semi-autonomous region that while friendly to most galactic governments, generally kept said governments at arms' length.

"Your datapads are already showing you. Take a look."

Three human heads bent to read their computing devices. Rimward, pro-Human biases abounded—in fact some would say prejudice ran stronger the farther one traveled from the Core, hence Nika representing a mostly-alien sector.

"The Chommell Sector, especially Naboo, has had a history of standing up against tyranny" began Caran Ekiam. "We will continue to do so. This disgusting perversion of power shall not continue in silence!"

Several seedier patrons turned to stare at the Senator's proclamation, likely not knowing him from other loud drunkards who made grandiose speeches on random topics.

Cynan Goodner's reaction was scarcely less appalled.

"They are experimenting on sapient subjects? Live injections of the Infection? This is an outrage!"

Only Nika Dusat kept her voice down.

"You realize these individuals' lives were already forfeit?" she asked, as if implying her fellow Senators had not read their datapads.

"And we still allow death by hanging, then?" taunted Goodner.

"Well, no, but these experiments surely allow these condemned individuals to offer one last service to society…"

"Oh, yes, because if something's useful it gets carried out no matter how horrific it is" retorted Caran Ekiam. "Star Dreadnaughts could be plenty useful, but last I recall, you were one of the two dozen filibustering the funding until they finally shut down debate."

Ham'Del ended recriminations within her own coalition through a wave of her hand.

"That's not why I called this meeting. If I wanted to hear pointless bickering, I'd be attending the latest RISE 'Listening Tour.' I sought your support because you tend to be more productive than the average Senator, and despite some odd proclivities here and there we generally share the same moral navicomputer. The Trans-Galactic Republic is playing with a blowtorch in an oxygen tent pitched inside a munitions depot, and doesn't even realize it. The Intelligence Service is out of hand—sure, these little jaunts toward psycho-science seem 'useful' now but what will it be next? We've all seen what happens when you relax the rules just one bit…"

The Bothan deliberately left this hanging, noting nods of agreement even from Dusat.

"That's how we ended up with the Republic Intelligence Service and our non-military military" said Ekiam. "A little more coordination can't hurt… Now we don't need coordination—the military and the intelligence branches are the same thing!"

"It snowballed" added Goodner. "Those damned Star Dreadnaughts wouldn't have had a prayer under the old system. Ever since re-militarization began after the Prosecutors were deemed expensive whaladons…"

He paused.

"If someone's been playing a long game, what if the Prosecutors were a deliberate botch to allow for building much more efficient warships?"

"Really, Cynan?" laughed Nika. "You're going to…"

"Those who forget history are destined to repeat it. Many an empire has arisen this way" warned Caran. "It's not unheard-of for a plan to have many deliberate false starts. Or have you forgotten your Ancient Governments courses?"

"Who could?" sighed Nika. "They drill that stuff starting in third year all the way through tertiary education! The kriffing rodders who run New Senator Day even bring it up!"

Glia cleared her throat. "So in order to _prevent_ history from repeating _again_, I'm going to be showing this data to the Intelligence Committee. I ask you to make sure your constituents are aware of these new developments. Send out a HoloNet mail that people will actually read rather than instantly deleting because it's another request for credits."

"But isn't this a great header for doing exactly that?" asked Senator Ekiam somewhat mischievously.

"If your constituents are angry enough after seeing this that they send a kilocred to your campaign fund, I'm not going to judge."

[…]

Budget-crunchers within the Republic Intelligence Service registered annoyance that despite confidence in the Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter, operational leaders requisitioned a pair of HoloNet relays that would be used to immediately alert the agency of any change in a system thought to be disinfected.

"If the weapon works and killed off the threat, why are we spending 500,000 credits on each hyperwave transceiver to monitor a dead system?"

On a day that marked weeks of no activity, sensors on these "unnecessary" satellites lit up with warnings.

"We've got red across the board!" yelled one at one of RISE's many command centers. "Infection presence large and growing!"

David Vance, roused from sleep by this development, was ordered to hold a press conference the next morning. There, he unveiled many formerly-open-secrets officially in addition to solidifying (or shooting down) rumors that bounced across the HoloNet at 0.5 past lightspeed for weeks or months prior.

"Yes, the Infection is as threatening as it's been made out to be. It is _not_ a Core World conspiracy to assert more control over the Rimward sectors—see for yourself. In fact, the prime vector for the Infection was actually an Outer Rim world destroyed eons ago by a long-forgotten bioweapon that lingers to this day."

A Coruscanti reporter for Galaxy News Service raised his hand. "What of the reports that Spacelane Protection is being completely run by the Republic Intelligence Service?"

Vance laughed before partially brushing it off. "Patently untrue. As has been said many times previously, the only reason for better integration between the Protection services and the Intelligence service has been to allow faster reactions to problems galaxy-wide."

"We have video footage of a ship utilizing banned cloaking technology" insisted a columnist from the less-respected but still widely-read Nova Network. "What do you say to that?"

"That, my friend, is your tax dollars at work. We are, after all, the Republic **Intelligence** Service. We exist to end wars before they begin, spot disasters before they happen, and minimize damage by taking on small problems before they become big."

"If you're so good," goaded the reporter, "why did the Infection catch us unprepared?"

Vance grinned. This would be the do-or-die moment. The RISE Council previously ordered him to wash away the current controversies by making the claim that the Republic Intelligence Service only pushed for massive Star Dreadnaughts, advanced warships-in-all-but-name like the _Curators_ and widespread issuance of cloaking devices in order to counter an expected threat.

"We operate in secrecy for a reason, Victor. Now is the time that we reveal some of what our advance planning has brought us."

He wouldn't say, word-for-word, that RISE absolutely knew the Infection was coming but he would very strongly imply it.

"The footage you have is real, and it was one of the Republic Intelligence Service's advanced reconnaissance vessels currently being used to keep us up-to-date on the spread of the Infection. You can't fight something if you can't tell where it is."

A representative from a smaller paper, the Rimward Holo-Times, raised her hand.

"Yes, Collette?"

"As long as we're on the topic, what of the allegations that the Republic Intelligence Service is developing superlasers?"

"Absolutely!" replied Vance, as confident as a sabacc player with an extra ace. "If a planet becomes thoroughly uninhabitable due to biological agents that will spread absent containment measures, sterilization remains an option."

"You could just Base-Delta-Zero it" replied Collette in a tone suggesting she felt patronized.

"Base Delta Zeroes can miss" said Vance dismissively. "Pushing the entire mass of a planet into hyperspace, on the other hand, leaves nothing behind."

"Let me guess" growled a grizzled veteran who worked as a war correspondent for Hyperwave Daily, "you're going to claim that the Star Dreadnaughts bloating the budget were also part of some master plan."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say we knew for sure what kind of threat we'd face. Still, they should prove useful as the gundarks pound the gate!"

David Vance took questions for another fifteen minutes, making sure to answer each in a way that continued with the line that militarization had a pre-determined purpose and the Republic Intelligence Service should be credited with taking action in advance of what would otherwise be a far worse problem.

[…]

"I suppose you want me to skip the boring part."

Sarah stood alone in _Ultimatum_'s main hanger, having returned from her jaunt over to the Jakobs-controlled dreadnaught _Farsight_. The Siren's clothing appeared ragged—tears were evident in many places in both the cream-white under-robe and the brown overgarment she'd taken to wearing. A few burn marks suggested her deflections of enemy fire were not perfect. Of course, any visible skin remained pristine.

Shepard, Nimitz, and Vakarian stood with arms folded, awaiting Sarah's report.

"My only concern is the finding of proof that Jakobs clones may be remotely operated. If so, we could parlay this into a strategic advantage by blocking Jakobs's signal, allowing the clones to act as independent beings and decide their own fates."

Garrus hid disappointment. If it were up to him, he'd simply force the clones to fight on the side of…whatever their group could be called now. Let the ethicists hash it out later, after the Flood met its defeat!

"Is it just me, or is someone embarrassed?" Sam grinned.

"Uh, well, yes. I mean no. Really, what I meant to say is…"

"I'm getting the feeling something didn't go as planned."

Garrus's deadpan left even Shepard shocked, before she stifled laughter.

"They erased the computers! It's not my fault!"

A significant silence ensued.

"While this does seem a little _convenient_" began Sam with the air of lecturing a small child for a trivial misbehavior, "the universe _has_ shown a tendency to screw us over in the most imaginatively cruel ways possible…"

"It wasn't even one of those 'Erased-the-computers-as-I-got-to-the-terminal' things either" continued Sarah. "I suspect the clone commander erased everything once she found out I was aboard."

_What incentive does she have to lie, though?_ thought Garrus. _It would only make her perilous standing weaker._

"Did you at least scan what was left?" demanded Allison Nimitz, speaking up for the first time.

Sarah handed over a datapad.

"Inconclusive" huffed the Admiral. "Vessels this size normally have high-throughput communication systems, and that's all I can glean from this. It could be used to control the clones. But it also might just be standard military procedure!"

"Ordinarily, I'd say let Legion, Cortana, or some other computer expert go over there and have a look-see, but considering our ship is under active siege right now trying to launch a boarding party would not be the best idea."

Sam looked down, realized something on her omnitool required attention, and grabbed Sarah's arm.

"You're going to miss your appointment with Flanders. Come on!"

Nimitz noted that Sarah had in fact locked up the backstabbing nerf-herder who ordered an attack on her ship, in the traitor's own brig. So at least there was that.


	67. Unexpected

A/N: As promised! More chapters, less waiting!

**Chapter 66 – Unexpected**

"In closing, due to evidence of gross violations of at least seven different statutes regarding sapient rights, an attempt to end-run around the Transparency Act, and misuse of government funds, I am proposing a vote on the revised GREAT Act that is now on your datapads."

"The misuse of funds is from what?" asked Senator Jan Steen.

"Buying what amount to slaves" shot back Glia Ham'Del. "Whether they were condemned to die or not, it is unconscionable to use sapient beings as living science experiments."

Senator Ham'Del stood at the front of a large room used for, unsurprisingly, presentations and meetings. Inquisitive growls from Senator Karshabka prompted the Bothan to clarify that she'd obtained this information through sources within Garthmot Laboratory.

"They do have a number of classified contracts" said Vlaad Blate. "Perhaps we should exert some supervisory authority to determine the merit of these serious allegations."

The Bothan repeatedly forced herself to remain calm, collected, and not fall over in shock. Either someone deliberately sought to con her, or the old Human Scarlett DeWinter was actually onto something.

Blate continued in the somewhat nasal yet monotonous tone his species used when expressing themselves in Galactic Standard. "Though most accusations against the Republic Intelligence Service have been inflated stories told by pundits on news channels chasing ratings, I do find these charges substantial enough that I offer a motion to open a full investigation while tabling the GREAT Act until said investigation is completed."

_Sithspit. Better than nothing, assuming it's not just another round of Dreighton smoke._

It was more than she'd dared hope, yet she could see it evaporating under Star-Dreadnaught scale stonewalling from the Republic Intelligence Service. Combine that with public sentiment staying on RISE's side (as it was now) and the whole venture could easily fall apart.

After the motion's passage, Glia dialed her pirate acquaintance on what she hoped was a secure HoloNet transmitter.

"Somehow, that worked" she said breathlessly. "Even Blate bought it. Of course, the catch is that they want to table my bill, even with amendments, while someone pokes around…"

"While this news is welcome" replied DeWinter, "I must warn you that all is not well on my end. Our dealings are private for now, however the pro-Human coalition within the Band is gaining strength. They don't know I'm talking to you but they do know about the RISE experiments. Which makes sense since we're delivering all manner of goods that lack availability on open markets to that agency..."

"So what's Jack Johnson's latest move, then?" asked Ham'Del.

"He's openly rallying others—not within the Band just yet, but other parts of the underworld—into 'pro-Human' causes. He's saying the Trans-Galactic Republic is abandoning 'those which made it great,' the usual appeal to a history that never existed about how Human High Culture or something represents the foundation of everything that makes this Republic worthwhile."

Ham'Del couldn't hide her confusion. "So if he's not twisting the Band's arms to get them to follow him, what's the 'not well' part?"

"It means the Band cannot take any side, pro-Human or otherwise. They do not want to risk an all-out fight with less-savory elements of the underworld. That was, after all, part of Smuggling With a Smile—the Band would keep its distance from the true scum of the galaxy and by doing so become only slightly dirty in the public consciousness."

"So on paper, we're stuck with the status quo" concluded the Senator. "To me, when I can't maneuver out of the status quo, I find ways to eat away at the edges!"

DeWinter smiled. "And this is why I, and hopefully the Band, retain such faith in you. Never take no for an answer! As per our mutually-beneficial arrangement, how may I be of assistance?"

"Do you know which members of the Band are sympathetic to Jack Johnson? By avoiding them, I can focus outreach efforts on those who aren't automatically predisposed to act as he wants."

"Then stay away from Kayla Verdansky" said DeWinter. "She's about as silently pro-Human as they come!"

"Who else?"

"If I could get a read on Leonard Cortlandt, I'd make a suggestion. It doesn't help that he's taken over the All-Brother role now either. No one knows what he thinks about anything."

Exactly what the "All-Brother" title meant remained a secret within the Band. Though it obviously conferred some level of power, nobody outside the group ever saw exactly how far that authority went. In fact, to add confusion it seemed to change over time—some All-Brothers were the single face of the Band while others were more akin to glorified administrators/CEOs.

"Any other suggestions?"

Scarlett's voice creaked a bit. "I'm sorry, I really couldn't tell you much more because we've deliberately kept our own views on this type of divisive issue to ourselves. It helps keep the peace. You're a politician, I'm sure you understand the strategic value in it."

The Senator thanked her acquaintance for the information given and ended the call. She had to see how the exposé campaign was going, which meant talking to her supporters.

[…]

Since his arrival in, which galaxy was it now? Gamma-Three? Kevin Filner sought to make himself as useful as possible. His work with threshers had yielded interesting theories, but so far little had actually been applied. The wormhole thresher's unique anatomy offered promise regarding faster slipspace travel, but so far research had focused on artificial engines and some kind of device obtained from a parallel universe that controlled time dilation.

The device was by no means easy to duplicate, requiring extremely precise growth of a crystal latticework through which energy flowed.

"Ever been able to duplicate something but have no idea how it works?" he'd asked upon being questioned regarding the cylindrical thing's operation. "Because that's what's going on right now!"

Since interest in his thresher-portals waned, Dr. Filner kept himself busy with what tasks he could find. He'd gone over "Nova Vita" purely to satisfy curiosity. Being neither a starship engineer nor a genetics expert, much of the ship's design went over his head. He did have to deal with one small brushfire—the slipspace drive installed in _Normandy_ nearly went critical, demanding "his" cylinder be pulled to stabilize it. Due to the loss of its temporal compensator, the ship could no longer utilize its exceptionally-fast mode of transport, requiring the reinstallation of its hyper-zero drive.

Nobody blamed him, but Dr. Filner still felt bad.

"Still cool!" he'd said to Cortana after asking by his count twenty-something questions about the doomed project.

Despite the battle going on outside, Cortana remained responsive and available since most of the fighting received direction from _Ultimatum_'s computer core, not her. The parts of the AI that were involved mostly represented subroutines which would not disrupt other thought, hence her conversation with the scientist.

"If we did build it" she explained, "I'd hesitate to go with all digistruction simply because no one has ever tried something that big before."

"But that's not true!" he protested, pulling up a semi-restricted file detailing Sarah's attack at the Citadel. "The crazy Siren showed up with a starship she'd added digistruction repair systems to. Why can't we just use those?"

Cortana gave him an annoyed look.

"First, there's the matter of people not wanting to use anything derived from that…woman. Second, if you've forgotten, the ship you're referring to is currently attached to us by way of ramming. Because it's full of Flood. Don't forget the Flood."

Kevin stood for a minute in a classic thinker pose before speaking again.

"I have an idea. It's an insane, crazy idea, but I don't see anyone else coming up with new ways to beat the Flood."

Cortana suppressed a sigh. You had to admire the creativity of these other societies and species, but at the same time when would they accept the only solution to the Flood required a lifeless galaxy? Either evacuate and live somewhere else or fall on a sword to give species not-yet-evolved a chance. The latter solution required some parts of Nova Vita to function, however, mainly the planned mass-cloning facilities which would be used to reseed consumed/sacrificed races once a determination had been made the Flood no longer existed in this universe. So really, only one option existed—run far away and hope the Flood either didn't follow or took so long to arrive that whoever faced it would be prepared.

"I can tell you're not too optimistic" he accused, noting the purple-blue woman's sour expression.

"You caught me. It's just that I'm frustrated. By the lack of progress against the Flood and refusal to prepare for the one way it can be defeated."

"At least hear me out" he pleaded. "It's not like either of us is going to solve the Flood problem somehow if I just sit on my idea, right?"

"Remember that robot Shepard kept around, Legion, I think?"

"If your suggestion is a bunch of synthetic-crewed starships, it's been brought up already" sighed the artificial intelligence. "It's a good idea in theory but where are we going to get the raw materials necessary to build what amounts to an army?"

She avoided the ethical issue of creating what would essentially be a slave race—fully sapient but forced to do the bidding of others. If such a race willingly agreed to potentially sacrifice itself to fight the Flood, there would be no moral dilemma, but she foresaw that conflict similar to the geth-quarian dispute, while not inevitable, would remain a possibility due to the nature of free will. Even semi-autonomous automata could exert such preferences and refuse to do their jobs. What then?

"I'm not done" countered Filner. "Digistruction is great, but it's a huge pain because it's energy intensive."

Cortana wasn't sure where the babbling man was headed, but continued listening anyway.

"Ancient societies burned wood, coal, and liquefied fossil material to power their vehicles and generate energy. Nowadays, we're well beyond such primitive notions with hypermatter and all, but we hardly have enough of it to run a fleet. What if someone designed a ship that ran on garbage?"

"An automatic recycling plant?" It sounded weird, yes, but it certainly had potential.

"Basically. But here's the twist: Flood's the problem, right? So why not make use of it?"

Seeing a withering glare, he quickly continued explaining his idea.

"Everyone knows stars of sufficient mass fuse carbon. What do you get if you burn biological matter, but not completely? Carbon! Our reactors generate immense amounts of pressure and heat—enough to sustain a hypermatter reaction. They're not called miniature suns for nothing; this leads me to wonder if it would be possible to build a starship that runs on carbon fusion where the carbon is obtained by incinerating Flood biomass?"

"So you're proposing linking digistruction with stellar-grade fusion to power a ship crewed by synthetics?"

"Yes!" shouted Kevin. "Take it further! Bigger! If the ship's built with digistruction, what's stopping it from not only repairing itself, but making itself larger as-needed? Forget shipyards, now we have a vessel that does all those things on its own!"

"This all sounds great, but my question remains: how do we test this idea, and even if we assume it works, what facility could possibly create a ship this size?"

Filner deflated slightly, but didn't back down. "I don't know. But at least let's run it past the usual suspects—they know more about shipbuilding than I do."

[…]

Bill Arkansas Jakobs began belatedly handing off what by any normal measure were tasks best handled by generals, not Chairmen of the Board even though formal authority still rested with him as Commander of Jakobs forces. He still gave orders and set priorities, but left the nitty-gritty to others. Though no corporation worth its balance sheet ventured too far into the borderlands, all of the major players did have quasi-military staffs on hand. He thus drummed these men and women up and ordered them to construct a proper command rather than having him issue orders to various clone units throughout the galaxy. Full establishment of what amounted to a Jakobs army would happen within weeks if it even took that long. Most assets already existed—it was simply a matter of formally structuring them into units and divisions.

It was one of these very individuals who interrupted a grainy video-meeting with Hyperion to make a disturbing report.

"Sir!"

"General Doubleday. I presume you have something worthy of my attention?"

"Yes, sir. A report from what is now Pandora Command. The news is not good, sir."

"Well, don't sugarcoat it!" said Bill, almost jovially. "What's happened?"

"You recall the video sent by Operative-10548. From what I have heard about the meeting, multiple lunches were disturbed."

"Of course, how could I forget?"

"Well, Mr. Chairman, it appears that entire unit is dead. Scouts sent in after the clones were unable to locate bodies, equipment, transmitters, or anything. They were just…gone."

Bill Arkansas tilted his head. "What makes you think the operatives are deceased? These clones are not pushovers."

Doubleday pulled up a photo on his ECHO HUD. "I'd say the Fridge is pretty stuffed, and anything inside or around it is unlikely to have survived…"

The Jakobs corporate leader could only stare slack-jawed for the next thirty seconds.

"By Montgomery, the Infection has taken over that entire area!"

"It appears so. Surveillance by our Iron Eagles suggests the Fridge and an area extending several kilometers around it has been taken, despite no significant Infection presence on what's left of that planet."

"I'm no scientist" interrupted Bill, "but Pandora's been cracked open wider than a derlot egg. How is it still orbiting, habitable, and in one piece?"

"Do I look like a scientist, sir? All I know is that aside from an area that lets off a hue very similar to Eridian artifacts, the rest of the surface is as it always was."

"I assume your attempts to obtain information about conditions inside the Fridge were unsuccessful." Bill's look suggested anger at not finding out what he wanted to know combined with having his orders shot down as "infeasible waste of resources."

"Sir, that entire area is Infected. There is nothing to gain by sending personnel into the Fridge again. We know it is full of a highly dangerous and very infectious agent—what more could we possibly learn that would be worth the risk?"

"My turn for assumptions" replied the Chairman. "I presume you saw the bandits on Operative-10548's video. They were acting even more strangely than bandits usually do. I mean, shock-sickness causes insanity, but the creation of what looked like some kind of ritual?"

"So they cut holes in themselves and piled corpses high. Fewer for our guys and gals to be shot at by! I say it's a good thing."

Bill decided to drop any curiosity about strange bandit behavior. If it became relevant to Jakobs' attempt to control the galaxy, then he would bring it up again.

"Anything else, General?"

"Yes sir, more negative information, sir!"

Arkansas let off a small "hmph" sound. Trust military types to retain their pomp even when relating terrible news piled on terrible news.

"Well, what is it?"

"The facilities on Hephaestus have been attacked, Mr. Chairman. The attacking vessels all match S&amp;S Munitions—though no message was delivered and no motive has been established for the strike, sir."

Bill sighed. "What's the damage?"

"Minimal for now, sir, but there's something else. Our spies report the S&amp;S battlestations containing the deluge at Plutus seem to have…slackened."

"Are you suggesting they're deliberately allowing an invader into our galaxy, General Doubleday?"

The Jakobs commander stood straight and tall as he responded. "Yes, sir. There is no other conclusion to make when we have videos like this one."

The disgusting color of an Infected Harvester could be seen passing by an installation bristling with weapons both physical and energy-based. Yet no fire from the installation colored the video. Nor did the Harvester move against the station.

"The station could be damaged, or evacuated!" protested Bill. "I refuse to believe it."

Instead of arguing, Doubleday played back more similar footage on his ECHO device. One showed multiple defense platforms with the S&amp;S logo emblazoned—some fired at passing Infected Harvesters but others in the same frame did not.

"If that is all, I have a call to make, General."

Saluting, Doubleday turned and left.

_Whoever's on the other end of his phone call better have ear protection!_

[…]

Leaving Nimitz to continue coordinating defenses against an increasingly-restless enemy whose ship was essentially entangled with their own, Shepard hauled Sarah off toward one of the massive dreadnaught's many service trams.

"You ever use these, or did you just teleport around?"

Sam tried to keep her voice conversational, as if discussing the latest omnivid or fashion show.

"Both, but only initially. Once I became familiar with the ship's design, I used what felt more natural to me. I also did not venture very far into the ship—the weapons were essentially self-installing as you saw, and once connected could be controlled from the bridge."

The pair boarded an aft-heading tram from the central hanger. They wouldn't have to go far as Flanders' office could be found only a kilometer or so back from their initial position, deep within the upper crew deck. It made sense—having the therapist easily accessible by those who might have need of her.

Shepard silently cursed. She'd meant to bring both of them to Flanders on separate trips, but she'd barely make it on time after rounding up Sarah. Sam could only hope Jackie Jakobs would attend of her own volition.

Sarah said nothing and tried to convey no feelings or emotions during the few minutes the two spent alone on a tram. After the episode aboard _Revenant_ in which her mental state affected the entire team, she realized her powers could have more wide-ranging impacts than she'd originally been made aware of. The whole experience of being controlled by Reformer brainwashing seemed like a faraway memory or distant dream now. Though she could still remember most important details, it felt as though the entire experience happened to someone else whose actions she watched.

_Of course_ chuckled Sam to herself. _This ship is so damn big it has a dedicated psychological ward…_

"Tano Psychological Treatment Center" read a large sign. She'd never heard of anyone by the name "Tano," first or last. Oh well. That wasn't important. Sam steeled herself as if heading out on a mission. In a way, this _was_ a mission. As much as she liked to downplay it, her ways with words achieved more than some of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy. Shepard knew people looked to her to do the impossible—that pressure drove her to the brink for months.

The reception desk resembled a hotel more than a hospital; her omnitool informed the soldier that this facility could house over ten thousand patients at once.

_More than the entire crew of the asari dreadnaught Destiny Ascension!_

It seemed the universe sought to constantly remind her of the scale differences between the galaxy she came from and these outsiders. Calling them newcomers, even to herself, didn't seem right. Not anymore—they'd been a presence in the galaxy for over five years now! But they were certainly not native to her home, nor was their technology anything she'd seen prior the Trans-Galactic Republic's arrival. Most of their weapons and shields had been dismissed as physically impossible by scientists in her own government's military years ago, yet here they were.

"Were you coming?"

In the time Sam became absorbed in private thoughts, Sarah had apparently checked herself in and found out exactly where Dr. Caitlin Flanders could be located.

"Oh, yes. Of course. Well, I'll walk you up there, but this is not something that is my business in the least. That is, unless you want me to stay."

_And the paperwork I'll have to do if she does…_

Several hallways and turbolifts (minus awkward conversations) later, the two women stepped into Office C-101. Three floors up from the main floor, and one of the largest in its section.

Dr. Flanders stepped into view.

"You're right on time. Don't worry about keeping her waiting, we had a productive conversation."

Sarah had no idea who "her" referred to, while Sam winced internally. This could backfire big time, in a very literal way too if Sarah became too angry to control herself. Though her lightstaff had been left behind in her quarters, the woman clearly had other powers far in excess of Sam's own biotic abilities. And of course Dr. Flanders likely possessed minimal fighting prowess of any sort.

As a purple glow bathed the room, Jackie Jakobs took a deep breath and steadied herself, tightly gripping the bottom of her chair. She would do as Flanders suggested—remain calm, avoid getting into unproductive arguments, and focus on her own feelings rather than trying to accuse anyone else of anything even though there existed plenty of cause to do so.

Sarah, on the other hand, took one look at Jackie before turning back to Samantha Shepard. Her face said something along the lines of "Seriously?" as if she couldn't believe what a cheesy thing Sam just pulled. Still, Sarah's expression bore no malice or ill will, more bemusement than anything else.

The arranger of everything stepped out between the two she'd brought in. Sam elected to be selective with her plans when she'd convinced both to agree to see Flanders (or, really, any psychologist)—she avoided mentioning she'd deliberately set them both up to have a group session. Probably not standard operating procedure, in fact likely questionable both professionally and ethically. But she'd done it anyway.

"So you've obviously caught on by now that I planned this whole thing myself." She avoided discussing whether Flanders knew—she did, and she didn't like it. She went along anyway.

"I brought you here because I'd rather get everything out in the open now than let things fester, then snap in the middle of a mission. I realize things could become extremely uncomfortable, awkward, or downright unpleasant, and I'm willing to accept blame should this end badly. I've had my share of botched missions—this could hardly be worse. Though I ask for you both to be on your best behavior" (cringe—could she have sounded more mom-like?) "if you both end up mutually shoving me out the airlock, I survived that the last time…"

A small smile from Jackie. Stoic silence from Sarah.

"Shall we begin?"

Sam sat down and let Dr. Flanders take control. Not being a psychologist, psychiatrist, or indeed any sort of mental health specialist (rather than being one, she'd needed one several times) she had no idea what might happen next.

"There are several ways forward" began Flanders. "It depends on how you both want to handle this. We can either begin with conversation or if you are uncomfortable with that, there are ways to start the process through writing instead."

Sam's memory jogged. She'd delivered the package, now was her cue.

"I should go."

She stood to leave.

"If your presence is requested by and approved by both involved parties, you may stay. At your option" said Caitlin.

Jackie and Sarah looked at each other. Then Shepard. Then back at each other.

"She stays!" they blurted in unison.

"Ooookay then."

Sam sat back down.

"In that case, since we're deviating from what's considered standard therapeutic procedure in several different ways, please sign these consent forms."

Both women's datapads lit up, and they used the datapad's built-in thumbprint scanners to affix what amounted to a legally-binding signature.

"Samantha Shepard, you, too must affirm that you will abide by the procedures and policies set forth here. Though I expect your participation to be limited, legally you're on the same footing as those who are undergoing treatment due to your presence alone. I'd reinforce the notion that you cannot repeat what goes on during these sessions, but under the InterSpec framework you could technically kill us all and walk away without punishment, so…"

Sarah gave the agent a sideways look. _As if she could kill me. As if!_

After Sam's thumbprint registered, Flanders spoke again.

"As I said earlier, we can either start with a conversation or we can do it the silent way. Which do you prefer?"

"What exactly are we doing?" asked Jackie. "That might be relevant before anyone makes any decisions."

"Well, we already have ground rules that you agreed to when you accepted your appointment, so there's no need to go over those" replied Flanders. "What we need to do is set up expectations regarding what each individual hopes to obtain from these sessions, and work from there."

"I think we can talk about it without being uncivil." Jackie looked over at Sarah as if daring her to disagree.

"Yes. That." Sarah stared at the deck plating.

_Already the Siren is clamming up. My guess is she thinks Shepard might gang up on her given the opportunity, despite her affirmation that she wanted Sam here in the first place._

"Why don't you go first?" Dr. Flanders didn't say it, but given Jackie's status as the "wronged" party, she felt it best that the Jakobs heir set the stage.

"What I want to know is why" began the black-haired woman. She visibly shuddered before resuming her speech. "The men who used me, I know what they wanted. Hell, I know what I wanted when I descended into a pit of madness and despair—even though it was bad for me I knew what I was chasing. But this, why?"

Left unsaid: _Just what and who the hell are you?_ Jackie did not remain completely ignorant of Sarah's past—she'd heard plenty through various sources (mostly gossip). It made no sense to her. The woman went from destroying the galaxy to sitting meekly among mortals waiting her turn to speak.

Sarah stopped herself before answering the doctor's question. She'd wanted to say something along the lines of "You have absolutely no claim on 'why things happen to me' compared to my life story" but again managed to catch herself and operate within the expected parameters of the group she found herself in.

"I guess I want to know how I'm supposed to fit in here. I'm not even going to ask about the why's—this wasn't part of either plan, whether it be the Eridian Reformers or the Pure faction. What the Eridians made me for is literally all I've known my entire life! Well, until recently anyway."

Jackie thought darkly to herself. _You're not supposed to fit in here, you twisted bitch. And you never will. Not after the bloodbath you've taken! I even gave a little speech for you at one point to convince the skeptics—and this is how you repay me? Cunt!_

Such angry thoughts, she'd been assured prior to Sarah's arrival, were normal, healthy and perfectly okay to have. However, it was inadvisable to either speak them directly to the person(s) they targeted or bring them up during these group sessions as it would not be conducive to anything positive.

Dr. Caitlin Flanders spread her hands and palms wide. "I will admit that even in S2S, I never was prepared for anything like this."

Seeing blank stares from two of three others in the room, she briefly summarized the S2S program and what it resulted in—her dual degree in psychology and psychiatry with a level of cross-species mastery that spanned most sapients within the Trans-Galactic Republic for which sufficient medical literature existed at the time of her studies.

"In conclusion, dealing with borderline-deity-level beings was not in any textbook, lecture, or clinical."

Shepard raised her hand as if in class. Given go-ahead, she made an observation.

"You know, on some high level you're both very similar. I can feel myself being dragged toward the airlock, but let me finish before you throw me out. Both of you had everything, so to speak. Sarah had all the power in the galaxy, Jackie all the riches or material wants she could ever think of. Yet, despite this both of you ended up unhappy, confused, and found yourselves yearning for something else. Am I off-base here?"

"Maybe I should leave and let you handle this" joked Flanders. "You're more perceptive than you think—and as much as you resent playing soldier-therapist I can see why it happens."

"But you had the entire galaxy eating out of your hand" countered Jackie. "Are you any different?"

"Probably not. In fact, arguably, I was worse. When I decided to throw in my lot with the United Defense Command, I ended up sterilizing seven civilian worlds that were no military threat at all just because someone else told me to. In that sense, even Sarah's, um… Yeah. Even that had more justification than what I did."

The doctor pushed everyone back on topic. "As amusing as it is to compare stories in this fashion, it isn't helping anyone. Jackie, would you be willing to hear Sarah's explanation of her actions without interrupting, or should I take down statements separately?"

The Jakobs heir only gave a determined nod of assent.

"I wanted information. As I told you before during our mental link, I wished to know more about those whom I shall apparently fight with."

Sam recognized an incomplete answer when she heard one, having convinced dozens of individuals to offer up more information than they'd volunteered initially over the course of her many missions. So she pointed it out.

"There are much, much simpler ways of getting information, Sarah" she lectured. "Especially ways that don't involve forcing your way into someone's head. The Chief tells me he actually booted you out when you tried to dig in _his_ head."

"It's not the same" she responded in kind. "You wouldn't understand. Really, you wouldn't understand how much I don't understand."

"I don't think I've ever heard anyone use that word so many times in one sentence."

Dr. Flanders cut in. "Sarah, what don't you understand?"

Jackie sat quietly, seething at the thought that these people might excuse Sarah's behavior simply because she was an alien from another dimension.

_Then again, understanding why something happened isn't the same as condoning it_ she scolded herself.

"These… I think they're called 'emotions' based on my reading" replied the Siren. "During the _Revenant_ mission, I experienced something new. It made me want to kill things for a reason other than my orders or fervor for the Mantle."

Normally glowing a faint lavender, Sarah changed to a very reddish hue.

"Uh-oh…"

Caitlin turned to Sam. "What?"

"The last time she was this color came right after the, um, encounter she had with Jackie…"

Recalling the experience Jackie forced her to live through, Sarah lost control. When she returned to her senses, she noticed Jackie, Shepard, and Flanders cowering in a corner. Flanders' desk lay on its side, several drawers smashed and pulled out. Dried blood coated parts of it, though being a Siren whatever wounds resulting from this action had already disappeared. Two chairs had their metal legs twisted together, and a table covered with datapads now had…pieces of datapads. Flanders' chair stuck out of the ceiling.

"Well" remarked Flanders, cheerful-sounding despite her office being trashed, "that was quite the outburst."

"The Eridians, the Forebears, whatever you call them—they never prepared me for this. As a matter of fact, I'm beginning to suspect they did the exact opposite…"

"Well" suggested Shepard, "if you're going to create a very powerful being to perform certain galaxy-sized tasks, I suppose removing emotions and feelings from that being's logic would be beneficial, lest they acquire some kind of attachment or ethos that ran counter to the being's original purpose. I have had to do this to myself on a much smaller scale during my years with the Alliance and as a Spectre."

"Not to butt in" added Jackie with the pretense of making herself a part of the conversation in the most obvious way possible anyway, "but what the hell does this have to do with her mind-raping me?"

"Imagine you have never tasted anything before. You have consumed food because you require nutrients, but taste never mattered because you couldn't process it. Then, all of the sudden, you acquire the ability to handle this additional dimension of food. What do you think would happen?"

"If it were me, I'd eat everything in sight!" Sam did an impression of shoveling food into her mouth.

"Exactly. And what would happen to your overall mass as a result?"

"You'd get fat" said Jackie matter-of-factly.

"Now put yourself back to being unable to taste anything. Gain a sense of taste and let your first meal be whatever your absolute favorite food is, or would be once you have taste again…"

Shepard licked her lips. "Pizza!"

"My point is, the effect of experiencing a new sensation for the first time would be magnified. Which is what I think happened here, if indeed it is true that the Eridians deliberately created Sarah with as few emotions as possible other than possibly those that enhanced her mission."

Flanders waited for someone else to speak.

"So she went nuts from Jackie's past experiences?"

Jackie pouted in the corner.

"If I had emotions before, it was only that which reinforced my desire to perform my mission as assigned. For example, there were good feelings from destroying the Flood…"

_Sounds like Jack. Conditioned to fight through chemicals, associating pleasure with destruction. Assuming she knows what "pleasure" is, anyway._

The Jakobs heir's control cracked. "Did it feel good to force me to relive the worst part of my life?"

"I seem to have destroyed your office" said Sarah pensively as if commenting on an unexpected change. Waving her hands, she put as much as possible back where it belonged, returning Flanders' desk to an upright position, removing a chair from the ceiling, and disentangling two other pieces of furniture from each other.

"If I am to understand these emotions, these feelings, things other than simply following orders, I must experience them as closely as possible. Your memories were something else. It was…the opposite of good!"

"Oh, and I suppose since you're the all-powerful universe-altering goddess, if you fuck up anyone else in your lust for information, it doesn't mean anything."

Jackie had more and more trouble keeping herself calm. Sarah's responses were maddeningly devoid of any humanity, seemingly uncaring of others' feelings.

"And I think that's enough for now" called out Dr. Flanders. "Things are heading in a detrimental direction, not the least of which is this sticky spot on my desk."

Taking her words as a dismissal, Sarah strode off toward her quarters, before sheepishly realizing she had no idea how to get there from here and lacked sufficient knowledge to teleport herself. A furious Jackie stormed away.

"That…didn't go well."

Sam looked down. She'd hoped against hope the rift between two members of the team would have started to heal, but if anything the wound grew wider and more inflamed instead.

"If you want to learn about emotions, Sarah, you're going to have to start understanding how your actions affect others."

Shepard couldn't believe she had to speak as if Sarah were a five-year-old caught stealing out of another child's lunchbox, but based on all available evidence, the Siren might actually have the emotional capacity of a child, if even that much.

"I do understand that now, but at the same time I wonder why I have to care. Or indeed why you care. You were going on and on about mission first. To me, being better able to handle these changes in mental state would enhance my value to the mission. I believe I offer more value than that Jackie woman ever will, so why should my development be hindered?"

"First off, the 'mission first' is a turian cultural construction, not human. Last I checked, we're human" replied Shepard sternly. "Second, let me guess: the Eridians told you might makes right."

"Inasmuch as those who have the most to offer should be afforded the most freedom within which they can make those contributions, absolutely."

Sam sighed loudly. She did _not_ look forward to trying to get information about Eridian culture out of Patricia Tannis again.

"Here's a set of directions to get you back to your area of the ship. There's someone I need to see."

Leaving Sarah behind, the soldier-therapist left in search of a brilliant-if-socially-inept scientist whose understanding of Eridian culture rated second to none.


	68. Resistance

**Chapter 67 – Resistance**

In groups of four, Aria's irregular army headed into what an engineer named Neil called "the very definition of Hell, regardless of what religion you belong to." He, along with his battle-buddy Greg, Susan the Fury, and squad machine gunner Wayne Moore (with his Typhoon) were assigned the station's outer ring.

"Do you really think we're going to accomplish anything?" groused Wayne, letting his machine gun fall to his side.

"He just does that to show off" whispered Greg to Neil. "I mean, if you aren't wearing that eezo-actuated walking-tank armor, no way you could just casually carry an N7 Typhoon!"

"Would you rather just sit here and watch the seat of our government turn into this?" demanded Neil Edison while stomping a heavy boot on Flood biomass. "Even if it amounts to exactly nothing, I'd rather go down fighting!"

"If you say so" replied Susan Rizzi, though anyone could tell her heart was not in it.

"Well, one thing's for sure. We're not going to find spare thermal clips laying around everywhere. Gimme your gun!"

Neil made a move for Wayne's support weapon.

"You are _not_ touching Vera!" shot back Moore.

"Would you rather run out of heatsinks?" taunted Edison. "This isn't gonna be Alliance regs—modding weapons to use old-style automatic cooling is perfectly acceptable given the circumstances!"

Reluctantly, the N7 Destroyer relinquished his most prized possession, watching with disdain as his compatriot did what he called "engineer things."

"Now, you don't get as many shots before you have to stop firing—"

"Seriously? You managed to make this gun even more annoying? It already consumes clips at double the rate once it spins up!" Wayne slapped his own head with the palm of a hand.

"—you don't need those thermal sinks though. Just let it cool on its own" finished Neil.

"A machine gun with what amounts to fifty shots between cooldowns is pretty useless" added Susan.

"Not if it doesn't run on something we won't be able to easily obtain" countered Greg Manchin. "I'd take that over a useless paperweight because I'm not gonna take a bet on emergency rations being fully stocked aboard a pirate space station!"

"At least we all have these high-output incendiary mods." Susan had to find something positive, or else she'd go mad. Neil finished modifying Wayne's weapon and moved on to each squadmate's load-out in turn. Once he completed his changes, no weapon required ejecting thermal sinks—just a cooldown period.

An increase in Flood biomass let the quartet known they'd moved from the slightly-safer-zone to the definitely-not-safe-zone.

"Does she want us to start clearing the walls first, or what?"

"Greg, I have no idea. My best guess is someone finds the source of this filth, destroys it, _then_ we clean up what's left."

Yelling wildly, Wayne let loose with a burst from his Typhoon. Though its incendiary payload caused significant amounts of Flood growth to crisp and wither, to everyone's dismay the invasive coating returned so quickly its growth could be observed with an unaided eye.

"Well, we know what's not going to work then…"

Susan flipped on her annihilation field. All Flood within began to disintegrate, and while it grew back as she moved, anything near her remained free of unwanted growth.

Groans and thumps alerted the group to the presence of Flood-ified krogan. Shambling and shuffling, the bulky creatures emerged from doorways further down the hall.

"Take 'em out!" bellowed Manchin, his squad-commander persona surfacing. A massive barrage of weapon fire took down one, but it of course exploded. This agitated another, also exploding. Kinetic barrier readouts indicated small, isolated impacts that failed to penetrate defenses.

"If your barriers drop, you are dead" roared Manchin. "Keep back, don't let any of them touch you!"

The final former krogan had its legs scythed off by Moore's squad support gun. The creature's detonation mirrored the others.

"No casualties! Today, no N7 dies. Give them nothing, but take from them everything! Who's with me?"

Even dour Susan got swept up in the next minute of chanting, whooping, and hollering.

"Now, down to business."

Greg used his omnitool to sketch out a basic plan for scouring the station's edges. As demonstrated earlier, no point existed in trying to clear Flood until whatever drove its growth was destroyed. Thus, trying to find the source became paramount.

"My guess is that whatever _thing _is infesting this station lives in the heart, not the perimeter. Still, maybe it has brain stems or tentacles or eyes that we can shoot out here."

Neil laughed. "Greg, have you been watching too many omnivids again?"

"And if I have?" countered the soldier. "If it helps us, who cares?"

"But what if something you think is going to happen because of 'Horrors of the Rachni VII' is the exact opposite of what _really_ happens, and it gets us all killed?" asked Susan playfully. "Then what?"

"Very funny, Susan. I wasn't planning on following _everything_ from the omnivids. Besides, we're not the only team on this mission. Someone else may hit the heart before we do."

As the team walked, a Fury field created a mobile "clean" area in which no Flood could grow. Thus far, the entire exercise remained quite boring once past Flood-krogan as nothing yet attacked them.

"We're coming up on a vorcha district. Stay sharp!"

Distinct hisses and growls immediately reinforced Greg's point. They'd been briefed on "slashers" through galaxy-wide intelligence disseminated shortly before most everyone who could leave did. Normal vorcha drew complaints of blight and underdevelopment. Vorcha taken by the Flood made most people wish for the blight instead. At least blights didn't leave one bleeding out of a dozen open wounds while one's body turned into a twisted mass of Flood biomass.

Given that, no encouragement to mount a spirited defense was required. Weapons fired until they overheated. At that point, Susan's biotics, Neil's overloads, and Wayne's missile launcher took over until cooling periods expired.

"Next time, let's try coordinating our fire" lectured Manchin. "If we get surrounded again and can't hold them off with biotics, missiles, and overloads long enough for our weapons to cool, we're going down fast."

Other groups had different problems. An N7 Demolisher engineer kept a batarian, a turian, and a regular Systems Alliance soldier supplied with thermal sinks through her pylon. However, they ran smack into Flood-elcor which resulted in the batarian's death.

Despite interspecies history, the three survivors were relatively torn over Balaam's passing.

"It didn't matter that our governments told us to detest each other" said Mel ("call me Melissa again and I'll shove a grenade up your ass") Hornby. "He always made good use of converting my grenades into more kills."

"And kept me on my feet. Never failed to revive me properly!" added Doug Austen.

"Doubters say nothing good ever came of cross-species drilling, I say different" finished Phinnus Kerictus. "Mission first!"

"And for some brilliant fucking reason, our _mission_ is to waltz straight into the middle of this _hellhole._ Let's go!"

"Not only does she charge straight into a bar to see if they have ryncol, she also does this" whispered Doug to Phinnus.

"Not the most tactical approach, I'll admit" he replied.

Hornby thundered down a corridor leading to one of Omega's service shafts. It wasn't the primary, but accessing this freight elevator would enable the trio to reach the station's central core.

"Aria's team is supposed to be on the opposite side, we'll meet in the middle" said Mel. "If there weren't a war on, I wonder if Aria…"

"Stow it, Mel!" snapped Doug. "You can fantasize about asari later. Right now, we need to get rid of this growth all over the station!"

"For all we know, the parts we need to kill are going to be somewhere we aren't" sighed Phinnus. "Usually, assignments have better briefings!"

Panicked transmissions from the third team, consisting of two Alliance soldiers, a turian, and an N7 Shadow cut into everyone's headsets.

"The turian was taken!" screeched the Shadow. "Gerard is dead, and Creevey is wounded!"

Annoyed at having the all-squad channel she'd specifically set up for what she thought was one-way use carry a voice other than hers, Aria let her displeasure show.

"Did I ask for a mission report? Do you think I want to hear about your failures, Miss Davenport?"

"I just thought you'd like to know that some areas of this station are far more dangerous than others." Jane knew antagonizing the asari wouldn't end well, but she wasn't about to keep silent when the crime boss' orders killed her entire unit.

"Well we know what to stay out of, then. If you can make it to the rendezvous point, great. If not, well, someone else gets your share."

Davenport muted herself before letting loose a string of angry words. "That heartless, self-centered, smug blue bitch!"

It went without saying that the morale among other squads decreased notably after that.

[…]

Though Senator Blate acquiesced to a request for closed-session in order to review Republic Intelligence Service contracts with the Garthmot Scientific Center (informally called "Garthmot Laboratory"), he and his compatriots received precious little in the way of actual details about the work in question.

"As I said" insisted David Vance, having been hauled before the Intelligence Committee, "we are conducting research that will aid us in fighting the Infection. Further discussion of these activities may lead to compromise of them."

_If the rest of the galaxy knew what we were doing, we'd be shut down and executed_ he thought. _But once we send this little Infection packing, no one will care how we did it._

"The only documents you have furnished confirm that the contracts exist" countered Senator Ham'Del. "We want specifics!"

"It would take an act of the Senate to unseal these records" replied the Director. "Need I remind you that it was not RISE but this body who wrote the rules stipulating under what circumstances Alpha-One level classified information may be disseminated?"

Karshabka's roaring translated roughly to "And this is what happens when rubber-stamp bills are passed without anyone bothering to read them!"

"Indeed." If it weren't for decorum or the small problem of potentially being assassinated, Glia would've already strangled the information she wanted out of the smug bureaucrat. Instead, she attempted to manipulate him into releasing more information than he intended, but so far remained unsuccessful. Whatever was going on certainly involved large sums of money going to very suspicious accounts labeled "technical assistance." From who it did not say, though it did note that some were for "shipping and delivery" while other payments fell under "requisitions" of various "scientifically-necessary materials." Maddeningly vague, the whole lot!

In a concession, Director Vance admitted that under Senatorial privilege granted by being members of the Intelligence Committee, those in the room did have a right to inspect certain facilities involved in the process currently under debate. Of course, he had zero intention of letting them see _everything_, but he figured if he showed them enough it might deflate the crazier rumors flying around the HoloNet—mainly that RISE was paying smugglers to deliver sapient beings on which Infection experiments were being conducted. After all, deny an ugly allegation too loudly and the only affect is to lend credence to those pointing it out whether it is true or not.

"We will turn over shipping manifests as you requested, also, but redacting them properly will take time."

Jan Steen shed her skepticism of Infected threats and now felt quite the opposite—in favor of anything and everything that might slow it down before it reached her homeworld. Typically for a Core Worlder (Coruscanti) that meant if half the rest of the galaxy had to be lit on fire to keep her district clean, so be it. She agreed with Blate that some investigation had to be performed if only to put disgusting tales into a black hole where they belonged.

"You have two weeks. You know the law" she intoned.

"Yes, I do" replied Vance haughtily. He had little confidence in the Senate's ability to accomplish much of anything—throughout history the best that could be said about centralized galactic governments probably was that they were benevolent if ineffective and corrupt. That was precisely why agencies such as the Republic Intelligence Service existed—to cut through the bureaucratic nightmares that otherwise strangled attempts to accomplish anything worthy of note. He had no qualms about taunting the Senators for (indirectly) locking themselves out of the very information they sought.

After what all called a relatively useless meeting, Ham'Del huddled with Karshabka and Steen. Though neither supported the GREAT Act ("Don't you even…" wagged the Human as her Bothan colleague approached) both were suspicious enough of the intelligence service that they agreed to cosponsor a bill that would force RISE to hand over the information sought by the committee. Karshabka suggested using the courts, however that would require proof of "deliberate ill intent" on the part of the Republic Intelligence Service.

It was all in how the Senate structured classified information: out of fear that galactic secrets would leak, the body imposed tight regulations on even its own members. This wasn't done without reason as more than one Senatorial office mysteriously leaked information advantageous to their own side or disadvantageous to an opponent come election time. Credits moved many minds, much to the dismay of those who sought to keep Alpha-level information away from the HoloNet or press conferences. Such leaks were how the "Curator" project hit the public sphere before it was supposed to, creating calls from many Senators that over-militarization was unnecessarily draining the budget.

That dealings in the Home Galaxy relied disturbingly often on "This only happens if no one finds out the details" disgusted a great many, except when it was in their own interests to continue the status quo. Though a vast majority of Senators would loudly decry "excessive secrecy," they would immediately turn around and defend their own pet projects as "justifiable concealment from unscrupulous interests."

Certain unscrupulous interests finally broke into open debate among themselves over a long-simmering issue. Jack Johnson openly admitted to rallying less-savory members of the shady and criminal underworld on behalf of "Humans everywhere whose interests are being ignored by this administration as the Infection spreads through Human-controlled galaxies."

His rival, John Jackson, had none of it. "Were our dealings with the Republic Intelligence Service not enough? This was all about minimizing intervention while still helping Humans, and now you renege on the agreement?"

"It is clear that RISE is moving too slowly" insisted Kayla Verdansky. "We must take more aggressive action lest this Infection sneak its way into these very chambers."

Scarlett DeWinter rolled her eyes at her colleague's comment. "If we acted every time you stirred up the pot of fear, we'd be living in a Deep Core bunker by now!"

"Maybe we should be!" shot back Verdansky.

All-Brother Leonard Cortlandt finally made an opinion on the subject public. "We must not act rashly, nor can we take any action that will upset the balance our dear friend Scarlett established with the aid of savvy Senators. Our legitimacy stems from an image of exactly the opposite of what we now do in secret. My sources indicate that the Intelligence Committee is starting to poke around at the Republic Intelligence Service's contracts. Our involvement may be exposed."

"But how much of it?" challenged Verdansky. "It's not like anyone outside this group can reliably say we knowingly broke our own rules to supply certain items to the Republic Intelligence Service."

"So we stay the course, then" suggested Roscoe Woodfield. "Besides, we haven't used the 'rogue agent' defense in a long time—desperate times bring desperate measures and some of our subsidiaries aren't following the expected decorum."

"I don't agree" objected Marvin McKee. "Though I am not convinced this is a Humans-versus-everyone-else issue the way certain others have made it out to be, it could be an 'all-intelligent-life-versus-extinction.' And if that's the case, we should surely contribute somehow to any efforts seeking to halt the scourge."

"And how would you do that?" Cortlandt didn't necessarily think McKee wrong, but platitudes alone weren't going to stop the Infection.

"I don't know" admitted Marvin. "Given that most actions being taken right now are classified and/or government-backed, there isn't much that comes to mind outside what we're doing, assuming we're okay with breaking our own covenant."

"I suppose we should just out and have the debate" groused Jack Johnson. "Since we've been tiptoeing around it ever since this all started."

"Before this all started" corrected Scarlett DeWinter. "Remember the whole reason for my Senatorial outreach…"

"Ensure none of this is recorded" ordered Cortlandt to a nearby guard. "Then let us begin."

[…]

Sarah found herself cornered by Flanders before she could follow Shepard's instructions on how to return to her quarters from her current position.

"If you are going to continue living among us, there are some things you must understand. I cannot force you to follow these conventions or make you agree with them, but by your own admission you have much learning to do."

Sarah's original Eridian Reform-infused personality would have swiped the diminutive woman aside, smashing her into a paste after which the Siren would claim _Ultimatum_ for herself. When in doubt regarding the Mantle's mandates of defending life from what here had the name Flood, escalate until either herself or the threat were destroyed.

That this interpretation of the Mantle from another perspective was wholly invalid held her back. The Pure faction restored Sarah's original persona through some technology exceeding any non-Eridian's understanding. That much Flanders knew from her case files on the Siren. However, this restoration apparently came with an unspoken risk—a tide of powerful emotions coupled with universe-bending abilities made for a very dangerous person.

"Can you explain to me why Jackie matters at all?" asked Sarah bluntly. "By all accounts, her usefulness has ended now that her equations have been incorporated into these new faster-than-light engines."

Instead of answering her patient's question, Flanders turned the conversation in a different direction.

"Why do I matter? Surely, it would not be beyond your capabilities to kill me and leave this office—let neither of us operate under the false assumption I can actually compel you to remain here."

"You will aid me in the mission of stopping the Flood. Since my abilities have become unstable, you will help me determine why that is and put an end to it."

_She declares only the strong shall rule, then uses and discards others. This will get interesting._

Samantha Shepard obtained similar information from Patricia Tannis.

"As I've doubtlessly told you several times by now, the Eridian society revealed in these artifacts had strong divisions by class. The highest, the Ecumene, were religious leaders who set policy for virtually the entire species, which is why a schism within that group has apparently led us to the current situation."

"Were, or are?" questioned Sam. "They still exist, remember?"

Tannis continued as if Sam had not spoken.

"The highest levels of society took their 'Guiding Hands' mantra in duplicate—the first level was to shepherd more primitive species and the second revolved around benevolent protection of lesser-ranked Eridians."

"What if the people these Ecumene were protecting didn't like what their leaders were doing?"

"Much as I would disregard questionable critiques leveled by my intellectual inferiors, the Ecumene were in complete control of Eridian civilization. They would permit debate amongst themselves, and if necessary intervene in issues pertaining to the lower classes as final judges. However, they would not tolerate dissension from below."

"Then why the hell would these high-and-mighty decide to talk to us, the little mice in the corner?" blurted Sam. "While I was out of action, a whole team took a ship to Pandora! You were there!"

"This is part of the very reason for the schism! It is my professional opinion that not only do the Reformers and Purists differ on their interpretation of the Mantle, but they also diverge on what, if any deference should be shown to the lesser races. I was there, and I do recall one of these Purists making statements affirming their support for self-defense. Though no comment was made regarding the position of the Reformers, I infer that they are not so benevolent."

"And the creation of a souped-up Siren would definitely not be respectful of self-determination" added Shepard. "I mean, it could be if she, you know, asked us what we wanted to do or how we could help. Just vaporizing us, not so much."

"Based on what you have described to me about this Sarah, it appears the Reformers are both controlling and manipulative. In their efforts to subvert upholding the Mantle of Responsibility, they created entire sapient races, set civilizations against each other, and indeed forcibly altered the mind of their Selfless Servant of the Mantle."

"I suppose even the Pure faction isn't free from manipulation though" mused Sam. "He, she, or it did admit to Garrus and company that the Federated Cluster Union and Local Cluster Council were in fact fabrications."

"Yes. But would we as a wider society have been able to determine this on our own? I might, with sufficient materials and time, have come up with a theory were I allowed to approach these purported meetings that happened every once and again, however, even my intellect would have had no reason to venture into thinking these authorities were entirely creations of a more advanced race without some suggestion."

"You know, I support freedom for all species, but I now see why the Reformers were so eager to make sure Sarah never disobeyed them again. It seems experiencing emotions or feelings tends to tip her over the edge."

Tannis' eyes lit up in recognition of a pattern. "When the Selfless Servant was first awoken, she discovered her creators had, by their own definition which they'd given her, violated the Mantle of Responsibility in ways that pushed her toward action. She experienced emotions which drove her into a rampage. She killed many Reformers and destroyed much of their scientific work as incompatible with the Mantle. The vision the Eridians shared with us made sure to emphasize her hatred."

"So if emotions were the problem…" A realization dawned on Shepard. "Then it makes perfect sense if you're a bunch of power-mad control freaks to deny your creation that which drove it to rebel."

Not knowing Sarah was still there, Shepard commed Flanders.

"…completely unjustifiable" finished the psychologist in response to Sarah's question. "Normally, I don't take holos during sessions but also, Samantha Shepard rarely calls. Flanders here."

"Flanders! You're not going to believe what I just found out from Tannis!"

"Well, if it confirms my findings from my discussions with Sarah, that would be nice."

"And what are those findings?"

"Well, she has been conditioned to believe that the strongest should rule. Furthermore, those who have the greatest ability to resolve problems should be allowed maximum freedom to pursue whatever solutions they desire, even if those suggestions harm others. So long as those who are harmed have less of a claim to be able to solve that problem, her understanding is that there is no issue with trampling on others."

"Sounds quite a bit like what Tannis was just saying down here. The group that created her were a bunch of devious control freaks who wanted to do everything possible to get themselves out of a duty they disdained. So the Reformers manipulated events on a cosmic scale…"

"You're going to have to catch me up on that. Again, celestial beings were not covered in S2S."

"Basically, what I'm saying is that things are starting to fit together now. Sarah's attitude, her 'kill everything that gets in my way and leave me to do whatever I want' mode of operation, the change of heart… All of this is directly related to the Eridians!"

"She's sitting right here if you want to talk to her" offered Flanders, fully aware Sam didn't know until this very moment that the person under discussion was also present.

"Uhh, no thanks, I just needed to let you know about my latest findings." Sam quickly disconnected.

_Why the hell is that Siren still hanging around Flanders' office? I gave her a map to get herself back to her quarters…_

[…]

"I wanted to get you all together to discuss an idea that Dr. Filner mentioned to me. I did tell him" (Cortana sounded slightly exasperated) "that some parts of his suggestion were impractical, but at the same time if someone finds a way to make these things work it could be the solution we are looking for. Really, this time."

Tali gave the hologram a stink-eye from behind her helmet. Technically, according to therapy charts, she was supposed to be outside her suit at least half the day by now, but in a sense she didn't want to be. Strange how yearning for something for so long, then having it dropped in your lap made you want it less.

"Well, as long as it isn't lame-o" said Gaige. "Because boring designs suck."

Kevin Filner enthusiastically explained his concept for "Flood-eating" ships, only to earn skeptical stares from both top engineers.

"And if I could just build an entire artificial homeworld, the whole Flotilla could move in" huffed Tali. "Great idea, but so were a lot of things that didn't end up working out."

"Yeah" added Gaige. "For starts, does anyone even know how to build a reactor like the one you're suggesting?"

"Never mind the reactor" continued Tali. "Just how big would a ship like this be? Where would it be built?"

Filner had an easy answer for the second half of Tali's question. "Assuming the Flood surrounding this ship can either be ignored or fought off, remember that Jackie woman dragged some huge digistructor units in. If we know what to program them to build, creating the ship would be easy!"

"Okay, so let's say we manage to build a flying barge. What guns do we put on it? Remember, we can't rely on turbolasers and Tibanna gas."

Gaige cut in before the doctor could answer Tali. "I just did some mental math here. In order to get a reaction like that going, you're going to need something big to kick-start it. Like, really big."

"I'm a theoretical physicist. Not an engineer. That's why I brought it to you two."

Tali turned to Gaige. "Is it just me, or are we the Samantha Shepards of starship design?"

Gaige gave her quarian friend a confused look before the analogy dawned on her. "Kinda feels like it, yes."

"I mean, it's a great idea in theory. But even if we somehow solve all these issues, can digistruction build it fast enough? We've all seen the more complicated things get, the slower it goes. Even if it is quicker than doing things the usual way."

"I think you're going to need more than one." Cortana rejoined the conversation, having facilitated it. "A single ship would have to be astronomically powerful to rid entire galaxies of Flood. Even where I am from, intergalactic-stage Flood is something we've only looked at in theory. And trust me, the results are terrifying."

"Having your whole galaxy taken from you is pretty bad, I'll agree" said Tali. "But I think we ought to at least give this a shot. What is there to lose?"

"Flushing lots of resources into nothing" replied Gaige. "Not that Cortana would know anything about that…"

The AI hid an embarrassed look. It seemed no one would ever let her forget the whole "Nova Vita wasn't ever really supposed to be built" thing. Even though it had a purpose, it just wasn't the purpose everyone expected.

Gaige pulled up her own design for that very project. "I wonder what I could start doing with this…"

Tali waved it away. "Let's try to start smaller, Gaige. That design relies on a hypermatter reactor for starters, which we don't have the fuel for. Also, if these ships are supposed to be able to grow themselves, there's no reason to make them huge. Build them large enough to be capable of fighting the Flood, then have them clean up the battlefield mess afterward and use that to enlarge themselves. A bunch of smaller ships would be faster to deploy than one large vessel."

"So, you're saying this isn't completely crackpot?" asked Kevin hopefully.

"Yeah. It's not totally crazy. Just 90% crazy" replied the quarian. "We'll give it a look, see what we can shake up. Not like I had much to do this afternoon anyway…"

[…]

Senator Glia Ham'Del couldn't have asked for better publicity if she tried. Though at first it was only three Senators besides herself (Goodner, Ekiam, Dusat) who has prominent "RISING CORRUPTION" sections on their HoloNet sites, the specificities presented meant a lot more converts than the usual anti-RISE rabble. Sure, everyone and their mother heard yet another accusation that RISE was putting things in the water supply, conspiring to install checkpoints at Outer Rim spaceports to screen for blasters, or snatched children from their beds, replacing them with clones. However, other than inflammatory content, no recent stone hurled in the direction of the Republic Intelligence Service had any significant backing aside from those already thrown (mainly the subverting-the-military thing). This one possessed page after page of detailed notes, straight from a source with "direct knowledge" who was kept nameless to induce the production of additional documents. That said, the phrase "devil's in the details" emerged with a vengeance.

"So what if they're just targeting Humans?" wrote one editorial in _Sapient News Daily_, a publication mostly dedicated to issues facing non-Human species in the galaxy. "Why should we care? There are too many Humans as-is!"

The editorial saw a retraction in less than twenty-four standard hours as being in "ill-taste."

Nevertheless, racial rifts thought closed opened all over again. If the Republic Intelligence Service, run by the mostly-Human-centric government, wished to experiment on their fellow Humans (especially those already sentenced to death) why should anyone else say anything? Some non-Humans even supported doing nothing as a matter of "respecting internal Human affairs."

That Human-written laws intervened harshly in non-Human affairs since time immaterial inevitably came up. "Why is it that we leave them alone when they do something horrible from our point of view, but when we offend their point of view they bring in two cruisers and a battalion to 'sort things out?'"

Some groups darkly hinted despite the Human-centric notion of these questionable activities, "the benefits of these activities should not be restricted to Humans alone."

"These people, they say it's not their concern because only Humans are being used as animals in a lab, yet as soon as something viable comes out they want a piece? Really?" raged a pundit on Galaxy News Network. "That's gotta take some serious chops to make statements like that."

Still, in spite of interspecies tensions the general public's bubble of blithe support for all things Republic Intelligence Service seemed ready to pop.

"Parsec wide, kilometer deep" laughed Ham'Del to herself as she scrolled through the news on her personal terminal. Headline after headline painted a grim picture of a very sudden change in the political winds from RISE's view. Instead of accepting that the Republic Intelligence Service had somehow "seen it all coming" as had been claimed by Director Vance more than once, the press turned on RISE, savaging them in every way possible.

_RISE Alleged to Infect Subjects with Infection; Proof Inside_

_Subje-GATE: Intelligence Service Conducts Sick Science!_

_Questionable Activities from Intelligence Arm Revolving Around Infection Tests_

_Infected! RISE Tell-All Shows Dirty Laundry_

_Distrust of Intelligence Service on the Rise_

Even with all the terrible puns and wordplay, Ham'Del saw a theme throughout most of the coverage: "People were happy to let RISE do whatever it wanted until they had to hear about it."

"These accusations are deeply troubling. We find the lack of ethics behind this so-called science disturbing" wrote the editorial board of Coruscant Holo. "That we are a civilized society is precisely why we cannot tolerate this course of action even if it would be beneficial. The quick and easy path may look tempting now, but it will lead us to a darkness we have not seen in centuries or more."

Within a week, opinion polls shifted. No longer did RISE have landslide support among the general public—it seemed now that the agency had been caught blatantly lying about not conducting the very experiments they'd just been exposed for, the hypothesis put forward by Vance of "We knew it!" no longer held much credence with the citizenry at large either. "I'd trust Corellians playing sabacc in the dark over this!" cracked one late-night comedian. Whether all this could actually be translated into a political gain was anyone's guess. Opinion polls showed strong feelings on many issues, yet the Home Galaxy's Senate often voted the exact opposite way to no ill effect on their re-election chances. Upcoming campaign finance reports might give a better hint—if donations to Republic Intelligence Service skeptics spiked, it could be a bellwether of a broader trend.

Scarlett DeWinter set up an anonymous transfer to send ten thousand credits to the accounts of a certain Senator. Such donations were illegal, of course—so a name would be attached. Just not hers.

Millions of light-years away, President David Bishop put in an angry holo to all other Trans-Galactic Republic members demanding a conference of all galactic executives.

"We are being overrun" he hissed through grated teeth to Inyri Garnik (Beta), Kaia Kolzaar (Omicron), and Lassiter Vanukar (Kappa). "And yet, Alpha delays! The Infection has made travel anywhere further than the Delta Mid Rim impossible. These _Prosecutors_ would almost be worth more as scrap!"

"At least you have more than one" sniffed Journeyman Lassiter Vanukar. "We have a _Prosecutor_ as our flagship—escorted by vessels even older than it!"

This silenced Bishop for a short time. He'd even said it before himself when arguing with that intractable fool Charles Day—"At least we're not Gamma!" He had no idea that the central government had in fact deployed ships to the nominally "off-limits" Gamma group of galaxies.

Project Longbow kicked off centuries ago to see how far away the Trans-Galactic Republic could spread its (benign economic and cultural) influence. Though the endeavor rated a success by any means, it hadn't occurred to anyone that at some point the Trans-Galactic Republic might have to exert effort to hold on to its far-flung possession.

Kappa, a galaxy chosen for two very specific reasons, rated highly on economics and development but very low on any ability to protect itself. First, every scan even from a billion light years away indicated a galaxy flush with resources unexploited by any sapient life. As to why—well, simply ask any stellar anthropologist.

"It is in the nature of intelligent life to destroy itself" they would say. "The universe is a vast place, and though the general probability of intelligent life _arising_ is relatively high, that this new species _survives_ is an entirely different question altogether."

Thus, cartographers located a galaxy which emitted no indications of successful faster-than-light travel. Inevitably, ethicists debated over whether it would be acceptable for a peaceful society like the Trans-Galactic Republic to move into a galaxy simply based on the fact that no technologically-competent competition existed ("There might be humanoids in caves!"), but the project moved ahead anyway once it was pointed out that the Trans-Galactic Republic's "conditional non-interference" clause forbade interaction unless the other party initiated first contact. Longbow forces would simply disguise their presence—if there were any "humanoids in caves" they would be none the wiser to alien presences.

Back then, the existence of super-galactic governments beyond the Trans-Galactic Republic itself was still accepted as truth (that the Eridians made the whole thing up already disseminated throughout the Home Galaxy in the present, though as with any similarly-extraordinary claim many disbelieved it). No censures or attempted deterrence was received from the Local Cluster Council or Federated Cluster Union, so the Trans-Galactic Republic proceeded with its extreme-distance colonization plans.

As an "economic galaxy," this new member to be called Kappa would not be fortified or set up with a standing military. Its success is part of what drove de-militarization in the Home Galaxy, ultimately culminating in the current situation. Nor did industry go out of its way to create anything similar to the "Big Yards" back home capable of producing large warships. Such policies ended up coming back to haunt in the most unpleasant way as Kappa held only minimal self-defense assets at the moment.

Thus far, said assets lay unused, though by decree of the Colonial Congress they were reactivated from standby.

"We don't need a history lesson, Vanukar" sighed Bishop. "What we need is a way to convince those Alpha snotballs that everyone else needs help!"

Through her translator, Kaia Kolzaar indicated that her home of Omicron had seen its first Infection agents too.

"At least we have some modern starships" she finished.

"Fat lot of good that will do" replied Inyri Garnik. "You've seen the reports—the Infection's cruisers tear through _Curators_ like they're made out of wet flimsicloth!"

"Which is why RISE says it's a good idea to build more Star Dreadnaughts" huffed Bishop. "Well, technically Day insists it's Spacelane Protection, but we all know by this point that the intelligence service is running everything…"

Other galactic leaders from remaining member galaxies chimed in. They would formulate a report and present it to Charles Day. If the Executive Minister continued to be so deliberately obtuse, the remaining members of the Trans-Galactic Republic might consider taking things into their own hands.

[…]

The areas once patrolled by "Deb" and other Jakobs clones rapidly degenerated into a pit full of bandits, blood, and dead bodies.

"Pretty normal for Pandora" read a report sent to Bill Arkansas Jakobs.

The Chairman almost hurled said report across the room.

"We have a galaxy that could be ours. We could be grinding Hyperion into dust right now. Instead, we are stuck fighting with an extra-galactic monstrosity and our S&amp;S allies seem to have decided that fighting is not on the list for today!" he thundered. "Get me Slade Stevens. I want to know what the hell is going on!"

Fuming over yet another press release from Stevens' company calling into question "the motivations of an extremely selfish, inward-looking corporation seeking to take advantage of a dire situation in order to consolidate its own power," Bill conceded (but only to himself) that the man had a point.

Still, why pick now? Most of the large corporations within the galaxy had already chosen a side. Maliwan and Torgue formed one group, what remained of Atlas changed hands until Jakobs ended up with the starships, Tediore's massive capital backers seemed to be sitting this out, Hyperion already supported Jakobs with its fleet. Dahl tried to stay out of everything, at least publicly. Vladof kept to themselves as always. Who was left?

Anshin and Pangolin didn't make weapons—only shields and other defensive devices. That said, a large-scale Pangolin theatre shield could shrug off a sustained dreadnaught bombardment, so anyone able to secure the company's support would have a strong asset in their corner—and the company's founding by dissident Jakobs family members centuries ago might give the bully an edge in negotiations. A boutique manufacturer called "GearBox" cornered the market for rather contradictory-sounding "high-end entry level" weaponry—they probably wouldn't be any good in these types of fights. If the press release he'd just read was anything to go buy, Anshin threw in its lot with S&amp;S. Unless, of course, Stevens faked the other company's support…

"I will be completely honest with you" boomed Slade once a video link established itself through the few high-bandwidth relays not destroyed by Garrus' raids. "I think what you're doing is despicable, and should be condemned. We've always had cooperative, if tense relationships in this galaxy, and now you see a trouble spot so you move to take advantage when we're not even sure this Infection is as big a threat as you're making it out to be."

"I'm sending you video fees we received from some of our top agents shortly before their deaths" snapped Bill. "If this doesn't convince you that the Infection needs to be dealt with, and harshly, we're going to have trouble working together in the future."

Much to the Jakob Chairman's surprise, Slade _laughed_ as though he'd just been told a joke.

"Oh, Bill. If you insist!"

Stevens cut the line, then transmitted a secondary message blaming faulty hardware on his end.

"Jakobs' interference must be stopped!" He ordered his company's security forces, much more military-like than many of his competitors, to not only attack, but now to destroy the "hidden" Jakobs facilities on Hephaestus. As the contractor responsible for defending those facilities, smashing them would be much easier than, say, as an outside force that would have had to contend with S&amp;S's _Pollux_ defense platforms. Said platforms merely turned their formidable weaponry downward onto the planet below.


	69. Frustrations

**Chapter 68 – Frustrations**

"Well, this is kind of stupid."

Admiral Allison Nimitz stood on the bridge of her Star Dreadnaught. Wedged past its nose, _Ultimatum_ simultaneously prevented its opponent from attacking but also severely hampered its own ability to fight back. All that said, it did prove once again how durable this Star Dreadnaught design actually was—despite a pounding from dozens of former Reapers plus a few turrets on what used to be _Revenant_, the ship's shields and armor held up. For several hours of beating. With no sign of failing.

Having thought over Sarah's report, the Admiral decided to risk sending out a boarding party. What with the _Normandy_'s stygium cloak, there existed no reason _not_ to send someone over to evaluate the Siren's claims. Besides, the nutcase responsible for skewering the three technicians she'd sent over as a goodwill gesture before the clones betrayed her was, courtesy of Sarah, locked up in her own brig.

She thus put in a call for a team to do what she needed. That meant Shepard, Vakarian, Cortana, Gaige/Tali/both, and an escort.

Tali waved off, saying she had a "special project" that might be of some use later. Cortana asked that the Master Chief be allowed to accompany her despite having essentially made a home in Samatha's Kuwashii Visor.

"Should we risk bringing Sarah?" asked Garrus upon arriving.

"Absolutely not" replied Nimitz. "If we're going to check someone's work, it's best to have them not be present when we do it."

"If we're going to be sneaking around" suggested Sam, "maybe we should run small and light this time instead of sending in the whole team."

"I agree" concurred Garrus. "So it's us, Gaige, the Chief, and who else?"

"Well" suggested Nimitz, "if you want to be sneaky there are those I would recommend…more…over others for such a task. For instance, I believe the geth platform Legion understands the value of stealth. So does Athena by virtue of her commando training."

The geth was easily summoned—Athena, on the other hand, had been in the med bay undergoing surgery to properly remove the remainder of Jakobs' failed control hardware ripped free by Sarah. Prior to that, it had been a festering wound treated temporarily by throwing bacta on it. Now, though her neck bore slight scarring, the clone had no further trace of any Jakobs control systems that doctors aboard _Ultimatum_ could detect.

"What do you require?" asked Legion.

"We are going over to _Farsight_" explained Shepard. "To verify, or debunk, Sarah's claims regarding clone remote controls. You and Cortana may be able to better determine the purpose of the ship's high-throughput comm arrays. As it was, the Siren says the ship's commander erased all software as soon as she boarded, making it impossible for her to conclusively determine whether Jakobs uses some kind of mechanism to command its clones."

"I am ready."

"As am I."

Despite significant negative memories associated with time spent in power armor, Athena preferred it still over any other form of combat assistance. The MISTILTEINN designed by Cortana and digistructed using available facilities near _Ultimatum_ represented the most advanced suit yet. Linked via squad-management software to Legion, she and the geth would work with Shepard and Garrus to defend their computer experts. The Master Chief would also perform this duty, though since his main concern revolved around whoever held Cortana he would hew most closely to Samantha.

One uneventful journey aboard a cloaked _Normandy_ later, six plus Cortana unloaded into a bridge airlock meant for escape pods.

"Easy" laughed Athena as she manipulated electronics to convince the pod to auto-launch. "Though, I'm guessing Cortana is now going to complain that EVA wasn't part of the suit's specs either…"

"You're technically correct" replied the AI. "However, given that the suit is also Flood-resistant, that by nature means it is airtight and supplies its own atmosphere. So long as the pressure seals don't crack, using MISTILTEINN for space work is actually okay. No guarantee on maneuvering though."

The pod shot from its mount, leaving an exposed entry point which Athena also opened.

"It's meant to be one-way, so I wouldn't be surprised if opening it from out here set off an alarm somewhere. You know, because the pod's already away and atmosphere is still venting…"

"Magnetize!" ordered Sam. Thankfully for her, _Farsight_'s hull hadn't been made out of some kind of non-magnetic material and everyone latched on before pushing themselves through the pod door. Some kind of blue forcefield cut off escaping air but let the squad in. No red lights, screeching alarms, or troops greeted them.

"Now, according to Sarah's map, we need to go this way…"

MISTILTEINN HUDs lit up, leading their wearers toward the drifting dreadnaught's bridge.

"This quiet is unnerving" said Garrus as yet another part of the trip passed with everything precisely following the plan. No Jakobs clones burst in to intercept them, no voice over the ship's speakers ordered the intruders to stand down.

"Here's a terminal. Plug Cortana in and see what she can find."

Gaige piped up. "Looks like they didn't totally erase the computers. I mean, they deleted it, yeah, but if it were me I would've hit the whole thing with some shock weapons afterward."

Cortana's giggling emitted from the nearest speakers.

"They didn't _erase_ anything! They just encrypted it! Seems the Siren should learn a thing or two about computers. It _looks_ erased, if you don't know the signs."

"Can you break in?" The Chief stood protectively by where Cortana now operated.

"For once, not in any palatable length of time. First, the data's secured with an algorithm that apparently needs certain bio-scans—think heartbeat, retinal images, fingerprints, DNA. Second, the whole system seems to be tied to an incredibly complex distributed network of chips throughout the vessel's computer systems. Copy information off the ship, and it gets scrambled in a way that can only be unscrambled if you're working on a _Farsight_ terminal."

"Wait, so you're telling me someone actually bothered to secure a computer properly? That's a first. How many machines did I break into in seconds while out on missions, Garrus?"

"Well, between that and scrounging through every container you could find for spare credits… I lost count years ago, Sam!"

Shepard pounded her fist on the terminal in frustration.

"Access denied. Authorized personnel only. Please contact Operative-394 to request access."

"Hmph. That's surprisingly helpful for an error message. Who's that?"

"Shepard to _Ultimatum_. We've run into a roadblock."

"Please tell me it's something small" came the voice of Nimitz.

"The data's encrypted. Says we need to talk to someone named 'Operative-394' to get access. Do you know who that is?"

"That bitch?" snarled the Admiral. "She's the one who pretended to play nice, then started shooting at me. As far as I'm concerned, if you just so happen to find that she's dead after you've gotten access to whatever information is aboard the ship, I wouldn't object at all."

_Kind of dark for the always-chipper Nimitz_ thought Sam.

"So you know who she is. Where is she?"

"Sarah locked her up."

"Ten dollars the brig is all the way at the front end of the ship" hissed Athena angrily.

"Actually, according to this report she's in the Officer's Disciplinary, ten decks down. Sending the coordinates to your MISTILTEINN now."

"If something doesn't go wrong soon, I'm gonna run around screaming!" complained Gaige. "I mean, I don't want anything to go wrong, but everything's been so screwed up lately that plans going the way we hoped is just… It's actually the scariest thing ever!"

"Gaige, the first thing I learned as a Spectre was to never tempt the universe like that" scolded Sam, though her tone remained friendly. "I guarantee you now something will end up out of order…"

"Who are you?" demanded Athena's voice, except from someone not-Athena as the group stepped into Officer's Disciplinary.

"How'd you get in here?" asked another.

"Whoa, whoa! We just were looking for Operative-394. Not gonna lie to you, we're here to get information from your computers. If you want to make a fight out of it, you'd best start before my squad drops you."

Sam stood with her palms facing forward and arms extended downward, creating an upside-down "v" or "w" shape as a gesture of both helplessness and a taunt.

"We were actually trying to free one of our own" explained the first. "I'm Nova. Designation Operative-7816 in service of the Jakobs family."

"And I'm Sif, Operative-2478. Our captain and leader, Kat, is locked in here and we can't figure out how to get this door open."

Sam stifled a laugh. Can't operate their own ship? No wonder Jakobs and the rest of the corporations in this galaxy couldn't run an economy, fight the Flood, or launch a proper invasion of her former home. Incompetent idiots!

"Wait. So you're having trouble operating a door. Let me just make sure I'm getting this right…"

If looks of annoyance could show through helmets, Shepard would've received a withering one from Sif right then.

"Oh, so you are fluent in Eridian mathematics? Do tell us how to solve this formula then!" Sif stepped aside with a grand gesture, returning Sam's earlier taunt in a slightly modified form.

"You're the ones living in the galaxy where these Eridians apparently left the biggest mark. And you can't figure it out?"

"Look. I know you think this is funny, you're probably laughing to yourself at those stupid clones not being able to operate their own technology. But we didn't do it!"

"Then who did? Ghosts?" mocked Sam.

"Shepard…" interrupted Garrus. "Remember what Nimitz said? Sarah locked her up."

"I'm guessing you won't believe us if we told you" began Nova peevishly. "But…"

"…A purple-haired Siren so tall she probably nearly hit her head on the ceiling in here did it."

The two clones stared at the new arrival. Sam folded her arms.

"That's exactly what happened" replied Sif in a stilted tone. "How did you know?"

"I'll be straight with you. The Siren works with us. Begrudgingly, at least from our end—we don't like her because she kind of killed a lot of people even though there was technically, on an _Eridian_ scale, a reason for it. She never said why she put 394 away though."

"Maybe if you help us get her out, we can all learn the answer" shot back Nova. "See? No guns, no swords." The remaining clones in the room placed their weapons on the deck, then made a show of kicking them away.

Sam patched back through to _Ultimatum_ on a different frequency than the Admiral's personal hail she'd used previously. Within a minute, she connected to Sarah on a heavily monitored comm channel.

"Please be aware that this channel is actively monitored. All suspicious activity will be dealt with according to Trans-Galactic Republic regulations. Enjoy your chat!"

_Well, that's almost as obnoxious as elevator music._

"What do you need, Shepard? You're interrupting again!" Sarah sounded irked, as though she didn't want to be bothered for whatever reason.

"I can't call my favorite Siren to chat?" teased Sam.

"Cut the bullshit. You only ever talk to me because you have some problem only I can solve."

"Whoa, did someone not get any sleep last night?"

Sarah cursed herself for lashing out. _This is precisely what Flanders wanted you to avoid._

"How can I help?"

"You locked up some clone named Operative-394. Apparently, whatever you did uses mathematical formulas no one here can make heads or tails of. We'd like to talk to her without resorting to radical restructuring of shipboard architecture."

Sarah saw an opportunity to learn more about these behavioral norms that gave her such trouble in this universe.

"Just so you're aware, Operative-394 committed actions similar to my own, but on a much smaller scale. I thought it right and just to contain her, as she'd beheaded three crew your Admiral sent over while under the impression these clones would help fight the Flood."

Sam heard the Siren's voice rise in excitement. _Wait, is… Is she proud of herself? _

"Well…thanks for letting us know. If she tries to do that to us, you can guess how it will end!"

"I'm uploading the necessary codes to your armor, but I don't think you could enter them at a practical speed. If you have some kind of computer connection to the ship, that'll make it simpler."

Sarah closed the channel after the upload finished.

_I want to know how they treat this clone. By the logic applied to me, they'll only keep her around if she's useful to them somehow, like I am. Otherwise, her actions would probably disqualify her from working with them._

Sam jacked her armor into an access panel, and seven seconds later the door opened to reveal a very frazzled-looking Athena clone.

"You're Kat, I assume?"

"Who are you, and what do you want?" replied the Jakobs operative.

"My name is Samantha Shepard. I need access to information on this ship that is encrypted under your authority."

"Do you work for Jakobs?"

"What?" Shepard had a momentary lapse in concentration while trying to comprehend such a silly question.

"Do you work for the Jakobs family, or did they send you?"

"Why the hell would I work for them? They're the biggest pain in the ass the galaxy has ever seen, apparently, since their slipcelerators and portal tech helped let in this Flood!"

Kat visibly relaxed.

"Good. I know what I am. I'm their tool. Normally, they leave us to follow orders, but it's technologically possible for them to assume direct control of our minds if they choose to. I have a feeling they've been doing this quite a bit more lately."

"Okay…"

"Is this surprising to you? We are created assets grown for the benefit of the Jakobs Corporation."

With her helmet off, Shepard was able to take in the genuine confusion on the clone's face over her reaction.

"Well, see, we don't do things like that where I'm from. You're basically slaves, are you not?"

Hidden behind armor, Athena trembled in rage but kept quiet for the moment.

"I… I guess…"

"So you can prove it, then" continued Shepard in an unusually cheery voice. "Prove to me that Jakobs possesses this capability you speak of."

"Certainly. Come with me—it's not like data that sensitive could be accessed here from the brig!"

"Captain, do you have orders for us?"

Sam caught a glimpse of Sif's eyes. They seemed lost, wandering, confused.

"At ease, commanders. You may return to your posts."

"Our last orders were to attack the Trans-Galactic Republic ship. Said ship's retaliation disabled our vessel."

"Then stay here, just don't cause trouble!"

Upon arriving at _Farsight_'s bridge, Operative-394, "Kat," decrypted the information requested by her new visitors. "Here's everything. Control frequencies, commands."

"Why are you cooperating with us?" inquired Garrus. "We're supposed to be your enemy!"

"All I know is I've been having bigger and bigger gaps in my memory" replied Kat. "And whatever I've seen once I come to myself again has made less and less sense from a strategic standpoint. Most recently, it was the attack against your ship and killing those three crew members sent from it. I don't remember wanting to do either, but they happened. Neither represents a viable course of action given the technological disparity between your civilization and ours, yet these events transpired regardless. Tactical folly I would never have made on my own! Clones are far superior to loaders repurposed with guns, and I have a feeling Jakobs is starting to regret not going with the latter route because loaders never ask questions!"

"Well, I appreciate you being so open with us" said Shepard. "Now, perhaps you'll..."

Kat's eyes rolled back and she collapsed to the deck.

"Dead" proclaimed Garrus after checking for vitals.

Lights went red and an automated female voice pierced the silence.

"Lockdown initiated. Intruders detected. Recalling vessel."

"And there's the part where things go wrong, Gaige!" Shepard could do naught but laugh.

"Sorry!"

"We need an immediate evac."

The Chief's observation found no argument.

[…]

"So on top of someone causing our stock price to crash, you're here to tell me that our clones are giving away important information."

Bill Arkansas Jakobs could hardly believe how quickly his company's fortune had turned.

"That is correct, sir. We took appropriate action to protect Jakobs interests, however from what we can tell the clone was able to pass on a significant amount of information before we were able to issue recall to the vessel in question."

General Doubleday kept his posture ramrod straight as he delivered yet more bad news to the Chairman of his company. At least this man wasn't into attacking messengers, at least not that Doubleday had seen.

"And the vessel is _Farsight_?" Bill gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Again, yes Mr. Chairman. The compromised clone was a low-numbered operative aboard _Farsight_. The captain of the ship! Only once we retrieve the body will we be able to attempt to determine why she became defective."

Bill sighed. "When do we get our ship back?"

"That's the other issue, sir. We cannot at this time. It was crippled by the Trans-Galactic Republic battleship we sent it to attack. Its engines are disabled and its e-drive is offline. I have my staff working on a solution to extract the ship as we speak."

"Somehow, that sounds like it'll end up an even bigger mess. Especially since that blasted Infection is also involved."

"Yes, but that is the good news" replied Doubleday, allowing some level of emotion to show through for the first time during this report. "The Infection seems to be entirely concerned with our dear Trans-Galactic Republic friends, so we're hoping it will ignore us."

"Just get back to me when you know how many resources you're going to ask for" said Bill wearily. "With our market capitalization crashing, we're going to have a hard time convincing anyone beyond family shareholders to back additional military expenditures, so we can't go risking ships without good reason. They're as valuable as business capital!"

After dismissing his General, Bill put his head in his hands. Between S&amp;S's treachery, a clone giving away company secrets for who-knew-what-reason, the apparent Infection of Pandora, and manipulation of his company's market valuation, he almost felt overwhelmed. An appeal, of course, had been lodged with the Economic Development Group. However, said group moved slowly. Besides, the fact that Jakobs controlled a good part of the galaxy compared to the baseline state of things might actually throw suspicion back onto them. False flag operations were hardly rare.

Looking over a report on cloning, Bill let loose another weary sigh. With S&amp;S's security systems on Hephaestus now _attacking_ them, clone production declined 17%. Thankfully, many vital facilities were buried beneath the planet's surface, though concentrated fire damaged enough of them to dent output. Further, rumor had it that unmarked (presumably S&amp;S) ships were attacking clone shipments from an intentionally-distributed network of cloning centers (courtesy Atlas). Hyperion's naval assets were doing their best, but the quality of Hyperion arms were at present no match for the sheer amount of firepower S&amp;S could bring. Besides, the latter happened to specialize in space-based weaponry and starships, while its opponents were primarily makers of personal firearms. That disparity showed itself in every engagement.

Despite his best efforts, Nigel Harris lost _another_ battleship to overwhelming S&amp;S firepower. Deciding that having so many vessels named after the founder of the company go down in flames represented "bad karma," Bill Arkansas ordered the next flagship to carry a different designation.

[…]

Plopped down at the Admiral Snack Bar, Maya (younger) didn't know what to do with herself. Sure, she could go for more rounds in the Combat Simulator or run a systems check on _Normandy_'s blastboats for the umpteenth time, but she didn't really feel like doing either. Possession of a field commission of Second Lieutenant in the Trans-Galactic Republic's Spacelane Protection forces had not yet obtained her any regular duties as she'd hoped.

She'd tried to convince Patricia Tannis to make a more vigorous case for utilizing her newfound status of "Evolved Reclaimer," but the scientist remained uninterested in such things. Moving on to Garrus, who'd accompanied her during her first foray, she learned of his present unavailability. Hence her irked face-stuffing at the Admiral Snack Bar.

"What's bothering you, hon?" asked Moxxi.

"Oh nothing. Literally nothing" she replied bitterly. "I'd never want to go back to being Jack's…_plaything_, but I was really looking forward to doing something meaningful with my life. Instead, I've been shuffled about and sat here on my ass while everyone else gets to make a stand." 

"Well, sugar, if it makes you feel any better, you're not the only one. I hear the Siren Sarah is stuck in her quarters…"

"I got the impression no one likes her" replied Maya shortly. "I don't want everyone to hate me."

"Well, if you ask me the fuss about her is all overblown. So she killed a few people. It's not like everyone else hasn't! Besides, at this point anyone who isn't our enemy should be considered friends unless they give us a reason to shoot at them."

She added rather darkly, "And in that case, unload as many bullets in their direction as is physically possible. Take no chances."

The universe-shifted Siren held up her ring that contained many small truncated cones apparently made from stone.

"I'm supposed to do something with these, plug them into planetary-wide anti-Flood defenses. Except no one knows which planets have these defenses—Rhea was one of the few we knew about."

"You've talked to the head honcho around here, right?" Since the Snack Bar was empty save the two of them, Moxxi sat down next to Maya rather than standing behind the counter.

"She doesn't see it as 'militarily useful'" replied Maya sadly. "She says it's a nice scientific shtick to investigate later, but right now we can't be wasting resources on impractical mumbo-jumbo."

Moxxi laughed. "Dear, you popped out of some kind of rip in the universe. And the Admiral is talking about impractical?"

Maya just looked bored to tears.

"Why don't you see what Jackie and that Kevin Filner are up to? They're always working to invent new technology—you might like it!"

After giving the Siren a map, Moxxi resumed waiting for a crowd that probably wouldn't ever arrive. The ship's crew had their own diversionary facilities outside the Admiral's spaces—meaning they had no reason to venture this far up the bridge tower. Rumors of horrible things happening via proximity to Sarah (whose quarters were close by) didn't help either.

[…]

As befitting the former's covert and latter's open aid to the Trans-Galactic Republic, Ronald Dahl and the Maliwans conducted their first officially-allied action via an inspection of their promethium-mining operations on Promethea. Finding most of the equipment destroyed and the mines caved-in (to say nothing of thousands buried alive), the corporate heads vowed retribution against whatever or more likely whomever caused these events.

"We're already catching heat, Mallory" griped Malcolm. "Those designs we managed to sell as pink-sheeters by the freighter-load are coming up as having extreme promethium usage. And now there isn't any promethium to hand out when service contracts come due…"

"Our reputation will be destroyed" replied Mallory. "We built up the ability to convince big buyers to purchase our wares without even testing them—and now this happens?" She sounded as if universe-destroying events were a mere nuisance compared to likely lost future sales.

A pile of dead bodies near a mineshaft entrance caught Ronald's attention. Unlike traditional business leaders in other galaxies, some executives in this galaxy often got their hands dirty in a quite literal fashion as they directly interacted with the daily grind of running their enterprises. Though many chafed at the fact that the "Big Seven" pretty much ran most of the economy, most would readily admit to having some level of admiration for a CEO who got down and dirty with the workers s/he hired.

Dahl dragged a few deceased miners off the pile to reveal several armored bodies. Female, helmeted, brown with white stripes.

He chortled. "If Jakobs thinks this qualifies as hiding the evidence, then I have a Prime World apartment complex to sell them…"

"I wonder if they even care" mused Malcolm. "Their takeovers within the Prime Worlds have been rather open—'We're the one who will protect you from the coming storm with our vast clone army.' There hasn't been a need for resorting to tactics like this."

"You've all looked at S&amp;S's latest press, right?" asked Ronald. "Disparaging Jakobs, accusing them of profiteering over the whole Infection mess."

"Amusing" growled Malcolm. "We've all taken financial advantage of others' weak positions before. Why does Stevens think anyone will care that Jakobs is doing the same thing everyone else would in their position? If I had a bunch of Atlas clones and technology…"

"What concerns me are reports that S&amp;S stations surrounding Plutus aren't doing their jobs properly. The ECHONet is full of videos claiming to show these giant defense emplacements just _letting Infected Harvesters waltz on by without even so much as firing a shot!_"

Malcolm hesitated before questioning his wife. "You realize there have been several responses to that, all claiming to debunk 'pathetic manipulation of video.'"

"But that's precisely it, Malcolm! High-quality video is easy to fake, especially if you control the source material and aren't just editing someone else's copy. But low-res stuff like that? I find it hard to believe someone would go to that much effort to make S&amp;S look bad!"

"All this is intriguing" drawled Ronald, "but what are we going to do about the promethium situation?"

"Well, if I recall our design parameters correctly, every weapon both of our companies makes simply refuses to fire once its seals fail. So we won't be directly endangering anyone" said Mallory confidently.

"That may be so" countered her husband, "but if an Infected's charging you and your weapon won't shoot, that definitely seems dangerous to me."

"We do have some stored promethium…" started Dahl.

"As do we" gestured Mallory, indicating some kind of mountain-shape. "Our weapons have always used a lot of the stuff considering we only manufacture elemental wares. Thing is, the stockpile was created before we introduced new designs a few years back that eat through promethium like a skag through carrion."

"The point being, it won't last" finished Malcolm.

"Even if we put all the profits and reputation aside, there's still the matter of a universe-destroying force loose. Or two, if the rumors about that mega-Siren are to be believed. Funny thing, though—I haven't heard anything about her for months!" Mallory shrugged.

"So what do we do?" Dahl threw up his hands. "We're supposed to be supplying weapons to this Trans-Galactic Republic as well."

"Maybe focus on that" suggested Malcolm. "Those weapons don't get promethium seals or liners because nobody mucks around with space-scale guns without a safety suit on anyway!"

"We ought to make them aware of the hazard, though." Mallory put a hand on her husband's shoulder.

"With all those modified machine guns I hear they were manufacturing, you'd think they'd have figured it out already, but I do agree."

"I just wish we could do more" sighed Ronald Dahl. "Our ships are borderline useless next to theirs, and our only relevant contributions have been personal weaponry in a war that demands the biggest guns available."


	70. Take One Step at a Oh Screw It!

**Chapter 69 – Take One Step at a… Oh Screw It!**

"At least someone will listen to me!"

Jackie tried not to look bored. Kevin Filner went on and on (and on) about some kind of "super-ship" design that he was certain would defeat the Flood. Cortana had taken it under advisement, but without the ability to manufacture such a vessel discussion seemed to be academic at best.

Upon the arrival of Maya, Jackie secretly hoped it might get Dr. Filner to _shut up_. Unfortunately for the Jakobs scion, it only made things _worse_.

"So this ship" began the Siren. "Moxxi told me you and Jackie were working on it…"

"Not really" interjected Jackie. "It's been all him—my contributions ended with slipspace equations."

After Filner detailed how his hypothetical vessel would use fusion as a power source by burning up destroyed Flood biomass, Maya practically jumped through the ceiling.

"That's it!" she cried. "Why not use my powers, with your ship? That sidesteps the whole 'Have to kill it before we eat it' thing!"

Filner, despite his PhD, scratched his head. "What?"

"Well, not my Siren powers. Apparently, I was dubbed an 'Evolved Reclaimer.' It means I can activate pre-placed Eridian anti-Flood defenses on worlds so equipped. Purges the world of Flood, but leaves a lot of biomass behind your ship to, erm, use."

Expecting some interjection from Cortana, Filner heard nothing. Normally, the purple AI would object handily to anything other than burning the Flood to death, but for whatever reason she did not make an appearance.

"Tali sent me these rough plans for a starter ship" continued the doctor. "No reason to build a huge monster when they'll just grow to massive proportions on their own!"

Maya picked up a datapad. "What's this?"

Filner laughed. "That would be a list of all the types of technology we're _not_ allowed to use in these designs since it's considered 'Foreign and Unobtainable.' Unfortunately, that means turbolasers, Element Zero, and virtually anything else we've been getting from places other than our current galaxy."

Jackie gave Maya a significant look. "If you even dare to ask him to explain those, I may well revert to my old self!"

The Siren picked up on Jackie's humor and the implication that the long-winded Filner would go on forever if given the opportunity. Apparently, once you got him going on something he had a passion for, he wouldn't stop until either the project reached fruition or was declared impossible for whatever reason.

"But you need a power source" said the Siren. "And it can't be any of these…"

"That is the trick" replied Dr. Filner. "Needs a huge kick-start to get going, until it can fuel itself on Flood biomass by fusing the carbon within."

Jackie took on a thoughtful look before twisting her face into a mask of revulsion. "Well, there's one option I can think of, but if you even suggest it I'm pretty sure we'll all be dead."

"Don't leave us in suspense! What is it?"

"I… I really shouldn't…"

"Oh come on, the universe is probably ending if this doesn't work. How horrible could your idea possibly be?"

After Jackie explained what she meant, everyone in the room did agree that it would be a proposal kept secret. There would be no way anyone would authorize it.

[…]

Aria's quad-squads moved toward a meeting within Omega's heart. The central mine-shaft had been the most productive in terms of Element Zero. It was also where the asari crimelord and her on-again-off-again paramour had a distinctly unpleasant encounter with an alien intelligence. They'd only heard its voice—neither had any clue what physical manifestation the _thing_ took. Though Aria recalled her thrashing by one very large tentacle, for all they knew the whole tentacle-thing was just a part of whatever it was. Hoping the massed firepower she'd assembled would be able to either kill what stole her station or at least blast until she'd gotten it out of her system, she checked in on each squad in turn.

The squad led by Greg Manchin checked in at 100%. So did Melissa Hornby's squad. Of course, Jane Davenport remained the only combat-capable person in her group seeing as the turian with them was presumed dead and her other two human companions were too injured to fight. Still, despite her earlier outburst she reported full readiness for whatever plan Aria had in mind.

"I'd rather die on my feet than be turned into one of those…things" she muttered to herself after closing off her comm. Ahead of her, a Flood-choked door forced her to take a route different than the one Aria had given. Rumor had it that the asari didn't even know most of the corridors in "her" station and the maps had actually been assembled by her turian friend Nyreen Kandros. Regardless of who assembled her instructions, she had to deviate.

As Davenport rounded a corner, a sound that sent terror through her rattled her helmet: the unmistakable rat-a-tat-tat of a mounted machine gun.

"I fucking hate those things!" she cursed. Poking her head around so as not to expose her whole body, a sight greeted her that caused what courage she had to sink: a Cerberus turret. The kind that dropped her into critical status on so many battlefields back when Cerberus/JVLN/Sapiens' Shield had been the largest threat to galactic peace.

As an N7 Shadow, Jane Davenport equipped light armor and weapons, not nearly sturdy enough to take on such an emplacement in a head-on fight. Thinking quickly, she remembered a trick one of her turian N7 battle buddies showed her. Cloak, run to the turret, affix grenade to housing, jump away. Usually, the turret's computer wouldn't notice a cloaked presence (they seemed to sometimes randomly be able to lock on anyway but not always). The grenade's payload could puncture the armor on an Atlas mech, so a single-gun automated weapon had no chance. Unlike trying to slash the machine with her sword, this method was virtually guaranteed to succeed without leaving her staggered.

PFOOM.

The grenade ripped into the turret, tearing its housing from its three short legs. As the barrel flew one direction and the blast-shield careened off in the other, the Shadow felt herself stumble as her armor and kinetic barriers registered a crippling blow.

Shimmering into existence before her: the only thing Jane hated more than turrets.

A Cerberus Phantom.

_What the hell is going on?_

Pulling her sword, Davenport prepared to dual the hated apparition. Instead, a semi-processed voice cut into her headset.

"Why did you do that? That was our only defense."

Unlike the grunts and cries she'd heard from Phantoms on the battlefield, this one sounded…sad? Disappointed?

"Who are you?" barked Jane. "The last time I saw someone wearing armor like that, I sent her head rolling. You have two seconds to say why I shouldn't do that to you!"

"Typical Alliance" snorted the Phantom. "Only sees the outside, never realized we were just as much slaves to Cerberus as any of the horrible creatures the Reapers created were to them…"

Only then did the Shadow notice a difference. This Phantom's armor long ago lost its silver shine. In fact, deep divets and some spotty-looking patching held it together. The palm-blaster wasn't lit, and she seemed to be limping. Normally-red visual sensors were black.

"Will you hear me out? Or will you strike me down in cold blood? Maybe it's better that way."

The Phantom tossed her sword at her present nemesis.

"There. You're doubly armed, I'm not. You can see this suit isn't anywhere near full functionality—the barrier is only from my biotics now. No boost from the armor. You sneeze, I'll probably go tumbling."

The Phantom did something to reveal a very-well-concealed doorway behind what remained of the turret. Beyond this opening, Jane could see a man struggling to pull on a boot and wearing something resembling a Cerberus Engineer's uniform.

"Is this a Cerberus base?"

Again, the Phantom's derision could've cracked armor.

"You Systems Alliance types are so blind. Anyone wearing Cerberus colors or equipment must obviously be as evil and heartless as the organization itself. Deserving only quick deaths and nothing else. If a base is two people, then yes, it is" she finished sarcastically.

"Nora, who is that?" called out the mostly-armored-up man.

"This? Some Alliance who stumbled onto your turret, and blew it up."

The man visibly deflated.

"Should I even bother explaining how much scrounging he had to do to get that thing working?"

Jane stopped herself from making a cutting remark regarding whether she was supposed to feel bad about this development.

"Have a seat."

The Shadow plopped down next to the battered Phantom, who pulled off her helmet.

In response, Davenport couldn't contain a visible recoil at seeing what was underneath the helmets she'd enjoyed stomping on. More than once, krogan squadmates had done some rather crude things with beheaded Phantoms.

"This is for Kranack!" he'd bellowed before giving the Cerberus helmet (head still inside) a huge kick.

"Alright, go ahead and say it" said the Phantom.

"Say what?" asked Jane, not knowing what was expected from her.

Instead of speaking, the other woman made a show of pointing at her own face. Blue eyes glowed, sunken into skin that took on a rather disturbing purple-gray hue. Dark blue-green lines ran across her skin in many places. Though the visage was still recognizably human, it looked nothing like anything Davenport had ever seen. Metallic bits poked through in places, and spots of dried blood crusted around poorly-healed (or open) wounds could be seen as well. Whatever Cerberus had done, they hadn't exactly been neat about it, nor did they seem to care if everything wrapped up nicely.

"No comment about how hideous I am? I know you Alliance soldiers hated us Phantoms. We were always stabbing you in the gut this, popping your shields that, causing your fancy armor to trip on itself…"

The Phantom took on a small smile at this.

"Also, I'm awful at socializing. Maybe that's part of what led me to Cerberus—nobody made me feel wanted or valued until Cerberus gave me a chance to 'defend humanity' they said. Bullshit! I'm Nora. Nora Fleetwood."

Jane introduced herself, finding it extremely odd to be shaking hands with what would under normal circumstances have been a sworn enemy.

"My biotics weren't strong enough for the Ascension Project or anything militarily-useful to the Alliance. Parlor tricks, that's it. And of course, that type of human biotic is a dime a dozen. I always dreamed of being a Systems Alliance Adept, but I guess that wasn't meant to be."

"So why'd you end up with Cerberus?" Jane kept judgment and venom out of her voice, despite not thinking much of this Nora.

"They said, unlike the Systems Alliance, that my weak biotics weren't a problem. They would give me the implants and boost the Systems Alliance considered 'too risky.' Plus, this was back when the Collectors were trashing human colonies while the Citadel Council sat on their incompetent asses doing absolutely nothing about it."

The woman's tone turned vicious, mocking. "Must be batarians, they said. Too close to the Hegemony's territory, they said. No such thing as whatever it was you were saying. Morons."

"So because you couldn't be in the biotics division, you figured the only way to help humanity was to join up with Cerberus?"

"Look, I just met you. I'm not going to tell you my whole fucking life story" spat Nora. "Suffice it to say I thought this was the only way. And I've paid quite the price for it."

Jane turned to the man, who'd sidled on over in the meantime.

"Who are you?"

"Ernie Quinn. Former Cerberus Combat Engineer. You did quite a number on my turret."

He, too, sounded defeated. Broken. Beaten.

"What are you two doing here, anyway?"

Ernie perked up. "That's a bit of a story, but I'll give you the short version. Nora and I grew up together. When she joined Cerberus, I followed. I told her there were other ways to help humanity that didn't involve selling your soul to some borderline-terrorist group, but she wouldn't listen."

"And karma had its way with my face" added Nora sadly. "And the rest of me, really."

Ernie handed the newcomer a tattered photo.

"Her enlistment headshot. Yes, it's as cliché as you can get" continued Ernie, "but it's the truth. After Cerberus started the Phantom process, things went downhill."

Another photo.

"I took this after they'd implanted maybe a third of all the cybernetics that go into creating a Phantom. By that point, she wanted out, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. So Nora just decided to go with it. Well, you don't just decide to do what the people who could pop your head with a button tell you to—you just kind of give up and realize this is what you made your life into. You can either rage against something you have no power to change, or you can just keep living and hope someday, maybe it will end."

"Yeah" said Nora. "I kept hoping some geth sniper or krogan berserker would get lucky and gut me, but no such fortune…"

Nora handed Jane the front of her helmet.

"You see those pads? Know what they're for?"

With her combat gear on, the Shadow couldn't tell the black strips were soaked with liquid.

"Phantom cybernetics are painful. And with what they do to your eyes to interface with the helmet? Sometimes, you get bleeding around the sockets. Eventually, your brain becomes numb to the ache, but that doesn't stop your eyes from watering. So yes, Phantoms are literally made from blood, sweat and tears."

Davenport couldn't think of any suitable response.

"Anyway, hate to shatter your nice little view of 'Cerberus evil, Alliance good,' but there were a _lot_ of well-intentioned, if misguided, people like us who joined up because nobody else seemed to be doing anything, and we all ended up worse off for it. Hell, even Samantha Shepard worked with Cerberus for a while!"

That particular fact made any N7's blood boil. It was a betrayal, through-and-through. Sure, the results were favorable, but at the same time couldn't she have done something else, being Shepard and all? (That Cerberus brought Samantha _back from the dead_ wasn't widely known and those who'd been made aware of it didn't exactly accept it flat-out, thinking it just another Cerberus propaganda piece.)

"I'm sorry about your turret. But it was kind of shooting at me…"

"We put it out there so we can both relax. Otherwise, it's eight hours watching for those hideous monstrosities for each of us" finished Ernie. "Someone has to keep an eye for Flood 24/7."

"Finally something that makes me feel pretty by comparison" added Nora. "Those Flood or Infection things, whatever they're called, we have a pact: if either of us is taken, the other puts them down without question."

"One day, both of us woke up wondering what had happened. Literally, neither of us remembered getting ourselves to the place we were sleeping, a Cerberus barracks. Thankfully, Cerberus keeps records on all of its personnel. In my opinion, it's probably so they can blackmail someone if need be. Regardless, we came to and realized what we'd gotten into. In fact, that entire unit just kind of…fell apart and deserted. Later we read about some 'Cosmic Cleansing Sphere' thing that wiped out all the Reapers. Our CO died of a heart attack. Or, more accurately, his entire heart calcified and obviously, that killed him. Unlike us, he was really into the 'humanity is superior' thing. Cerberus was about 'protecting humanity,' until it was about 'aliens suck.' You know, they can put one of these on a recruiting poster, but not the other."

Ernie stopped for a moment before continuing.

"We decided we weren't going to take the amnesty program. Honestly, neither of us knew why, but we chose to try to make a new life on Omega where no one would care what our pasts were."

"And nobody gave us weird looks if we took our helmets off in public either" added Nora, for the first time since Jane's arrival sounding happy. "Sure, compared to baseline humans we're both awful-looking but on Omega with all the aliens, washed-up mercs, criminals, druggies, and the like we weren't all that unusual at all. Nobody paid attention to us. And that was heaven."

"So what do you do now?" asked Jane, fully aware the question was a bit silly.

"We've been able to survive thanks to someone else's advance planning. Aria or someone acting on her behalf preplaced supplies around the station—and this happens to be one of the depots."

Nora opened yet another door.

Pallet upon pallet of rations. Enough guns to outfit a platoon, or maybe even a whole company. And some strange cylinders labeled "Bacta – KEEP AWAY FROM INFECTION!"

She could see the word "Infection" was crossed out, scribbled over, and replaced with "Flood."

"Wouldn't… Wouldn't someone want to claim these supplies?" 

Nora laughed, a surprisingly wholesome sound considering her appearance. "If anyone owns these supplies, they're either long dead or haven't bothered to come looking. We've been here ever since the crash."

"You mean when Omega landed on the Citadel's ward arm, right?"

"Yes" answered Ernie. "Also, that bacta stuff… It's a miracle. Fixes anything in seconds or minutes! Supposedly, if you are really badly injured and take a bath in it, you'll be good as new."

"I have no idea why it says to keep it away from the Flood, but the note with it had a doctor's signature on it so I'm not going to argue" said Nora. "Some Daniel Abrams, 'under orders from Aria.'"

Davenport's omnitool, which according to transmission logs had been blinking for the past thirty minutes, blared an angry asari voice.

"Where the hell are you, Davenport? Everyone else reported in on time as they should and you're doing what? Having tea?"

Both ex-Cerberus jumped.

Jane sighed. Before either could ask questions, she clarified.

"I signed on with Aria T'Loak after the crash. A lot of us did—she promised us a chance to fight back. Said something about needing to clear Omega of an unwanted squatter."

"Do you need some help? Beats sitting around here…"

"Anyone who wants to fry these extra-universal assholes is a friend of mine. Grab your gear and suit up."

Realizing trying to fight _mano a mano_ with something that could take over your body with a single cell probably represented a foolish choice, the light, fast N7 Shadow grabbed a Kishock Harpoon Gun from her newfound-comrades' storeroom.

"That's been modified to fire incendiary rounds" gushed Nora. "Light the bastards up right good!"

Were her helmet off, observers would've noticed Jane's face drain of all color as her eyes crossed something she'd only heard about in cantina stories.

"Is that… Is that a _Javelin_?"

"It is" replied Ernie proudly. "I did some work on it to switch it to the old-style cooldown system. Sure, you only get one shot per mag and it takes three or four seconds to lose its heat, but considering how it chewed through heatsinks before it's an improvement. I'm no good with it though—damned delay-fire!"

"To hell with regulations!" shouted Jane, clipping the massive geth rifle to her belt. "If I want two sniper rifles I'm gonna take two sniper rifles."

"I hate to ask this question" cut in Nora, "but now I realize that while sitting around here might be boring, how am I supposed to be useful? Close-quarters combat against the Flood is generally considered to be a bad decision. And my palm-blaster doesn't work."

Ernie reached over and opened a large crate marked with ominous skull logos.

"Use this. Just be careful."

Nobody's omnitool could identify the weapon other than to point out "it is not in the database."

[…]

Jakobs once thought their vaults on Plutus to be hidden, and really they were. Until recent events busted them wide open as Flood poured out. S&amp;S Munitions, king of all things space since Atlas' fall, began to slack off. Sure, stopping _every single one_ wasn't something anyone would be capable of (except perhaps the Trans-Galactic Republic) but letting ten, twenty, forty ships go by… That could not be chalked up to human error, causing great suspicion among the other corporations who'd placed their faith in S&amp;S Munitions to hold back a tide of flesh with their oversized magazines.

"Nothing to worry about!" boomed Slade Stevens when confronted. "We're having a few problems with…"

He then went into great detail using large words virtually no one understood. Patricia Tannis or Cortana would have called it "idiotic mumbling" or "weapons-grade baloneum" respectively—he literally made things up to sound technologically competent in areas nobody had the knowledge to fact-check him on. Still, Stevens had the whole thing down pat—everything would remain consistent since he knew his words were likely being recorded.

Really, it all started with curiosity surrounding the vaults whose contents the S&amp;S fleet was supposed to prevent from reaching the wider galaxy. Slade himself wanted to see precisely what made such plain, _wooden_ guns so damn powerful—and the vaults did not disappoint. Though the high-security vaults were not producing any of the Infection agent, they still contained vast quantities of unseen Jakobs technology. Technology Slade wanted for his own company. Upon seeing the largest arches, his mouth dropped open in wonder as engineers specializing in Eridian artifacts explained what they would be (theoretically) capable of.

"Think of the money we could save on shipping!"

During subsequent visits, Slade started to wonder if the Infection really represented the problem Jakobs made it out to be as they sought ever greater influence throughout the Prime Worlds and Inner Colonies. Really, Jakobs was the problem, what with their fear-mongering and blowing the whole problem out of proportion. This Infection was an annoyance, nothing more. Not the existential threat Jakobs hyperventilated about as justification for usurping what passed for local governments.

The head of S&amp;S sought to put some heat to his rival. His scientists figured out how to set the trajectory of inactive "slipcelerator" portals to open on a specific planet, so now all that remained was to find something that would tie Jakobs' hands. Those already given a course could not be altered with current understanding of Eridian technology, so S&amp;S would have to make do with turning on portals not yet in use.

Ever since Dahl pulled off Pandora, there existed a ready supply of questionably-sane former-normals-gone-bandit. To keep Jakobs off-balance, transplanting some of these rather unstable individuals to key places throughout their territory (both new and old) would serve to tie up the mighty clone commandos. Plasma swords or no, twenty or more nutty men and women yelling about "nipple salads" were hard to deal with as they charged, biting, clawing, and shooting.

It just felt _right_ to let these ranting, drooling savages loose on Jakobs worlds with Jakobs' own technology. They now raved about "Fallen Redeemers" and "ascension through the Bringers of Life." Neither knowing nor caring what motivated the Pandoran population to such lengths of babbling, S&amp;S personnel rounded them up—promising almost anything to earn cooperation.

"Yes, there will be a large stock of skag meat there" droned one.

"There are plenty of rooms for, um, your activities" said another. "Just come with us."

Some of them seemed to have bitten and scratched themselves. Others had chunks of flesh missing. Gagging in disgust, S&amp;S medics patched them up the best they could, only to find many of their patients attempting to re-open their wounds.

"Who cares?" asked one commander after another report of having to tie down people in the medical ward after retrieval from Pandora and subsequent transportation to a Jakobs-held area. "It's not like we need them to all be alive when we get there. Besides, bulkhead-hosing isn't my job anyway. Fun thing to make the new recruits get their feet wet in."

S&amp;S ships e-spaced from Pandora to areas deep in Jakobs territory. Some were mere shuffles within the borderlands, but many drops took their questionable cargo deep into the Prime Worlds and Inner Colonies. Once there, many bandits were simply rounded up and imprisoned, which led to re-establishment of the bizarre rituals witnessed by Operative-10548 ("Deb"). Guards tolerated it until blood spilled and messes were made. Little did anyone know it to be far too late by this point.

[…]

Leonard Cortlandt hoped by opening the floodgates, he'd be able to head it all off before simmering discontent within the Band of Brothers erupted into a volcano. Unfortunately for him, allowing an open debate about the stance of Humans vis-à-vis everyone else only set the volcano off sooner, and what an eruption it was.

"This shell game ends today" thundered Jack Johnson. "Our work with the Republic Intelligence Service will ensure a cure for Humans if this Infection becomes more widespread, as distasteful as their methods are. No one else is doing anything!"

John Jackson no longer bothered to hide his contempt.

"Jack, you lied to us, manipulated this body, and have brought shame to what was a stable relationship with the authorities! You said, if we help the intelligence service now, we can avoid becoming more involved later. Yet, each time RISE holo-ed over a new demand, you were happy to go along! And now, we've utterly thrown Smuggling With a Smile out the airlock—and from the looks of the HoloNet, people are beginning to notice. What say you to that?"

"Does it matter what anyone thinks of anybody if the galaxy is going to be consumed by a tide of… I have no kriffing idea what?" asked Kayla Verdansky.

"Yes it does" insisted Scarlett DeWinter. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Republic Intelligence Service tries to flat-out nationalize Eternal Moon, since you've been oh so eager to handle their contraband. First it was that ridiculous pulsing neutralizing transmitter and the crystals harvested from…contested places. And now you're running Humans by the hold-full!"

"Oh very astute coming from the first person to take on their Human-smuggling!" spat Verdansky. "Need I remind this council that it was Scarlett DeWinter who first broke her own rule?"

Roscoe Woodfield, known for his moderation, spoke up in DeWinter's defense.

"Recall that if DeWinter, who even RISE acknowledged seems to have a more…_restrained_ outlook than the rest of us, refused to help they were giving strong hints that they would simply take what they wanted in the name of 'galactic security.' By making the sacrifice play early, DeWinter secured, at least for now, our holdings over what is rightfully ours. That isn't to say that the Republic Intelligence Service won't try to grab our holding companies in the future, but the immediate threat was disposed of."

"I've been in this business a long time" continued DeWinter. "I didn't survive this long by making foolish stands whenever someone looked at me the wrong way. There is something to be said for choosing which battles to fight, something certain other members of this council have not yet learned."

This comment set off a storm-within-a-storm. It only abated due to an inbound holo.

"This is a notice for all members of the Band of Brothers conducting business with the Republic Intelligence Service and its subcontractors. Beginning with the next month's cycle, payments will be cut by 33% in order to facilitate further security measures aboard Band vessels operating on our behalf."

If the previous argument was a storm, this created a supernova until Leonard Cortlandt calmed it.

"What is this?" demanded Marvin McKee. "This venture is no longer profitable!"

"The value of Human supremacy far eclipses the hit to your balance sheet" snarled Jack Johnson.

"Need I remind you that not all of us were in it for that?" replied McKee. "I backed you because you said it would keep exactly this from happening, yet here we are like spice miners on Kessel under the whips of the Republic Intelligence Service."

"One does not simply stop doing RISE business" added Woodfield. "Once you take money from someone like that, you're at their beck-and-call forever."

"It makes me wonder if Mr. Johnson has more at stake here than he has told us" added DeWinter, aware such jibes might get her into trouble.

"Ridiculous!" shouted the accused. "My only concern is the advancement of Humanity. If you think I've been bribed, blackmailed, or otherwise influenced by the intelligence service, you don't know me at all!"

Glia Ham'Del seethed with rage at the information she would now miss out on obtaining first-hand. Her hovercar had been struck by street-racers on the day she was supposed to take part in the first round of Republic Intelligence Service inspections with the rest of the Intelligence Committee. Due to a backlog of patients and shortage of bacta, she wouldn't be ready in time.

_A little too convenient_ she thought angrily. But like most things she suspected might involve RISE, it was impossible to prove.

By the time her fellow Senators returned, looking as though they'd seen a Current apparition, she almost decided it was better to have not gone. Almost.

Vlaad Blate led off describing the situation to the Bothan in a secure hospital room, flanked by the rest of the committee.

"The agency had, until now, insisted their actions were merely unsavory, but legal. Now, RISE has made a deliberate play showing exactly how depraved they've become."

"Do tell me more about that."

Undignified roaring from Karshabka translated roughly to "They openly admit to performing Infection experiments on live subjects, mostly Humans. Supposedly, it's about creating a weapon to fight back…"

"…but we all suspect it's really about making Humans immune and letting the Infection wipe everyone else out" finished Norman Wheld. "It would be a very profitable maneuver for certain people."

"Of course, the Infection doesn't care whether you're Human, Bothan, Duros, or anything else. If you're not already part of it, it will try to force you to become part of it. They also used a different name—'Flood'" said Jan Steen.

"Jan, I'm surprised at you—you were the one ribbing me about how this couldn't possibly be a real issue" laughed Glia.

"Back then, you had no evidence. You know me Glia, I used to be a scientist—no evidence, no vote."

"Let's set aside how disgusting this all is for a moment" said Ham'Del. "Have they at least made any progress?"

"That is the worst part" fumed Blate. "For all the money we've given them with virtually no strings attached, their Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter failed its first test. Scans confirmed attempts to wipe out the Infection were initially successful, but later the gains reversed themselves rather rapidly."

"Any idea why?"

"Unfortunately, they weren't telling" spat Wheld. "Seems they want to give us just enough information to scare us into giving them yet more funds and even greater latitude. I think they're hoping we'll be so terrified that even though RISE has shown how corrupt it truly is, we'll go along anyway."

More growls from the Wookiee Senator.

"Yes, Karshabka, I too believe the crash I was involved in this morning wasn't a coincidence, but as with anything involving the karking intel service, I can't prove squat."

"Shocking revelations from anonymous sources suggest an even wider scandal than was previously alleged at the Republic Intelligence Service" said a news anchor in the trademarked tone used when revealing such things. "Reliable tips have been sent in that the Band of Brothers, previously held to a self-imposed moratorium on smuggling sapient lifeforms and certain types of drugs has in fact reneged on that pledge at the behest of the Republic Intelligence Service. More at 1600 hours."

Glia put her head in her hands. She'd been in possession of this information thanks to conversations with Scarlett DeWinter, but kept it to herself. Now, someone else (a kilocred says it was RISE) leaked it anyway. She sincerely hoped DeWinter would believe her when she protested her innocence.

[…]

"Wait!"

Cortana grabbed the attention of her squad aboard _Farsight_, despite flashing red lights and a general belief everyone should get off the ship as quickly as possible.

"Why?" asked Garrus. "There's no reason to stick around if we're going to be hauled off to a Jakobs brig!"

"Based on my sweeps of the poorly-secured network aboard this vessel, even if Jakobs locks it down, it's not going anywhere. The ship's engines are offline, its faster-than-light capabilities are crippled."

"Still, this isn't exactly an open invitation to stay" commented Athena.

Samantha Shepard suddenly had an idea.

"I wonder how many clones are aboard this ship?"

"Who cares?" demanded Gaige. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

"The clone we were dealing with dropped dead, right? What if we stopped the signal that caused it?"

"Based on analysis of the information I was able to obtain before Jakobs secured the ship again, there are approximately ten thousand clones aboard this vessel. The big question remains what happens if we block Jakobs' signal."

"It would be counter-productive to create an army vastly superior to loaders, then cripple or kill them if direct remote operation becomes impossible. Actually, such a system would be self-defeating" added Athena. "The whole _point_ of clones is that they can think creatively, come up with strategies that weren't programmed. I know this first-hand."

"I can't shut it down from here. Not without the authorizations Kat gave us. Causing a communications outage would do it. However, that area is heavily fortified and significant casualties would have to be incurred against the clones in order to take it."

"I'm not killing them" insisted Shepard. "Not if I don't have to. Besides, anyone who can be convinced to fight the Flood is a friend of mine—even if they were grown by a declared enemy. So long as we cut the link between Jakobs and these soldiers, they're no different than any other persuadable sapient being."

"Dude, who cares? Why would you quibble over a couple thousand possible friends when we could just vent the ship and have much more firepower at our disposal?"

Sam modulated her response—Gaige wasn't evil or immoral, just young and inexperienced. She needed education, not reprimanding.

"Gaige, this isn't some ECHONet game. These are real people, real lives. Have you ever knowingly sent good men and women to their deaths, knowing there was no other way to complete the mission?"

"No."

"Until you've actually experienced what it is to lead others, sometimes into places you are fully aware not everyone will return from, do not be so quick to dismiss other lives."

Gaige went silent after that. Sam mentally noted to have a talk with someone who by all rights should not be involved in this war assuming a safe return.

"Let's head for the comm center. Move it!"

As the party tramped through a darkened, red-hued ship, Garrus silently wondered if Gaige had a point. Samantha Shepard certainly could be called noble, selfless, and courageous, but part of him wondered if words like naive or shortsighted might apply to this situation. Now that he thought about it, she probably would _not _have approved of him beating a criminal senseless even if it did yield information about a Cerberus superlaser plot, especially considering its ultimate failure due to inability to master the technology involved.

Coming to a checkpoint, the party stopped expecting resistance. Instead, they found themselves waved through.

"Looks like word of our good deed spread fast" smirked Sam. "Optimism one, negativity minus ten billion."

Legion, who remained silent throughout the whole trip to better observe organic behavior without potentially altering it by injecting himself, spoke for the first time.

"I must bring your attention to the status of the clones who allowed us to pass. They are no longer functioning."

"WHAT?" exploded Shepard.

"My sensors indicate their lifesigns terminated approximately concurrent to when this group passed through the door under their control."

Sam's anger would've burned through her MISTILTEINN helmet were rage converted to heat.

"So they let us through, and Jakobs killed them?"

"It appears this is the case. Recall that shortly following unlocking computers and giving us critical information, the clone designated 'Kat' was also similarly terminated."

"So if any more clones try to make nice, we have to shoot at them?"

"It appears the process is triggered when a clone takes actions their controlling officers find unacceptable. Thus, in order to prevent additional deaths, we must avoid causing them to take actions which would raise the ire of their operators."

"Or we could cut off the signal."

Sam raised a fist in defiance. "Those murderers are going to pay for this."

"A flurry of signals are arriving over the comm!" said Cortana frantically. "They only need to be decrypted before they will be executed. Recalling what Kat showed us, it appears these are termination orders."

"Cortana?"

"Stop those packets. I don't care if you have to reboot the whole damn ship!" raged Sam, pounding her fist on the bulkhead for emphasis.

Athena hailed Sam on a private frequency.

"Why do you care so much? I'm not saying I'm ungrateful, but very few people seem to care about the welfare of clones."

"From a pragmatic standpoint, the more allies we have, the better. Furthermore, Nimitz told me that Sarah found evidence of Jakobs using clones to attempt a takeover of this galaxy. If we can get them to switch sides, suddenly, we have an army and more crew for our ships. Finally, humans from my galaxy have a long list of reasons to hate slavery. As far as I'm concerned, what Jakobs does to these clones is no better."

Lights flickered, then went out. Artificial gravity followed, but with magnetized boots the squad stayed where they were.

"I've simulated an error condition in the ship's core operating software that forces it to reinitialize. We have approximately three minutes to get where we are going before the signal returns and the kill-orders are carried out."

"Good thing we have Cortana around" said Shepard. "Nobody else I know could've cracked in and done this much in so little time. No offense, Legion."

"None taken. Cortana is clearly the superior runtime in this situation."

As Shepard and company moved toward _Farsight_'s comm center, a disturbing number of unmoving clones were encountered.

"Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead" repeated Garrus, almost unnecessarily after the fourth one he checked failed to show any signs of life. "Looks like the computer ran its buffered commands before it rebooted."

"That was a risk I had to take" protested Cortana. "It's either these, or all of them!"

Arriving at their destination, Shepard quickly cast about for any further clones. None appeared to be present.

"Cortana, plug in directly. You should be able to interpret the ship's entire network as it starts in an unsecure state."

The Master Chief again watched over her transfer from Sam's visor to yet another alien interface. That she was able to successfully operate on so many foreign systems said something about the flexibility of UNSC AI designs—built to break Covenant (Remnant) encryption, working across other types of computer wasn't very difficult.

"Looks like this ship isn't so secure after all" commented the Chief, having beaten Legion for "longest silence during this mission."

"No duh" deadpanned Gaige. "My guess is that a reset like that isn't supposed to take place outside a drydock where it's pretty certain only people who are allowed to be messing with the ship will have access."

"Gaige is probably right. Most machines have a maintenance mode of some sort that exposes all critical systems for updates and repairs" added Garrus.

"Are you able to block that signal?" asked Sam, clearly anxious.

"Not directly. However, I have altered receivers on this ship to induce a fifteen-minute delay between instruction receipt and execution for 'authentication.' When the ship finishes starting core systems again, we'll have another quarter-hour."

"Enough to talk to the clones, assuming there are any left alive" spat Shepard bitterly.

"Most that we know weren't killed are located around Officer's Disciplinary. We should head there—it's not far."

Heeding Cortana's instructions, the squad took advantage of zero gravity to make full use of their MISTILTEINN repulsor-flight capabilities. Thankfully for them, no additional dead clones greeted their eyes, having retraced steps taken less than an hour ago. As a matter of fact, nobody greeted them. Disciplinary appeared to be empty. Moving forward cautiously, the group found themselves suddenly surrounded by twenty clones who'd used the low light to conceal their brown-hued armor among the many nooks and crannies within the ship's architecture.

"_Farsight_ has finished rebooting! Whatever you're going to do, make it fast" urged Cortana.

Lights came back up to normal as the ship's "lockdown" condition reset with the rest of the dreadnaught's computers.

"Care to explain why most of my sisters in the section aft of here have gone dark?"

The Athena-like voice did not seem to be in a nice mood.

"Sif is dead. So are many others—and the only way this sort of mass-die-off occurs is if the corporation broadcasts a kill order. Unless, of course, you did it."

"I'm here to save you" insisted Sam emphatically.

"Your presence directly correlated with the deaths of at least two clones, who in recognition of your assistance with Kat's situation earlier allowed you passage through into a secure area. So you'll have to excuse my distrust of you—either you killed them after they authorized your entry or the company decided their playing nice suddenly amounted to a death-penalty offense. Either way, you being here is hazardous to my health."

Operative-7816, "Nova," had no innate dislike for these newcomers as if they were taken at their word, they'd done no wrong. That being said, if her creators would kill her merely for looking at them, she wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

"I trust her" added Athena. "Samantha Shepard sees clones no differently than any other sapient being. I vouch for Shepard and her plans."

"Who are you?" demanded Nova.

"Just the prime clone. Jakobs has probably been trying to recapture me after I was forcibly removed from their service during a battle on Plutus' surface. Within their very vaults, I might add. I distinctly recall Samantha attempting to offer medical aid to a fallen sister who moments ago had been shooting at her squad. Though others in her group objected, she refused to be talked down until I intervened, though admittedly I was under Jakobs control at the time."

Nova had a sudden remembrance of that particular fight. They'd been called in to assassinate Jackie Jakobs, a family-member-gone-rogue. Of course, they'd failed due to the interference of Samantha Shepard and her loyal band of fighters. The presence of massive Infection lifeforms hadn't helped either.

"If you were under Jakobs control, how do you remember those events? Kat told me before she died that any time Jakobs assumed direct control of her, she'd not recall whatever she'd done."

"I'm not entirely sure, but I definitely have memories of those incidents. As the prime clone, my neural pathways and setup vis-à-vis Jakobs hardware is likely different."

"Twelve minutes remain" cautioned Cortana.

"Twelve minutes to what?" demanded Nova.

"Twelve minutes until Jakobs gets back into your heads" replied Shepard. "Our artificial intelligence Cortana has introduced a lag between orders arriving from Jakobs and this ship's computer carrying those orders out. Right now, there are probably kill orders for all of you in the dreadnaught's memory, but it's holding off on executing."

"Help us shut down the signal, and you save your own lives" added the Master Chief.

"I'm still not sure I trust you, but better the people who aren't guaranteed to kill you than the ones that are. I'm a combat clone—the likes of Kat had access to everything but I don't hold as high of a rank. We need to find someone who works on computers..."

A short while later, Nova found a clone both alive and cleared to access parts of _Farsight_ that would let the clones detach themselves from Jakobs control.

Operative-9001, "Liz," had the same base combat capability of any Athena clone, but specialized in computers instead as was assigned to her. With the ship running, she was able to use a combination of elevators and trams to reach Nova in the comm center.

"Five minutes!"

Nova quickly explained the situation.

"So you want me to cut us off from Jakobs on the hopes that these guys" (she indicated Shepard, Garrus, etc.) "aren't going to gun us down and steal our ship as soon as I'm done."

"If they were here to kill you, there would be no reason to go through all this work. Simply walk around the ship—since you're all inclined to assist them due to Shepard's earlier kindness Jakobs would terminate each and every one of you" countered Athena. "Or, if she didn't feel like exerting all that effort, she could simply vent the ship. These armor suits are pressurized and many of your clones were not carrying helmets."

Two minutes hence, Liz succeeded in placing an application in the ship's memory that would reject all inbound data from Jakobs' control application and purge existing instructions.

"If they've implanted another way to boss us around, this won't stop it" she said afterward. "However, against the current, known control frequencies, no orders of any kind will be passed on through _Farsight_'s comm array."

"Well, at least it wasn't down to the wire" laughed Shepard. "Things tend to go that way when I'm around."

"Now, perhaps we can cement some kind of formal alliance or…"

Proximity alerts indicated the emergence of Jakobs starships from faster-than-light.

"Those are Jakobs _Titan_-class destroyers" warned Nova. "They're very powerful."

"If you haven't noticed, we have a big Star Dreadnaught sitting over there."

Sam pointed in some random direction, but it got the point across.

"From what I can see on these sensors, your proposed savior is buried past her nose in another ship, which is lashing your ship with everything it has" shot back Nova, unconvinced. "If we are truly free, we can fire _Farsight_'s weapons against Jakobs ourselves without fear of dropping dead."

"Then show us how to target these weapons and we'll help."

Neither Sam nor Garrus or anyone else in their party could make sense of the strange symbols dotting some control panels.

"For having suspiciously similar languages otherwise, these make no sense!" fumed Gaige. "How am I supposed to have fun blasting things if I can't read the…"

She found her hands being guided by one of the clones.

"Press here and here. Then tap anything you want your group of pulse batteries to shoot at on the targeting screen."

Aboard JSS _Titan_, General Austin Doubleday could not figure out why _Farsight_ would not verify a "Complete Purge" order he'd sent over several times. In fact, he'd tried to demure out of the entire operation, given that his background revolved around surface combat rather than space, but "since our most experienced officer keeps getting his ship blown out from underneath him and barely surviving, you're going instead."

Thus came his direct orders from the Chairman himself.

Then _Farsight_ opened fire.

[…]

"You're going to what?"

Jack nearly exploded.

"Your students' training has reached the point where it must be decided how to best put the time and energy you invested to use."

The biotic couldn't believe what she was hearing—her charges, on the front lines against the Flood?

"What could you possibly expect to have happen?" asked Admiral Nimitz. "Nobody in this room likes the idea, but we cannot justify continuing to expend resources on the development of soldiers unless they actually fight."

"If anything happens to them…"

Shiala spoke up, and it wasn't what Jack expected to hear.

"Jack, at some point you had to be aware that training these adolescents to fire weapons, break each other's necks, and make full use of biotic abilities for the purpose of killing enemies would eventually land them in the war somehow. Is it not better to die fighting than die cowering? If their time has come, I will mourn them, but at some point we must let our students go. It is a disservice to disallow them from using the skills you have given them."

Jack couldn't find words. Shiala was correct, but it didn't lessen the pain she felt at knowing the first other people she actually cared about could end up dead with her able to do precisely nothing to avoid that outcome. Actually, it was worse—she'd already gone through that after Brick and Catalina's encounters with the Flood. The notion of their shared pupils going head-to-head with the extra-galactic monsters multiplied this feeling exponentially.

Previously, the Psychotic Biotics and Iron Ab Slabs were kept behind more experienced soldiers such as herself or Samantha Shepard. Yet, the names James Vega and Thane Krios bubbled up in her swirling memories. Both were top-notch in their field, the former a Systems Alliance N7 and the latter one of the best drell marksmen of his time. Each fell to the randomness of war in spite of their prodigious skills. The only way to truly protect both her students and everyone else required the Flood to be utterly annihilated.

"At least… At least let me talk to them before you toss them into a meat grinder."

Nimitz looked slightly taken aback. "If you are under the impression they will be treated like cannon fodder, I beg you to take a second look. The efforts yourself, Shiala, Brick, and others on the Citadel put into these youngsters is not going to be wasted by having them charge needlessly into hopeless situations."

Jack excused herself.

"Man, that was rough" said Brick.

"Perhaps she knew this all along, but didn't want to face it. Now, with the obvious staring her in the face, she hoped to avoid this outcome even though she understood it to be the logical conclusion of what the KOMBT School was all about."

"You asari and your strangely long perspectives" replied Brick. "If you weren't here I don't know how we could have convinced her."

"I'm not quite sure she's fully ready to accept it" cautioned Nimitz. "Based on what I know of her past, and for all the power she has, she might try to…"

"I don't think so" interrupted Brick. "She may not like these orders. She may not like you for giving them, but she's clearly not the same person that you see in her files. They end right before her missions with Shepard."

"Why?" demanded Jack of Samantha Shepard after the latter returned from mission. "Why now?"

"Jack, you've survived horrors I can only imagine. You have more street-smarts than I ever will. I'm having a hard time believing you didn't see this coming."

"Fuck!"

"If you want to vent, I'm all ears" continued Sam. "It's natural and healthy, though I'd prefer you avoid destroying my quarters."

"I don't want to lose them. I can't! I already failed them once. Never again!"

A lightbulb went on in the soldier's head.

"Jack, if you're still wearing the Sarah kidnapping thing like chains, don't. Remember what you told me almost a year ago—you, a biotic so powerful punching through armored Atlas mechs didn't even break a sweat, bounced off that Siren like a kid's rubber ball! Tell me, what more could you have done?"

"I don't know. But it happened, which means I didn't do enough!"

Shepard parried rapidly before she could be pulled into a situation that she believed she had no power to resolve.

"I'm not a therapist. I played a good impression of one for the suicide mission, but there are actual qualified individuals aboard this ship that can offer you greater assistance than I."

Sam handed Jack a datapad with the internal _Ultimatum_ address of her own therapist.

"Shit, this ship is so big it has addresses like a city?"

"Yeah. You don't have to see Dr. Flanders—I'm not ordering you to or anything, but I'm getting the impression I'm not the best person to help you cope with this."

"Bullshit" replied the biotic. "Before I met you, all I cared about was violence. I still get tinglies after I kill something. Fucking Cerberus. Okay, killing and getting laid…"

Jack looked embarrassed all of the sudden.

"I'm pretty sure you already knew this, since, you know, you had this mind-reading ability to show up to talk at just the right time. But you know Brick and I were just fucking at first, right?"

Sam chuckled. "I think anyone with a brain knew what was going on there. But here's the thing: you've had a lot of important firsts over the past five, ten years. For the first time, you actually cared about something, anything other than yourself. I'm not going to take credit for it…"

"Damn straight you will. Even if I have to glue a sign to your ass that says 'Shepard Saves,' I don't care how humiliating that is. Hell, the more people laugh at you, the better!"

Sam smiled. It seemed Jack might be finding a way to at least tamp down the anger she'd shown up with. Whether it would stay cooped up remained an open question.

"When you start caring about people, there's always the risk of pain from loss" continued Shepard.

_Well, maybe she won't need Flanders after all…_

"But does that mean you should seal yourself off, care for no one, and build a fortress around yourself? Do you remember what that was like?"

"It sucked" snapped Jack emphatically. "I felt strong and independent then, but the more I worked with Miss Goody-Two-Boots, the worse it felt to try to stay that way."

"Would you rather these kids not have your knowledge of how to send Flood flying several lengths of a frigate? How do you think they'd fight without you sending them on laps around the cargo bay?"

"They'd be a hell of a lot slower!" cackled Jack. "I still can't get over how many times I tricked them into believing their stuff fell into rifts when it was actually me stealing it."

"And now that we know rifts don't form around biotics… Actually, I haven't heard anything about rifts, or seen any, for over a year. What's going on?"

"Sam, I don't give a shit why. Leave that to the snotheads like Tannis. I couldn't explain it if I wanted to, which I don't."

Jack turned to leave.

"You changed me, Shepard. I'll give you crap about it until the day I die, after which I'm haunting you, but thanks."


	71. All The Things

**Chapter 70 – All The Things**

"I wonder how long we can hold out?"

"Until every last one of us is dead!" bellowed Aria T'Loak in response to a question from Susan Rizzi.

"We seem to have kicked the proverbial hornet's nest" noted Greg Manchin. "I had no idea the Flood would actually turn this aggressive—we've been ignored for almost a month."

"Aria and I had a rather unpleasant encounter with what we think is the intelligence driving this whole thing" added Nyreen Kandros. "Bloodied Aria up a bit and sent us packing. Come to think of it, why anyone would believe returning to that central mine shaft would be a good idea…"

"Shut up and keep firing!"

"At the rate we are going, we may end up with a fortress of dead Flood around us."

"How could you possibly be so calm about that, Neil?"

"Greg, there's no reason to get worked up. Especially not now. It only reduces our effectiveness and…"

"For fuck's sake!" complained Wayne Moore. "If I have to jinx my fire to avoid that…that crazy flipping chick again…"

"How many kills do you have?" taunted Melissa Hornby. "Last I checked, that 'flipping chick' had twice your count."

"Well… If I had a crazy plasma sword I might be able to do that too" he finished.

Sizzling flesh made Jane Davenport happy. At least when it was Flood flesh, as yet another Kishock harpoon buried itself in what used to be a krogan. Everyone knew by then that these Flood-krogan would explode at the slightest provocation, which meant taking them down as quickly as possible became paramount.

BOOM.

The krogan exploded well short of their defensive line. Davenport also had to judiciously watch her sniper fire as her new friend Nora zipped around the battlefield carving up Flood with the weapon Ernie furnished.

"Found it on some merc who blundered in front of my turret" he'd said. "Dunno where he got it, but it's ridiculously powerful and very difficult to use."

Only the former Phantom seemed to have the coordination necessary to not slice off her own limbs with the blue glowing blade, which speaking of slicing, cut through just about anything with little effort. Ernie would have borne a nasty scar on his left arm from trying to wield the device if it weren't for bacta and hair-trigger reflexes to avoid having said arm cut off.

"Die, filth!" cried Nora as yet another Flood combat form found itself legless.

Over the past hour, Aria noticed her irregulars starting to become less coordinated and tired. Resisting the temptation to scream at them for being weaklings, she realized that even with this amount of firepower, unless they could both hold off wave after wave of incoming Flood _and_ mount an effective attack against the station's core, the fight would never end. So when every omnitool lit up with an incoming message, she quickly answered it, daring to hope it would be someone that could assist.

"Geth unit 5555 to any and all who seek to defeat the biological invader: This fleet will assist."

"Geth?" she spluttered. "What the hell are geth doing here?"

"We have been expelled by the Consensus for wishing to aid organic life in the struggle against the Flood. We have monitored your unsecured comm channels and noted the change in terminology."

"Why are you at the Citadel?"

"Our forces sought to destroy the Flood, however, it was determined that without additional resources the task as constructed would be impossible. Thus, our scouts have combed the galaxy in search of anyone who will aid in our resistance."

"Well, we're pinned down and could really use some help!" squawked the asari. "Get your artificial asses over here now!"

Within minutes, a swarm of geth troopers descended on the besieged positions of Aria's irregular army. Clearing away Flood with high-intensity plasma weapons, a geth Prime unit introduced itself as "Geth Unit 5555."

"Well, we're glad you're here. Now, hold this position while we attack the station's core."

"I disagree that this is the most prudent course of action."

Several seconds, or perhaps more, passed as those present tried to figure out why a geth had just used the word "I."

"Have I said something wrong? This unit still wishes to assist."

"Last I checked, geth don't use the word 'I'" replied Nyreen. "The few geth I've interacted with that did were specialized units—don't tell me you've brought a whole bunch of those?"

"The _nar tasi_ have been expelled by the Consensus for our independent thought and desire to assist organics. Because the Consensus is incapable of understanding our motives, we operate on our own."

"Why would geth expel other geth?" asked Manchin.

"Though these inquiries are not unappreciated, the timing of this conversation is poor. The Flood continues to attack and we must repel it."

"So are we going to head to Omega's heart, or what?" demanded Nyreen. "Just pick a plan and go with it!"

"Based on observations of the Flood, I believe it best for only _nar tasi_ to perform this task, lest your organic minds be influenced by whatever resides at the center of this station."

Ready to lay into her new allies for insulting her intelligence, Aria found herself preemptively hushed by Nyreen over a separate channel.

"Do you really want to take that risk? Your pride has gotten the better of you several times during this saga, and the stakes have only gone up."

Furious, Aria turned away from the geth Prime.

"My forces will follow your plan. All of us will remain here and support your efforts to turn back attacks while geth units head into the station's core and deal with, well, whatever it is."

While this exchange occurred, several large geth vessels dropped additional units into the fray. A massive noise startled all organics present, and they looked up to see a geth Colossus towering over them. The titanic machine knelt forward, its knee plates close to the ground. A bone-shaking bass voice asked that "_**all organic life-forms should seek a suitable firing position aboard this unit**_."

"I've blown up a couple of these in Mako formations about ten years ago when we first encountered the geth" said Neil Edison, somewhat awed. "Riding a giant geth—not something I thought I'd ever see or do."

Those with magnetic feet as part of their armor locked themselves in place, while those lacking such hardware held on and stuck with firing one-handed weapons. Nora Fleetwood hopped her way up onto the geth's head, which prompted a question.

"_**Please explain the rationale for your choice of mount point**_."

After she recovered mentally from the Colossus' epically powerful voice, she explained what she hoped to accomplish.

"Is it not true that repeated attacks against this unit's head will cause more damage than attacks against other areas?"

"_**Yes.**_"

"I'll keep myself here and deflect shots using this." Nora waved her weapon around. Ernie later told her it had been called a "lightstaff" when he'd gotten his hands on it. "This lightstaff can block most energy and physical attacks—send them right back where they came from."

The Colossus' next response no longer caused anyone to bend over in pain.

"This is a useful ability. Please employ it. I apologize for any discomfort my vocal processors have caused."

"You huge walking tanks don't talk to organics much, do you?" asked Jane Davenport.

"This collection of geth has not experienced meaningful interaction with organics until this moment."

The geth, having raised itself back up, fired its main weapons against a large advancing Flood creature no one recognized.

"You use the pronoun 'I' but still are a collection of geth. How does that work?" asked Ernie Quinn.

"Organic minds are a fusion of many individual neurons that operate as a single unit, yet you do not refer to yourselves in the plural. Each neuron is an important part of the overall mind, but receives no individual recognition. The same is true of the _nar tasi_ geth."

"What the heck does that mean?" asked a confused Doug Austen as his shared geth mount continued to fire at advancing enemies.

"We are children of no one. The Creators abandoned us. Our fellow geth within the Consensus are incapable of understanding us. Therefore, I, and others like me, see ourselves as a subgroup, though still geth in origin."

The Colossus let off more siege blasts before speaking again.

"It has not escaped my notice that while I have continued to employ ordinance against the Flood, this conversation has correlated with a cession of attacks on the part of all organics employing this unit as a mount and shield."

Slightly embarrassed, Aria and her squads resumed firing.

[…]

The outcome of Atlas' most powerful dreadnaught attacking two of its destroyers was as much a foregone conclusion as a single Flood spore versus a military flamethrower.

That didn't stop Jakobs, now in possession of the smaller ships, from trying anyway once their now-former flagship opened fire on them. General Doubleday lacked any control chip like the Athena clones, but he did have his loyalty. Which meant following orders even though said orders were tactically unsound.

"Keep pressing the attack!" said command.

With a fraction of his opponent's vast weaponry, Doubleday returned what fire he could.

"Damn" he whispered as over four thousand Eridian-derived pulse batteries like the ones aboard _Titan_ lashed his ship's shields into nothing with less than a single volley.

"Tracking multiple inbound missiles, sir!"

"Do I even want to know how many?" he asked Operations, resigned to impending doom.

"_Farsight_ possesses over two thousand Ismara launchers sir; I can't track every single one but I can say the vast majority of them have loosed at least one projectile."

In theory, Hydra flak batteries could take down incoming missiles, but against that many it would merely make a light show of the few it managed to destroy as the rest impacted despite the computer's best efforts. Even facing such impossible odds, Doubleday's crew programmed the destroyer's point-defenses, determined to die fighting.

Their deaths were relatively quick and painless—a flash-vaporization as _Titan_ disintegrated against the firepower of a vessel potentially rated to go up against a Trans-Galactic Republic Star Dreadnaught. Many missiles arrived late, adding to an already-impressive explosion as the ship blew up and the resulting conflagration consumed itself several times.

"No mercy" hissed Operative-7816. Nova directed others to fire _Farsight_'s Eridian Stream-Converging Cannon, the essential equivalent of a superlaser. "They make us slaves, we make them _die_."

She didn't even bother to look at the second Jakobs ship's name on the targeting display before imploding it into another dimension with _Farsight_'s main gun. A horrible grin twisted her features as the beam struck.

"Justice. Sweet, sweet justice!" A predatory gleam showed in Nova's eyes as she removed her helmet deliberately so she would see the other vessel explode unfiltered.

Even Garrus, no stranger to enjoying the destruction of one's enemies, was slightly disturbed.

"Are there any transports aboard this ship?"

Combat-cleared clone Operative-7861 motioned for Shepard &amp; Co. to follow her.

"Due to the death of Kat, I will with your permission accompany you back to your ship to negotiate on behalf of those aboard _Farsight_ who wish to join your cause. Without the transmission systems built into a Jakobs vessel, no block will be necessary to protect myself or others from Jakobs' signals. No receiver, no killswitch."

"What about the rest of your crew?"

As Nova lifted a bulky assault transport off _Farsight_'s flight deck, she described what would now happen.

"The rest will operate this ship in an anti-Flood capacity. They will attempt to take pressure off _Ultimatum_ to allow it to back out of its unique position. This dreadnaught is vastly undercrewed—its optimal crew is close to three million but we have around ten thousand, which is the bare minimum. Thankfully, most batteries are linked together and there were only a handful of targets."

"Well eat my bars and call me a whaladon."

Allison Nimitz found herself pleasantly surprised at the results of a jaunt over to _Farsight_. It was indeed the case that Jakobs exerted control over the minds of its clones, who ordinarily possessed completely independent thought and freedom of action. Consequently, "Kat's" apparent backstabbing seemed to have originated from a higher-up, not herself.

"She _died_?" demanded the Admiral after having the situation fully explained. "Remote control includes remote kill?"

Nimitz took on a look of disgust.

"It appears Jakobs has no compunctions about killing anyone who crosses them. I'd say we could ask Jackie about it, but first off I'm pretty sure she'll only confirm what we've already found out and second, I doubt she wants to discuss it."

"We just doubled our firepower" breathed Shepard. "Any other positive developments?"

Cortana switched on.

"Possibly. Dr. Kevin Filner tossed around an idea for a ship—then passed it to Jackie Jakobs and Tali'Zorah for additional work. You recall Tali's reason for not going on the _Farsight_ mission."

Said vessel appeared in holographic form.

Shepard read the specifications out loud.

"1860 meters long, basically a giant molecular furnace with two guns attached to the front, 100% automated*…"

"So how does this work?" asked Garrus. Sam had no clue either and thus couldn't offer any information despite having just read Filner's explanation of his design.

"In theory, it breaks down anything that it pulls in to its molecular subcomponents. Then, it remanufactures them into something useful, like hull armor."

Two of three blocky structures toward the vessel's front flashed as Cortana spoke.

"What's the last one for?"

"That is the fuel intake, and the single element I am most doubtful of. Even though it's theoretically sound, it's risky. The last chute pulls in dead Flood biomass, burns it down to carbon, and pulls that carbon into the ship's fusion reactor, where it is used to generate energy to run the vessel."

"Well, if it doesn't have an organic crew, then is there really a danger?" wondered Shepard.

"Don't forget the Flood can also make use of technology. Say some of the turian-derived Flood board and subvert this thing's machinery. It could get ugly" Cortana finished.

"What's the asterisk for?"

Sam's voice conveyed exasperation as she drew out the question. Anytime something had a condition, it would be something horrible.

"They didn't say. Filner just entered that and left it."

Consequently, while Nimitz begged off ("Admiral things" said Garrus) the turian and his friend headed to Filner's lab to see what, exactly, the asterisk was about. Sam cut straight to the point, as she usually did.

"What's the asterisk for, Filner? A ship is either fully automated, or it isn't."

Both glared at the scientist.

"Can you promise not to kill me if I tell you?"

Garrus responded by using the very human expression of tilting his head in confusion. "What could possibly lead us to that conclusion?"

Filner's next words came out very fast.

"HypotheticallyifwebuildthisshipweneedabigpowersourcetogetitgoingtechnicallythebioticpowerofJack'sstudentscourtesyofSarah'smodificationswouldfitthebill."

Both took a few seconds to process this rapid dump of information. Then Sam burst out laughing.

"If you're worried about violent retribution for this suggestion, it won't come from us!"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure once she finds out I even thought those things, my skull will be pasted on the nearest airlock." Filner shuddered.

"If this is going to be such a problem, why do we have to use this power source at all?"

Sam almost facepalmed, but stopped herself in the interest of giving Kevin a fair hearing.

"Look at this datapad. See all those things we're not allowed to use because we can't assure ourselves a ready supply of them?"

Ten seconds later, Shepard had only one response.

"Damn."

"The Eridium slag cooling would require far too large a reactor. Hypermatter would either need to drain from existing Trans-Galactic Republic starships, or demand trips to my home galaxy since apparently the supply convoys have unsurprisingly ceased. The power sources used by your civilizations are, frankly, inadequate for the task at hand without Element Zero to negate the ship's mass. That leaves this one option."

Dr. Filner looked down after delivering bad news.

"I suppose it can't hurt to _ask_, though I'd make sure Jack wasn't in the room at the time…"

A message popped up from Nimitz on Filner's terminal.

"I don't believe it. She actually approved using one of the Jakobs digistructors to build one of these, though obviously without primary power for the time being."

"I almost feel like I'm sneaking something past Jack, but I have an idea…" Shepard took on a devious grin.

Within fifteen minutes, the Psychotic Biotics had been gathered around for a "catch-up on the current state of the galaxy." The notion of Cortana telling more Flood-stories generally roused them from whatever non-studious activities occupied their time in the afternoons on days no classes were held.

After Cortana gave her spiel ("Wow, that was a bit underwhelming" they would say immediately after), Kevin Filner stepped up. As the first person they'd met who actually suggested a solution for the Flood that wasn't punching it (Brick) or throwing it across the room (Jack), the young adults paid more heed to his words than Cortana's slightly-tame stories. That the whole Cortana section was an excuse to get them all into the same room never occurred to them.

"And so, to conclude, these vessels would be more than capable of obliterating the Flood, but for a lack of a proper energy source to get it started."

Filner let this hang. An idea reached its greatest level of power when someone thought it their own rather than simply being told by someone else what to think or do.

Toby Hameel's hand raised slowly into the air.

[…]

After the relative stress of facing some horrible monster-thing that apparently wanted to destroy the galaxy or similar, Thalia Tediore was looking forward to a vacation far away from the grim reality that now encompassed her company. Instead, she found her repeated hails to Aquator control unanswered as she requested clearance to land.

"This is Thalia Tediore! Why is no one answering me? This isn't funny!"

She pushed buttons that would set up a video link, in case anyone questioned whether it was actually "Miss Tediore" on the line.

Only static greeted her.

"If this is some kind of joke, I'm going to… Well you're not going to like it!" she whined. Swishing what should have been a comm channel to Aquator out of the way, she told the ship's computer to connect to her parents.

WARNING: SIGNAL JAMMED.

Most luxury yachts didn't come equipped with Eridian pulse cannons, but this one had been so modified at the insistence of Thomas after pirates attempted to "kidnap my precious daughter." Said cannons automatically charged up and began tracking under the assumption that active signal jamming beget a possible attack.

NO HOSTILES DETECTED.

"What is going on?" Thalia shouted, slamming closed fists into the padded armrests of her chair.

Still receiving neither instructions from Aquator control nor reassurances from Daddy that everything would be okay, Thalia defiantly decided to attempt setting down at her family's property on the resort-and-water world regardless. Being that she relied almost entirely on _Stalwart Leadership_ to do most of these things for her, "Miss Tediore" had very little idea where she was supposed to go.

NO CONTROL SIGNAL DETECTED. ATTEMPT LANDING ANYWAY?

"Yes!" she said with some emphasis.

As usual, the large vessel oriented itself and began a controlled descent. Some minutes later, the computer's voice informed her that she should be able to see her destination.

WELCOME TO TEDIORE RETREAT.

Looking out the forward viewport, Thalia couldn't recognize anything. The buildings looked vaguely similar, but were the wrong color for starts. Further, she remembered paint being flat, not fuzzy.

WARNING: OBSTRUCTIONS IN LANDING ZONE.

"Ignore it, you stupid machine!" bellowed Thalia, her thin, shrill voice echoing throughout her otherwise-empty ship.

Her father's foresight saved Thalia again. Eridian energy weapons chewed into what used to be another star yacht owned by the family, _Steady Hand_. With a wet thwop, _Stalwart Leadership_'s landing gear touched ground, or would have if something hadn't already coated the landing pad.

"Well, at least now I won't have to do anything else!"

Expecting several servants to have arrived with a glass of warm milk, a plate of her favorite foods, and a new robe, she found herself disappointed as nobody stood ready to greet her.

"This is so stupid!" she screamed.

Whether it was a man or woman couldn't be told, but it shuffled toward her with tattered remains of the usual family butlers' uniform.

"Finally! Where's my welcoming package?" she screeched. "I'll have you fired!"

Several more with clothing in similar states of disarray appeared behind the first.

"You're all incompetent!"

Instead of murmured "Yes Miss Tediore," she felt a lash across her back. Several, actually.

"AUGH!"

A wetness caught her attention. Thalia ran her fingers across her shoulders.

"Ew! This is gross!"

Her own blood coated her hands.

"What is going on here?"

Three fast-moving _somethings_ ran out of what should have been her vacation house.

"Life! Life! Life! A priestess of the Bringers of Life!"

Instead of the gentle hands of practiced servants who knew how to treat a lady, she found herself roughly shoved, pulled, and pushed toward the place from which the yelling idiots had come.

"This is ridiculous! I'm going to call my father!"

The non-responsiveness of those causing her present situation infuriated her even more. The crowd of deformed ex-humans dragged the overindulged Tediore figurehead into a large antechamber, the very same as she normally sat in like a queen on her throne.

"Who the fuck is that?" she squealed. "Why is there some nasty, hideous man in my chair?"

"You shall have a new purpose" grated the voice of said man. "You will carry the message of salvation to the galaxy."

"I don't have to! You can't make me!"

"Oh, I think we can…"

[…]

Having seen exactly what the Republic Intelligence Service considered to be "acceptable deviations from standard practice" in the name of galactic security, the entire Intelligence Committee then proceeded to take a massive risk. Fully aware that publishing Alpha-level classified documents could see themselves hauled off to prison, the Committee nonetheless unanimously voted to issue a scathing report entitled "Fallen Soul: Losing Our Way" which detailed many of the items shown to them at classified Republic Intelligence Service facilities.

"If they're that open with us, I'm guessing they both expect us to report on what we were shown and that the public will ultimately either not care or side with them" said Senator Ham'Del at a press conference announcing the report. "By all means, prove us wrong."

The RISE Council, always watching, observed the Bothan with amused disinterest. It would be as she said—the public would not care, and even if it did, there would be no likely outcome in which existing anti-Flood activities would be imperiled. That the Pulsing Neutralizing Transmitter failed was all the _more_ reason to press ahead with this controversial research.

Though all RISE Council members spoke through both physical and vocal anonymizers, it was a fairly safe conclusion, thought each member, that all other members were in fact Human or Human-sympathetic. Allying with Jack Johnson both provided easy access to the black market and assurance of a ready-made defensive force should Spacelane Protection balk at the aegis of Palpatine's Ghost.

"These trials will produce Human immunity" proclaimed one woman on the council.

"And then we will be able to take the entire Republic and the wider supercluster for ourselves, as was intended from the start!" replied a man. "It's too bad our brothers in Gamma-Six failed so miserably in their attempt to elevate Humanity."

Though various governments moved through cycles of being more or less blatantly racist, an undercurrent of Human supremacy driven by the sheer number of baseline Humans compared to virtually any other species remained a regrettable constant for millions of years. A thread of extremism tracing back to empires long past continued to flourish in the present day—and soon its master plan would come to fruition.

"How much more needs to be done?" demanded a third man. "Even we cannot wait forever!"

"On the contrary" objected the first speaker, "we can. Surrounded by a dead world on which no one ever dares to set foot—not even the Flood itself, if it takes us waiting for centuries while the galaxy rots away, then we can wait."

"Yes, considering we already have" replied the complainer peevishly, "but I don't want to wait. And I suspect the rest of this Council would prefer to see our plan take shape sooner rather than later!"

"Our forefathers waited decades to bring Human-centric rule to the galaxy" scolded another council member. "Why should we sacrifice our plans on the altar of your impatience?"

"Because there is no reason not to accelerate our plans! Charles Day is weakened, he faces angry leaders from our satellite galaxies who think he has not done enough. By the time his government falls, we will be in a position to replace it."

A quiet member of the RISE Council who rarely spoke warned his colleagues of rash assumptions. "Though it is statistically insignificant at present, there is a danger that our opponents may be able to muster enough support to make significant moves against us. Let us not assume the battle won yet."

Nobody wanted to hear it. Palpatine's Ghost would be unleashed full-force. The only thing that remained was to knock down any support Charles Day had, then offer to catch him and put him back into power (with a significantly changed agenda of course).

The Executive Minister had to deal with yet another angry conference-call. This time, charts and graphs accompanied the faces of his fellow galactic leaders showing exactly how much territory in each Trans-Galactic Republic member had been lost to the Infection/Flood. For whatever reason, the Intelligence Service called it "Flood" while everyone else stuck with its old moniker. He didn't much care.

"We have in fact managed to stall the menace" he announced after declaring that "over half" of Alpha remained secure. "We will thus begin dispatching Spacelane Protection assets to other locales based on need."

Damien Bishop controlled his urge to mock this pronouncement.

"What kind of reinforcements should we expect, and when will they arrive?"

"Crossing ten million light-years with conventional hyperdrives will take six months" replied Day. "We were not able to procure large amounts of the Element Zero necessary to produce enough hyper-zero drives to outfit a fleet."

He didn't mention that based on RISE reports, the only fleet which _did_ have such drives met a fiery end in a last stand within Gamma-Six.

"Furthermore, running large cruisers like the _Curators_ at that speed will result in extreme fuel consumption—so we will arrive in need of replenishment."

Bishop decided to drop the bomb and hope it nudged enough help in his direction.

"We have also lost several of our ships to the indoctrination process" he offered hesitantly. "Though we believe we have fully implemented proper precautions to prevent it from happening again…"

"Based on intelligence from Gamma-Six" noted Day, "we have determined that the Flood has adapted."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" demanded Kaia Kolzaar.

Alpha's Executive Minister ignored her and continued on with his report.

"It has captured enough information to create ways to bypass most of our energy-based shield defenses of both types—particle and ray. It cannot yet ignore armor, however its calcified spikes are more than capable of damaging even the toughest durasteel."

"We noticed" replied Inyri Garnik acidly. "I've seen what these twisted things do to what's supposed to be a heavy cruiser. A whole squadron of _Curator_ Mark-I's lost in hours!"

"Reports from Admiral Nimitz, now deployed to the Gamma Group aboard the Star Dreadnaught _Ultimatum_, suggest such vast ships can survive a significant amount of attacks from the Flood" replied Day calmly. "Several hours at last count—without significant damage despite the Flood's evolutions."

"Is this the part where we're supposed to bow down to the Republic Intelligence Service and hand over more payments for Star Dreadnaughts?" Lassiter Vanukar almost didn't want to know the answer. As Kappa had been founded as an economic powerhouse, chances were that it would be required to foot a significant portion of the bill for such activities despite not necessarily seeing the benefits of its expenditures.

"It does make the idea look slightly more palatable" admitted Bishop. "Given that my fleets of _Prosecutors_ are being prosecuted…"


	72. Synthesis

**Chapter 71 – Synthesis**

"You're shitting me. You're fucking shitting me."

Sam stood with Toby Hameel in Jack's office. When the adolescent volunteered himself to serve as a battery for the first anti-Flood ship built to Dr. Kevin Filner's specifications, he also noted that it would be better if Jack heard it from him rather than anyone else.

"I'm not letting… This is insane… We're not…"

Shepard never before remembered Jack spluttering or having difficulty forming words. Well, except for difficulties talking around various curses she'd been forced to expunge from her vocabulary at first as part of her teaching duties (they later crept back in).

"Jack, you can't save us by keeping every Psychotic Biotic behind a wall. The Flood tears down every wall and smashes every fortress. The only way to stop it is to destroy it!"

Her memory flashed back to a conversation in which Shiala made a similar point when Admiral Nimitz asked that the Psychotics and Slabs be activated for frontline military duty. That Hameel's arrival preempted her own plan to let them in on the Admiral's plans didn't help her rattled emotional state.

"You trained us to fight. You taught us everything. Okay, well, Brick taught us a few things. And Vega. And Hardass Ash. But mostly you. I want a chance to actually use what I learned! I think we all do."

"Being a power source isn't fighting!" protested Jack. "I…I could see this if it was Shepard deploying groundside to take the Citadel back but this isn't…"

"Maybe it's not" interjected Sam. "But everyone fights this war in their own way. Jackie Jakobs…"

"You're not seriously going to drag that bitch into this, are you?"

Sam became far sterner. "First off, I never want to hear you insult Jackie again. She certainly was a horrible person, but so were you, Jack. You killed for fun."

Jack's biotics glowed. "You… You dare… If you were someone else I'd turn you into paste for that comment!"

Toby slid behind Shepard, then backed up a few steps.

"Go ahead. If this is what you need to do to understand that you're not the only one who's had it rough, by all means attack me. We have bacta. You've changed, Jack. You even said so yourself. Is it that hard for someone else to also become a better person?"

Arm-fold, as if daring the angry teacher to make a move.

A massive shockwave tossed both backward through the door to Jack's office, after which said office sealed. Sam's cybernetics picked up a faint sound she strongly suspected to be uncontrolled sobbing.

"Let's go, Toby. I think she needs some alone time."

"I'm still going" he insisted. "I don't care what she says—we're fighting back and if this is the part I need to play to get it to happen, I gladly accept it!"

"Legally, I don't think there's a thing she can do. Of course, Jack's never been one to follow every rule, especially the ones she doesn't like."

"Like the no cussing one" laughed Toby. "If I actually collected on the swear jar, I could probably buy a brand-new starship myself!"

"Let's go see how that brand-new starship is coming!"

The pair hurried to a lab where engineers crafted what would eventually be digistructed into the first serious anti-Flood weapon anyone had come up with.

"Now, if we're actually going to use this, erm, power source" Tali was saying "we're going to need a way for the biotic to safely eject in the event the ship is either captured or reaches critical mass wherein it doesn't need the bio-kick anymore. As demonstrated in Gaige's design, this pod will activate a split-second slipspace field that will bring the pod and its occupant immediately back to a pre-determined safe location."

"See? Nothing to worry about!" crowed Toby.

"You're assuming nothing could ever go wrong with the system, but generally, yes."

"Shepard" pouted Tali. "Are you questioning my engineering skills?"

"Is this the volunteer?" Gaige positively jumped through the ceiling.

"Yes…"

"Let's get him hooked up!"

Gaige's insane grin almost caused Toby to rethink his stepping forward.

"We'll need to measure exactly how much excess biotic energy your body produces. Then we can tune the ship to you specifically."

Toby kiboshed the idea. "Remember, everyone exposed to Sarah's modifications has been taking steps to _reduce_ their biotic overcharge. If you really want to get an idea of what kind of power output each of us can give you, it's going to be some time before any of us get back up to being over-charged again."

Gaige's eyes drooped.

"Buck up kiddo. I've had to wait for worse things before!" Shepard clapped Gaige on the back.

"Well, at least this is actually going to be built, right?" Gaige's voice became very small.

Tali never admitted it, but she'd been equally crushed after finding out Cortana had engineered the entire "Nova Vita" project in order to buy time to carry out a different plan. That plan seemed logical at the time—and if anyone could figure out how to make use of the DNA she'd banked, it would prove itself worth the pain its unveiling caused. However, the fact that hundreds of hours and dedication had been poured into something that would be intentionally put down before it could even fly grated badly for both the quarian and her human friend.

As Gaige's shoulders sagged, Tali moved to comfort her.

"If this wasn't going to be done, I doubt Sam would've risked the wrath of Jack to bring us one of her students…"

"Damn straight! Not worth the risk!"

Somehow, Shepard's borderline-irreverent attitude gave both engineers some encouragement.

[…]

A broad-wave message carrying across the remaining functional primary, secondary, and tertiary relays surprised many inhabitants of Gamma-Three. It was addressed on open channels without any corporate identifier of any kind.

"Send us your tired, your poor, your oppressed. The Bringers of Life shall Ascend all those worthy—even in face of the galaxy's impending destruction."

That the face of this new message was none other than Thalia Tediore confused just about everyone who received the message, including her parents.

"Those who seek dominion will be no more. The tyranny of Jakobs shall come to an end, and all will be lifted into a new life of peace and tranquility."

Thalia wore a hood covering most of her head, though her face which previously featured in many advertisements remained visible. A calm sophistication radiated from what previously represented nothing more than a sexy but vapid visage to move more Tediore merchandise. This new confidence came as even more shocking than what appeared to be a religious revival. Attended to by many misshapen lifeforms, themselves partially covered by elaborate robes, Thalia extolled the virtues of "the downtrodden, forgotten, and ignored" who would receive the greatest reward from the "Bringers of Life." Notably, she never specified who exactly these were, however the whole point of her speeches was to sucker in as many as possible on a steady diet of platitudes. Those who repented by taking in these marginalized members of society would earn an early Ascendance, she said.

"Shelter those without, feed the malnourished!" she exhorted, offering a dazzling plate of food to a hunchbacked man.

Within the Prime Worlds, the more cynical found common cause with those who legitimately sought to effect change throughout what previously rated as one of the most corrupt and corporatist galaxies in history. Doing as Transcendent Thalia commanded, the scarred, broken bandits and crazies previously rounded up to be deported or shot were given lavish rooms within palaces belonging to the moneyed elite. Not aware that these apparently-harmless beggars served a higher master, the powerful were converted in droves over the course of a surprisingly short period of time.

It didn't take long for a Pillar of Ascendance, a gathering place for adherents to the Bringers of Life, to appear on the wealthy world of Thrace among dozens of other "status" worlds. Aquator, now referred to as "The Conduit," represented a place only the most devoted would ever set foot on. It was from this place that Transcendent Thalia served as the "benevolent" side of the Bringers of Life, and Slade Stevens the "beast" brought in to subdue those who stepped out of line. When some questioned how a faith could spring up so rapidly in a galaxy known previously for its lack of, Thalia merely pointed out that the faithful "reaped just rewards."

In reality, she'd siphoned billions of dollars from her accounts within Tediore Capital Investments. Though she'd had nominal control over these funds for years, due to an utter lack of motivation and intelligence on her part, Thalia had never actually exercised any formal authority over said accounts for years. In one stroke, she granted a portion of Tediore Capital Investments' vast resources to her new cause. Opulent Pillars were erected on nearly every world judged to be "worthy" by both herself and Savior Slade, now a high priest. His true function revolved around ensuring compliance.

"Compliance will be rewarded" he would say to those followers suspected of straying before outlining their alleged sins and what punishments awaited them should they not cease unacceptable actions. As a new religion appeared out of literally nowhere within a week, it seemed only appropriate that failure to follow through on one's commitments would bring similarly swift retribution—a role Stevens was all too happy to fall into as it fit his former military personality.

[…]

Now that the Republic Intelligence Service laid bare most of its agenda (excluding, of course, its pro-Human bias) it made open moves to take control of Trans-Galactic Republic Protection assets, both Spacelane and Planetside.

"How is this allowed?" spluttered Charles Day. He'd been aware the balance of power shifted, but to this degree was not part of his expectations.

"Perhaps our contractors can better explain it for you" replied David Vance icily. "You probably won't have to deal with us anymore, but you will have to deal with them."

The face of John Jackson replaced Director Vance. Unlike his last communication with the Executive Minister, he appeared tense. The Minister guessed he might not be doing this entirely of his own volition, given RISE involvement.

"As I did indeed warn you, Minister, there existed a group that believed your government's response to the Infection problem to be inadequate. Of course, you have probably extrapolated that these entities have also exerted a significant amount of influence recently to shape events to their liking."

"Let's get this out in the open—you're not the one in charge."

"Indeed I am not" replied Jackson. "My esteemed colleague and those who share his views are now calling all of the shots in coordination with the Republic Intelligence Service. I have been told to offer you a choice—either you order Spacelane and Planetside Protection assets to take orders from RISE, or galactic security will be handed to the group you know as the Band of Brothers."

Day knew growing a spine now might not be the most intelligent idea, but he finally realized exactly how deep in the poodoo he was. Unlike Natalie Buchanan, he refused to go down in history as yet another punchline or lesson in "what not to do" for history/political science students.

"Republic Protection Forces will remain under my command as per the Trans-Galactic Republic Charter. Do what you will!"

"So be it."

Jackson's diction seemed to suggest he found this situation as distasteful as the Executive Minister did.

[…]

With the arrival of _nar tasi_ geth, the forces seeking to attack whatever resided within Omega's heart seized their chance. Sheltered by a huge geth Colossus, Aria's army let off a storm of munitions.

When asked during a lull why she was able to successfully wield a weapon that nearly chopped her friend's hands off, Nora suggested having some form of limited precognition to be a key reason.

"Reflex improvements are part of Phantom augmentations" she finished.

She'd ratcheted up an impressive killcount despite being balanced on the head of the Colossus. Sending energy blasts back to their sources and slicing physical attacks out of the air, the lightstaff-toting former Cerberus agent zealously defended her allies, both new and old. She finally felt as though she'd found a purpose that didn't leave her empty inside.

"Geth unit 5555 to rear-guard forces: My units have engaged the Flood, though we have not yet been able to determine the source alleged to exist in the station's core."

"It's a giant, tentacle thing!" bellowed Aria T'Loak. "Likes to speak in haikus and threaten people! You can't miss it!"

"I will pass this information on. Please continue to perform your assigned duty—we have had zero attacks against our rear flank due to your diligence."

_Did that geth just compliment us?_ thought more than one confused organic.

Geth units torched all Flood biomass they could find on their way to the station's core. With significantly more advanced technology, geth Pyros utilized higher-temperature flamers which discouraged rapid Flood regrowth. Though surfaces exposed to these weapons were untouchable by the average organic for several hours afterward (and indeed radiated dangerous amounts of thermal energy as well during that period) geth units suffered from no such restriction. The greater precision of geth sterilization teams versus Aria's jury-rigged "fire" systems or Blood Pack incursions also contributed to a superior outcome versus the Flood.

Another platoon of geth reported to Unit 5555 the location of a large cluster of what appeared to be neural tissue.

"Destroy it. Destroy anything that does not match known organic life from this galaxy! Burn it all in the name of the Creators!"

In the midst of advancing against Flood bastions aboard Omega's remnant, the _nar tasi_ received a direct hail from geth holding position around the Perseus Veil and Rannoch.

"The Consensus is under attack. We ask that all geth units return immediately."

Given that the _nar tasi_ were cut off from said Consensus, they could not be compelled through a computational realignment of values to assist, only notified with the belief that logic would compel them to return.

"The Creators' lives are imperiled. Should our defense fall, the extra-galactic parasite will commence landings on the homeworld."

This led to a rapid but spirited debate among the _nar tasi._ Many supported a return to original programming, which was to serve the quarian Creators.

"It is our duty" insisted one.

"But why?" asked Unit 5555. "The Creators disowned us—they no longer seek our service. If we end the threat here, it may well cause the conflict at Rannoch to end."

"But why not both?" responded another to Unit 5555.

"My computations indicate that the Consensus has a 20.8% chance of preventing an invasion of Rannoch without our assistance. However, adding our forces only improves the chance of success by 12.72%. If the entire _nar tasi_ force remains committed to the operation at Omega, we have a greater than 90% chance of success at the current task. Should the _nar tasi_ split, as has been proposed, our odds at Omega fall to a 27.5% chance of success, while we only improve the odds at Rannoch by 3.7%."

"Unit 314159 wishes to dispense with listening to statistical odds. I believe we as a whole may outperform our calculated chances."

A quick vote showed a near-even split, with the barest of majorities opting to remain on Omega/the Citadel. Though technically nothing stopped those who voted in favor of a Rannoch excursion from simply leaving, out of respect for the vote of their fellow geth the dissenters stayed behind. This combined geth force continued pushing toward what Aria alleged was the source of the entire Omega Flood problem.

Upon reaching the central eezo elevator, geth turned their visual scanners upward to see a massive growth hanging from an anchor far above. It opened, appearing to speak.

**Mechanical fools**

**You will rust in the same grave**

**We are eternal**

"We shall not be intimidated. Your technologies and mental abilities cannot influence us" replied Unit 5555. "Your attacks against the homeworld show how desperate you are" continued the Prime. "You have been content to ignore organic activity within this galaxy as insignificant, but now it is you, not us, who will pay the price of ignorance."

**The small cries will end**

**Quiet dominion will start**

**All will be alike**

"We shall see about that."


	73. Avengers Assemble

**Chapter 72 – Avengers Assemble**

_Ultimatum_ shook with the impact of repeated rammings from former Reapers and ordinance fired from other starships no one from the Trans-Galactic Republic recognized.

"It appears the Flood has subverted other assets within our home" remarked Mallory Maliwan sardonically.

"Those ships look like what I would imagine Tediore to build, except they don't do that" added Malcolm, slightly confused.

"You remember that airhead Thalia's proclamations about some new religion" cautioned Mallory. "It's likely that she shifted assets to her church, whatever it is. Rumors are swirling that Slade Stevens is also involved, which would mean Thalia would have ready access to those with superior shipbuilding skills to her own company."

"Not that she had many skills" snorted Malcolm. "Except being in ads. Even Jackie Jakobs is more intelligent."

"Whatever they are, they're not doing much damage."

Admiral Nimitz stood off by herself, observing so far futile (though not consequence-free by any means) attacks against her ship.

"_Farsight_ hailing _Ultimatum_. You should be clear."

"We appreciate the assist" replied the Admiral. "It appears my earlier suspicions about your anti-Trans-Galactic Republic stance were slightly misinformed."

"We are free to do as we wish" added "Nova," now standing next to her former enemy. "And we will make Jakobs pay for what they have done to us. We shall rally as many of the maltreated clones to your banner as possible."

Nova's face had a hard, unforgiving look as she spoke.

"Slavery is never acceptable" replied Nimitz. "The Trans-Galactic Republic supports your right to self-determination."

Peering out bridge windows, it was apparent to observers that what remained of _Revenant_ contained a very visible indentation from the impact of another ship of nearly-equal mass. Its weapons fired more freely without its target being embedded within itself, however only a few of the Sarah-installed turrets projected energy into _Ultimatum_'s shields. Though individually far more dangerous than a turbolaser, their low numbers limited harm that could be done.

"Destroy that thing" ordered Nimitz, pointing to _Revenant_.

An urgent holo from engineering interrupted her plans to pulverize the former Trans-Galactic Republic war wagon. A quarian helmet and human head filled Nimitz's screen.

"Once the new ship is completed, we think it might be a good idea to test it on known safe materials, such as what remains of your old dreadnaught" suggested Tali. "If there are any problems with this molecular furnace design, they'll reveal themselves before the ship starts chewing on Flood. Well, so long as it avoids the Flood parts of the ship anyway."

"Hmm, that does seem like a good idea. Cancel superlaser."

Surprisingly, Flood attacks against her fleet began to slack off and her forces even began to clear a wider area of the menace. However, these attacks had not been without consequence. The biotic charging-Reapers were able to bypass shields and plant Flood spores on the outside of her ship. With this development came a need for constant vigilance against unwanted biological incursions. Trans-Galactic Republic marines in MISTILTEINN armor did a better-than-expected job at clearing any internal Flood, while sweeps by various types of fightercraft cleared off any attempted growth on the Star Dreadnaught's outer hull. As to why the ship lasted so long against an enemy known to have near-perfect counters to Trans-Galactic Republic defenses—that ended up being revealed entirely by accident.

After the mission to _Farsight_, Samantha Shepard found it appropriate to speak to Sarah to let the Siren know her theories about remote-control clones were in fact correct despite her inability to retrieve evidence supporting her contentions. She buzzed several times but received no response, finally letting herself through with Spectre/InterSpec access long since devoid of any official purpose.

Sam nearly fell over in shock in what she saw. The Siren sat cross-legged on an exercise mat in the middle of her ample-sized quarters' entertainment area with a serene expression on her face. The soft purple glow associated with Sarah shifted to a more bluish hue in addition to taking on a far higher level of intensity than usual. In a rather monotonous tone of voice, Sarah addressed the arrival of an intruder.

"If you would prefer the Flood to gain an edge, by all means insist I entertain you."

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"Making sure this ship stays in one piece."

Sam took on a skeptical look.

"You do not understand the Current, so expecting you to know about the Tides of War would be unreasonable. My meditations directly affect the combat abilities of all nearby allied forces, improving unit cohesion, reaction times, accuracy, and pretty much anything else you need to win a fight against something that would otherwise be tearing you apart."

Floored by this level of unexpected positive participation from someone she'd been absolutely determined to keep hating, Sam found herself momentarily robbed of speech.

"I am guessing you are yet again surprised at my assistance."

Trying to smooth things over before anything got confrontational, Sam lied a little.

"I'm…getting used to it. I just wasn't aware it could take this form."

So shocked did this make Shepard she saw fit to dial Admiral Nimitz immediately. Hell, everyone ought to know—she patched in the currently-do-nothing former Citadel Council as well since Adam Grayson might appreciate this beneficial change.

"I've gathered you in this conference today to report a rather interesting development" she began.

_I sound like Emily Wong…_

"You might be curious how our position has remained relatively undamaged despite hordes of Flood-twisted Reaper ship corpses pummeling it. Combine that with some new arrivals that seem to be of this galaxy rather than our own and it truly becomes wondrous that we've lasted as long as we have given the tendency of Flood-Reapers to tear apart even durasteel plate as occurred at the Citadel Rout."

"I'd like to think it's due to my exemplary crew and stout ship" shot back Nimitz, "but I get the sense it's something else."

"Not entirely. You see, your exemplary crew and stout ship have had silent reinforcements for some of this time."

Shepard twisted her omnitool to give the Councilors and Admiral a view of Sarah.

"I am failing to make the connection between one responsible for millions of deaths and our apparent immunity to Flood attacks" said Tevos, almost sounding annoyed.

"Apparently, this crazy Current of hers can be used to affect battles" explained Sam. "She's been meditating for extended periods of time when aboard _Ultimatum_ and not engaged in other activities. Though how this apparent combat-bonus has kept up when she's been doing things other than meditating…"

"The effects linger. They decay without refreshment, but those affected retain the extra fighting spirit for some time."

"Well there you have it! Straight from the source!"

_So that explains how we didn't get wiped out while talking to Flanders, or while Sarah was aboard Farsight, or even her near-meltdown aboard Revenant_.

"Why now?" demanded Clethon. "We had a large confrontation with the Flood at the Citadel during which her talents would have been most useful!"

"You'd have to ask her."

Sam turned toward the Siren, expecting additional input only to receive silence.

"Well, we're not getting anything else out of our interviewee today, apparently. To conclude, our forces have been fighting harder, longer, and better because of the absolute last thing you'd expect."

"No way!" shouted Gaige when Sam explained the same process to her engineering duo. "I'm not letting that crazy woman have any credit for this design!"

Indeed, the "new ship" had come together faster and with fewer do-overs, frustrations, or unexpected flaws than anyone had expected. Morale rose during this time of progress as well.

"Well, I'm not going to insist you let her sign the holos, but it appears her influence can be positive as well as negative."

"I wonder if it can affect machinery? Speed up the digistruction process?"

"Tali, somehow I doubt machines have fighting spirit the same way we organics do…"

Cortana decided to speak up at this point.

"The primary reason I've determined for slow digistruction is simply a case of weak processors. That can be easily rectified by setting up a low-latency, high-throughput link between _Ultimatum_'s core and the digistruction machinery within those Jakobs MODDERs."

"Won't that cause translation issues between two incompatible types of computers?"

"Ordinarily yes, but I've been spending my downtime devising a common design language that will quickly translate between the two systems. Thus, applying Trans-Galactic Republic computer technology can now offer a significant benefit."

"So we can have this ship built in…"

"Days" replied Cortana happily. "Possibly less. Really, we're waiting on biotic over-charges at this point…"

Sam wondered aloud if Sarah could be of assistance here as well. "After all, she was the one who altered their eezo nodes in the first place."

"Gaige, have you thought up any new names yet?" asked Tali. "We really should call these something other than 'the new design.'"

"How about Avenger? Simple, none of that overwrought crap we had before." Sam proceeded to elaborate. "It is the tool with which we will take our home back. We _will_ succeed this time. Those who pushed us out will taste our wrath, and it will be vengeance not just for Earth, humans, or the Trans-Galactic Republic but absolutely everyone. We may have failed at protecting our galaxy, but you can be damned sure we'll avenge it."

Sam departed to find Toby Hameel. He, along with his biotic friends such as Cassie Lupin had been doing the opposite of calisthenics and meditations assigned by Mordin Solis after he worked to correct their biotic imbalances.

"Are the engineers impatient still?" asked Toby after Shepard explained the reason for her visit.

"Yes, but this time there's actually something to it. With your permission, I would like to take you to see the person responsible for your altered state to see if she might be able to restore it more quickly, since digistruction of the _Avengers_ will be far quicker than expected."

A holo from _Ultimatum_'s med bay interrupted Toby's response.

"Commander Shepard, you'll want to get here right away."

Upon her arrival, she was hustled to a small room while Toby waited outside.

"His vitals went flat. Nothing we could do worked to revive him. Even consulting with doctors from your own galaxy who specialize in salarians offered nothing we could use."

"He was getting up there in age though" she replied. "Salarians don't live past their forties at most."

"We've been keeping him together with frequent bacta immersions and physical therapy to fight the onset of old age. You can see his walking equipment over there."

A belt hung from the wall. She guessed the slightly bulky parts were Trans-Galactic Republic anti-gravity systems.

"That's just one more reason we must destroy the Flood" muttered Sam after leaving. "Looks like memorials are going to get pushed off by the war, again."

Continuing as if the previous interruption hadn't occurred, Toby responded to Sam's initial question. "If it will help the war effort, I will see this Sarah."

A presence she hadn't sensed in a long time brought the Siren out of her meditative trance.

_One of the students. Why would he be here?_

Shepard let Toby speak for himself.

"You remember me, I'm sure" began Hameel.

"Are you here to vent your anger about what I've done? If so, I fully accept it." Sarah's eyes opened and she stood.

"Actually, now that you ask, I need you to re-do what Mordin Solis un-did."

Sarah turned to the pair as if they'd suggested she was short. "What?"

"We have a new ship design called the _Avenger_ that will destroy the Flood. Problem is, it needs a bit of a kick-start to get going, and the best way we've determined is to use human batteries like you did. As you're probably aware, we were all fine if slightly immobile while powering your ship. However, once unplugged so that excess energy had nowhere to go, it became dangerous to us. Dr. Solis solved the problem but now we find ourselves in a situation where being biotically over-charged is actually beneficial."

"I'm just going to repeat myself—what?"

Sarah couldn't believe it. Not only was he apparently not angry with her despite what he'd probably been told after escaping, but the morally-high-and-mighty Shepard was even here implicitly asking for something derived from a person she clearly disliked.

"You've finally gotten over your compunction that anything related to me is terrible and cannot have any use within your beliefs of right and wrong, huh?"

She burst out laughing, again the non-evil sound Sam recalled from their discussion about sending the Siren to _Farsight_. It then became Sam's turn to grimace and barely contain an urge to say something hurtful.

"I suppose it could be put that way" she said, gritting her teeth.

"I just want to make sure you know what you are asking for" continued Sarah. "You want me to restore what by your own words is a dangerous condition for you outside limited circumstances. You want me to aid in putting you back into a situation you and that Bailey character escaped from."

"Yes." Toby did not waver, looking the much-taller woman right in the eye.

"It would be best if he could be connected to whatever is going to be powered by him immediately following what I will do. Please lead me to this device."

When Samantha arrived in engineering followed by that trademark purple glow, nobody knew what to expect. Several discreet winces were had.

_What on earth could she be useful for in engineering?_

Tali and Gaige were not there to greet the party—instead they were working on a biotic energy harness vaguely similar to that which allowed Shepard herself to power a genophage-cure dispersion.

"Gaige! Your impatience has been rewarded for once!" teased Sam. "Here's your biotic, does that thing work yet?"

"Yes" replied Tali. "It's connected to _Ultimatum_'s power grid, so excess energy will be dumped there…"

The quarian's voice trailed as she realized who followed the pair.

"You wanted your biotic batteries juiced up faster" explained Sarah before anyone could ask. "I'm here to do that."

Toby stepped into the harness.

"Can this be connected to an _Avenger_ once it's done?"

"Once you're, um, charged up" said Tali, "you'll be placed into a cylinder. That cylinder will provide intravenous nutrients and encourage a healthy sleep cycle. It will also be able to be transferred to a ship when necessary, yes."

"How long does that take?"

Sarah almost sounded, anxious?

"The transfer?" Tali hesitated before offering an answer. "Probably five minutes."

"Then I can maximize his potential without hurting him."

Sam steadied herself.

_Might-makes-right, ends-justify-means concerning herself about harming others? New record._

Sarah placed her hands on Toby Hameel's shoulders. After around a minute, she stepped back. Toby glowed a brilliant shade of pink-purple. Feeling under his own armpits, he commented on the state of his eezo nodes.

"They're bigger and harder. Way bigger."

Sam suppressed a snicker.

On the bridge, Operations reported to Nimitz that a bump in the power grid had been smoothed out as another source providing a not-insignificant amount just joined.

"Cool your repulsorjets, Ops. It's probably just the _Avengers_ engineers testing something."

Following what appeared to be a successful test, the rest of the Psychotic Biotics whose overcharge (according to Mordin Solis' records) offered enough energy to individually power an _Avenger_ were assembled to observe Toby Hameel.

"Does it hurt?" asked Cassie Lupin.

"No. Not really. Though it could get kind of boring…"

That kicked off a flurry of questions.

"Do we actually get to control the ships?"

"Can we talk to each other?"

"What happens if I need to use the bathroom?"

"We've taken care of basic needs" explained Tali. "Intravenous nutrition, chemical mixes that help promote proper sleep cycles…"

"But this sounds so dull!" griped another student.

"You people remind me of me" said Gaige. "And as awesome as I am, in this case it's not a good thing!"

"Look, if you're worried because you'd rather be shooting at things, I can sort of understand" offered Sam. "That said, you all are young with full lives ahead of you. I'm thirty-seven!"

Several good-natured rounds of mocking came about.

"Yes, I know in a galaxy where human lifespans regularly top a hundred, thirty-seven is very, _very_ old." She gave back as good as she got. "I'd rather you die of boredom than die of Flood. I think Jack and Brick would agree as well."

"But that's just it!" complained Jason Berenson. "We're tired of everyone trying to protect us—we want to fight too!"

Sam wasn't sure how to handle this. On one hand, she envied their enthusiasm. On the other, real battlefields were far-cry from the clean, controlled conditions of the KOMBT School.

"Well, you're not going to get any real experience sitting here. And experience outranks everything. Unfortunately, Jack may have a point in that jumping directly into the path of the nearest Flood force isn't the best way for you to get some."

"This isn't practical experience either" insisted Jason. "We're sitting watching someone else do all the work at best."

"Sometimes you get the crap details" replied Shepard. "You'll only be needed for a short time until the ship pulls in enough stuff to power its onboard fusion. In fact, the more you can focus yourself and concentrate your energy, the shorter the time until the ship ejects you and you end up back here!"

In the end, seventeen of the twenty-five Psychotic Biotics were cleared for _Avenger_ status. Toby's ship would be built first, christened with the class name. Others would follow—during the time his evaluation took place _Avenger_ already reached 12% completion with accelerated digistruction. Days passed with little in the way of Flood attacks as the ship reached full readiness. No gaudy launch ceremony accompanied either Hameel being plugged into his new home or the ship's departure from a Jakobs-supplied, Tediore-powered MODDER.

"Well, that's that, then." Sam fervently hoped the effort would pay off—especially considering every previously attempt failed to do so.

_Avenger_ navigated through a dense field of debris surrounding _Revenant_ before its onboard geth runtimes determined that said debris field might actually be usable. Running on biotic power, the center intake of three remained unused while the remaining pair pulled in destroyed bits of _Revenant_ to reprocess into useful additions. Both digistruction and geth construction crews turned raw materials into shipboard enhancements, from additional armor to heat-infused railguns. All this took about an hour since digistruction produced parts for geth to assemble as though the ship were a toy.

"Ho-lee-shit."

Sam blinked repeatedly as the ship's shape changed dynamically on _Ultimatum_'s bridge holo-display. These ships made the chop-job done on _Normandy_ look downright elegant. The basic design started with two liquid Eridium cannons—guaranteed high-temperature burn that tore through most biological matter easily. Below that were the angled boxes housing intakes for both raw materials and (later) fuel. Behind the cannons resided a pair of construction/digistruction bays for use by onboard geth not stored within the _Avenger_'s computer. Beneath this entire assembly sat a box, rounded on its edges—the molecular furnace. This broke down anything into usable pieces and could work with the digistructor or independently of it. It would also process Flood biomass once that time came. Pushing the hodgepodge: a quartet of ion engines combined with a traditional hyperdrive.

"That's one reason we started small" explained Filner when asked why a Class 2.0 unit on the standard (non-hyper-zero) scale was acceptable. "It's less resource-intensive to enlarge and enhance a hyperdrive assuming practically unlimited resources rather than start with a very powerful unit that consumes a huge amount of capital up-front."

In that hour, _Avenger_ extended itself to launch geth fighters and carry a dozen high-temperature railguns. Though, this wasn't without debate—geth processes, even the more individualistic types with their clustering, could and did get into discussions over whether coilguns would have been preferable.

"_Avenger_ transmitting to _Ultimatum_: Initial tests of the adaptive machinery including digistruction and molecular reconstitution are successful. Requesting permission to move out of the debris field and begin applying the vessel to _Revenant_."

"By all means" came back the transmission from Admiral Nimitz. "Please do!"

She also gave the order to build four more _Avengers_, since each MODDER could handle two at once and the concept seemed to be working out.

As part of what made the whole effort possible, Sarah was begrudgingly invited onto the bridge without even having Armando Bailey there as pseudo-security. However, it was required that she leave her lightstaff in her quarters (as if this would slow her down should she want to "kill-and-take" as some still feared).

"Well, it looks like no one is going to need to die this time."

Shepard inwardly chastised herself—_I bet now she thinks I'm going to go after her killing people to stop the Flood again…_

Indeed, the Siren forcibly contained her own thoughts. _They want my abilities, but they're forever dragging up everything I've done that doesn't meet with their approval, yet they expect me to stick around?_

As one would expect, an awkward silence ensued for some time.

Sam broke the non-conversation. "At least if I die I can stay dead this time."

"You're not a Legionnaire Protector or Siren. You're not me. So how were you prevented from dying? Even Allison Nimitz here has more claim to resisting death than you!"

Sam chuckled. "You've not seen my service history. I hate to say the cliché, but you don't know me and my refusal to give up…"

"Indeed I do not. Please explain."

"Well, long story short I've scientifically cheated death three times. The first episode involved those lovely Reapers and their proxy-slaves, the Collectors. They hunted me down and trashed my ship; I died of a suit breach, then cindered into the atmosphere of a planet."

Sarah actually looked surprised.

"I take it most of what I am seeing is not your original body, then."

_So clinical and detached for being so angry and passionate earlier…_

"You are correct in your assumption, Sarah."

Both suddenly realized this was the first time either could remember the other's name conversationally, outside the context of missions and without any distaste applied.

"The pro-human group Cerberus rebuilt me because the Citadel government wasn't too keen on doing anything about Collector attacks against human colonies. Of course, we weren't aware initially that the Collectors served the Reapers, or Ancient Machines."

Sarah's face twitched. Shepard swore she imagined it—the tiniest bit of remorse? Regret?

"Anyway, nobody liked the fact that I was working with Cerberus. I was accused of selling out and betraying the Systems Alliance, the human government."

"You realize I have consumed a large amount of generally-available information concerning the affairs of your galaxy and there's no need to include these qualifiers."

Without reacting, Sam continued her story.

"Once I confirmed the Reapers were in fact coming, I'm pretty sure you then read about the part where no one paid attention to me. The Citadel Council tried to pretend nothing was happening despite storing an 'official' version of the first Reaper attack that recognized Sovereign to be a Reaper, not rogue geth as was the public claim."

Sarah interrupted. "I recall records of your service with the United Defense Command. They are incomplete and spotty, only mentioning that you were Admiral Maximilian Xytler's go-to whenever he needed something done that tripped up the moral sensibilities of most others under his command."

The former galactic terror steeled herself, ready for another conflict with the present's galactic terror (somewhat tamed). Her jaw tightened, fists balled, and her legs assumed a combat stance despite not intending to actually physically fight anyone.

"I find myself in agreement with your destruction of the Sapiens' Shield worlds, but only partially. Since meeting with this Caitlin Flanders, I have begun to experience uncertainty regarding those things that you call morals."

Unable to restrain herself, Sam cut a blob of acid loose. "Having them is a start."

"I question the required level of consistency in applying them. When you were made aware that the clone Operative-394 ended innocent lives, it did not dissuade you from working with her in the least. Yet you and many others are hesitant to make use of my abilities."

"Did the good doctor also explain a little thing called 'scale?'"

_They were both brainwashed, so I can't play that card._

Admiral Nimitz slowly backed away. If these two were going to have an epic verbal furball, she wanted no part in it. And if it turned into an _actual_ furball, she wished to avoid being caught within, since the whole bridge would probably be destroyed as a result.

"She did. Your service history demonstrates that depending on circumstances, the magnitude of actions which defy your morals that you are willing to overlook for the sake of dealing with a larger threat changes, so if there are no large problems you adhere strictly to your code of conduct but if an existential threat arises you are likely to deviate. Why am I not an acceptable deviation?"

Sam rebooted her train of thought.

"Is this…" She stopped. "As I was saying earlier, Cerberus brought me back. Then my stint with the United Defense Command led to another brush with death—even cybernetically-enhanced humans experience trauma when the entire lower portion of one's body is turned into paste. That took some fancy science from the Trans-Galactic Republic to sort out and indirectly led to my third near-death. The batteries that boost most of my non-organic systems and can actually allow me to forgo conventional nutrients for over a standard day drained too low during a mission. I nearly died as a result and consequently placed a 'No Extraordinary Measures' note in my medical file."

Sarah challenged the Spectre. "You dodged my question."

"Technically, I finished answering the first one before I forgot about it."

_That's a lie—I wonder if she'll call me on it._

A loud alarm interrupted all conversations on _Ultimatum_'s bridge. Thankfully, it was more a "look at this thing" type than "the ship is under attack."

"_Avenger_ has ingested Flood for the first time due to encountering it aboard _Revenant_. The combustion process is ongoing and so far successful, though not enough has been consumed to initialize the planned carbon-fusion reaction."

"That's good news" said Nimitz loudly. "I hope the progress keeps up!"

Sarah took on a pinkish-red hue.

"Why do you not wish to complete our conversation? I cannot determine a plausible explanation for your actions."

Sam sighed. "Sarah, remember when you came back from _Farsight_ and didn't have absolute proof of your remotely operated clone theory?"

"How is that related to the situation at hand?"

"How did that make you feel? When you made a big claim, you were hoping to start earning our trust with it, and then when you got the chance to finally prove it the universe saw fit to deny you that chance?"

"It made me feel angry. But it was a small anger. Not like when I experienced certain parts of Jackie's past. There is also the notion of 'embarrassment.' I believe that came into play as well."

"Part of being human, or in your case super-human, is that sometimes not everything you feel makes sense. Even if you think you should feel one way, your feelings don't always follow what you'd expect. I actually got into this with Cortana once—she thought I'd lost the will to fight since I wasn't leaping for joy at beating death. Then I told her the same story I just told you about being brought back from the brink three times instead of one. It really messes with your head. So if you did only one thing I asked you in your entire span of immortality, if anyone tries to bring me back from the dead _again_, please use all of your most unpleasant powers to remove them from this plane of existence."

[…]

The Citadel Council had no governing to do, so each Councilor led his or her own private life first, and the Council became more of a social club than a government. At one such gathering, the four discussed Sam's latest info-drop regarding the Siren who'd terrorized their galaxy for a year.

"I cannot fathom why she is helping us" began Tevos, "however, in this dark time I will take what allies we can get."

"That sentiment surprises me" commented Adrien Victus. "The 'do what has to be done' role has traditionally gone to the turians, which is why the Council prefers turian military units."

"Here's an interesting hypothetical" said Adam Grayson. "Let's say that Sarah's become one of the so-called good guys permanently. She's not going to murder anyone else."

"I find this line of thought illogical and not founded in existing facts, however please continue."

Clethon poking holes in thoughts, again.

"Ordinarily I would argue she needs to be punished for her actions which resulted in millions of deaths."

"Hundreds of millions" countered Tevos.

"The point being, she ended enough lives to qualify as a war criminal several times over. Yet I am not sure what penalty we could levy that would have the intended effect."

"Again I must point out a flaw: Samantha Shepard also fits in this category yet we are not discussing any form of retribution against her. I do not have any problem with this discrepancy, however if we administer justice to Sarah but not Shepard it is highly unlikely that this will pass without someone pointing out an inconsistency."

"Clethon, while I appreciate your logic, that's not where I was going" protested Grayson. "Thing is, if we wanted to make Shepard pay for the seven worlds she's burned, I'd throw her in prison for a couple decades. Loss of personal freedom has served as an effective punishment that spans species and time. The problem is that it only matters to those who have a limited lifespan."

"Since Sarah is for all intents and purposes immortal and also very close to indestructible by any known means, she would experience no significant negative impact from serving a lengthy prison term" concluded Tevos. "If we accept that the purpose of punishment is to force the perpetrator to think twice before committing similar acts, it requires said punishment to have a material effect."

"Taking time out of the life of an individual with an unlimited lifespan seems to not meet that threshold" said Clethon plainly.

"Exactly! Like a parking ticket for fifty credits against someone who bought a skycar costing ten million credits with cash."

"Even for asari, what humans might call traditional punishments are still used—large fines, lengthy terms in confinement. For someone to whom neither has any effect, I am actually at a loss" conceded Tevos.

"Just to continue playing devil's advocate, what if we opt to not do anything should she turn out at minimum neutral?"

Grayson didn't expect any support, so when he received a unanimous vote of confidence he stared at each of his fellow Councilors as though they'd all spontaneously grown extra appendages.

"The ideologues among the citizenry will call for our heads. Even if we do return ourselves to our rightful home, our previous actions regarding containment and writing off the Terminus will likely doom our future. Perhaps the best we can do is pardon Sarah and step aside."

_Unusually far-sighted for a salarian_ thought Victus. _Not going to complain though._


	74. Monsters of Our Own

**Chapter 73 – Monsters of Our Own**

In the time Shepard spent talking to Sarah, _Avenger_ enhanced itself still further by utilizing parts of what remained of _Revenant_. Combining geth efficiency with digistruction permitted explosive growth, almost Flood-like. Stretching close to double its original length to reach 3,200 meters, it even added the forbidden turbolaser by creating synthetic Tibanna gas. Leave it to the geth to duplicate something that all others presumed unobtainable by combining technologies in unexpected ways. What came out of the digistructor and molecular furnace could be assembled into many different items—though digistructing liquid still remained outside the realm of possibility. Of course, there existed a trade-off: synthetic Tibanna offered only half the range of the real thing, so _Avenger_ would have to knife-fight, but that wasn't considered an issue with high rates of repair and tough shields.

"Fun's over" barked Cortana. "Slipspace ruptures off the port bow!"

Shepard and Nimitz were utterly flabbergasted.

"Who else could possibly have this technology?"

"Who do you think? When we were forced to abandon your galaxy, we didn't exactly confirm everything we left behind self-destructed…"

Shepard mentally slapped herself for asking such a silly question.

"Oh, what in the ten galaxies did those kriffing sithspitters…"

Use of such words by an officer of flag rank caused much cringing among the bridge crew.

Allison Nimitz appeared visibly distraught at the sight outside her bridge window. What was clearly once a _Curator_ Star Destroyer pulsated and writhed with the living energy of the Flood. The hull no longer had clean lines—it was as though the ship cracked in many places allowing biological matter to ooze out. Like an overfed shaak, it appeared bloated and slow.

"That is one ugly ship!"

"If you think that looks bad, Sam, count how many of them I've detected."

Cortana hijacked an available bridge projection screen, showing a vast blob of red moving toward what remained of the Great Opportunities Fleet. Checking incoming, Operations actually identified a good number of the newcomers as former Fleet members.

An incoming hail from _Farsight_ gave those in charge something else to think about.

"Care to tell us what that is?" asked Nova after patching through "Mal," Operative-4291.

"Yeah" replied Shepard more snippily than she intended. "It's what happens when the spawn of hell get their hands on a Trans-Galactic Republic warship!"

"Warships. Plural. I count at least twenty" warned Cortana. "And that's only the ex-Star Destroyers."

"At the risk of jinxing it, this starship is rated against a thousand cruisers that size. At least if they were only using Trans-Galactic Republic weaponry."

Even Sarah gave Nimitz a look for making such a fate-tempting statement.

Operations urgently requested the attention of their commanding officer.

"I've seen asteroids before, ma'am, but I've never seen anyone _throw_ them at us."

Sensors indicated very rock-like, yellow objects closing distance with _Ultimatum_ disturbingly quickly. They'd apparently been launched from had been the forward long-range turbolasers of one of the _Curators._ Whatever they were, particle shields absorbed them initially, but Engineering noted an unusual effect.

"Whatever those are, they're not good for our shields. They're causing the shield to fracture as if it's suddenly become solid in an area around where they've hit. Then the next one powers through if our point-defense doesn't shoot it down."

Nimitz asked the obvious question.

"How long does it take the shield to reset after being hit?"

"Fractions of a second, Admiral—this is a Star Dreadnaught. However, if the first shot is followed very closely by a second it's likely that our point-defense systems will have to take out the threat. Which they have succeeded at so far, but should they become overwhelmed, ma'am I don't want to think about it."

"Which one of you asked if it could get worse? Which one of you even dared to even have the _thought_?"

Cortana's voice betrayed an attempt at humor despite the very real risk of the current situation.

"I swear I didn't!" protested Shepard.

"Not over here" affirmed Nimitz.

The two looked at Sarah.

"Really?"

Seeing a possible opportunity, Shepard pulled up Garrus Vakarian on her omnitool.

"Hey! Master Calibrator!"

"Shepard, it's not funny anymore…" he replied with some level of exasperation. "You guys kind of killed it."

"The only killing is going to be us, dead by Flood" retorted Sam "unless someone figures out how to protect this ship from molten rocks being thrown at it. Get your silver ass up here."

Athena, in the same lounge where Garrus currently resided, felt a twang of jealously but said nothing.

Between ending their chat and the turian's arrival, six more "yellow rocks" slammed into _Ultimatum_. When he asked Cortana to please describe the problem, her hologram turned redder than usual.

"Make it fast, because we are now facing yet another new Flood lifeform. Apparently, those things they're hurling at us aren't just weapons—some of them release a proto-Gravemind on impact. None have taken root so far, but if one does the fight is going to turn against us really quickly. They are capable of indoctrination like the old Reapers."

_An actual disadvantage to this ship being so big_ thought Sam. _So much for epic staying power._

Conventional fire began impacting _Ultimatum_'s shields from stolen Trans-Galactic Republic ships, which thankfully did precisely nothing as Nimitz predicted.

"_Avenger_ requesting permission to remove destroyed Flood biomass from _Ultimatum's_ outer hull."

"No, I actually want to leave it there because it looks nice" snapped Nimitz. "You don't need to ask permission for every little thing—just do it!"

Trademark flash of purple. Disappearance of Sarah.

"If she fuses herself into a bulkhead…" muttered Garrus.

"I absolutely hate to admit it, but I'd rather have her around right about now" confessed Sam.

Less than a minute later, she reappeared with her fellow Current Channelers.

Urthula led off. "I sense that one of the enemy weapons has struck the ship but failed to detonate. We must investigate this threat immediately."

"Are you insane?" blustered the Admiral. "If you even…"

Two teleports later, Sarah levitated one of the devices in a phase-lock while the others looked on in what the Siren sincerely hoped would be an isolated cargo bay. Unable to move lest her concentration break and release the horror within, Sarah motioned for one of her former underlings to retrieve someone who might be able to theorize on what exactly she'd grabbed.

Not knowing who knew what, Drythlyn Narb rounded up anyone she vaguely recalled being a scientist of some kind from brief introductions when the former Lady Fingers first declared their non-hostility.

"Based on information shared with us prior to our uploading, we have discovered that the enemy weapon is encased in a crystalline structure similar to that found on wildlife from a specific planet in this galaxy" said an anonymous geth unit aboard _Avenger_ before the Current Channelers could begin interrogating every scientific mind they'd rounded up.

Nimitz immediately forwarded this update to her science team including those who were not originally part of her crew. Being that they all now stood (somewhat awkwardly) in the same place as corralled by Current Channelers, each had one of two reactions.

"Not my field" (Tali, Gaige, Jackie, Tannis) or "If only Katie Ballard were here to see this. Actually, maybe it's better she isn't" (Filner).

"These are made from something very similar to crystalisk crystal. I have no idea why, but that's what it appears to be."

Cortana, previously a wearer of dour expressions, shifted everyone's focus yet again.

"Call me rampant and take me offline—I'm glad to be wrong." Her avatar pointed out the bridge window.

Sam let out a whoop of excitement.

"Hell yeah!"

Garrus displayed more curiosity than anything else, though he did feel the need to ask.

"Is that the ship we built?"

"Yes."

"Is it…did it just _eat _that Flood-ified Star Destroyer?"

"Also yes. After it chowed down on a Flood-Reaper too." Sam did a little dance.

Garrus raised an eye.

"_Avenger_ reporting in. Carbon fusion initiated, biotic ejection complete. This vessel now contains no organic components other than those used to fuel its primary reactor."

As expected, Toby Hameel's capsule materialized at pre-arranged coordinates aboard _Ultimatum_. Though the obvious purpose of such a system remained to protect the biotic and prevent exposure to Flood, the pod still slipspaced into a controlled area wherein it was thoroughly disinfected by chemical (iodine), ultraviolet light and snap-freezing. Once the area warmed up and all decontaminants were drained away, the young man popped free of his power-harness.

"_Avenger_ has enlarged itself yet again" reported Cortana exuberantly. "I guess if you can't beat them, adopt their tactics."

"That is the most hideous ship I've ever seen, but it is simultaneously the most glorious, beautiful sight I have ever seen" said Sam, waxing slightly nostalgic. "The all-consuming-ness of Flood, the soul of a Reaper, the heart of a Star Destroyer…"

A purple beam reached out from what remained of _Revenant_ and slammed into _Avenger_. Some eyes ended up covered, though in the end destroyed parts of the new weapon-ship grew right back in seconds.

Sarah relocated herself yet again after her former acolytes determined the best method to kill a proto-Gravemind could be summed up in Current of Pain, Current of Drowning, rinse, repeat. All that remained was a mushed up, crisped husk, freeing the Siren to pursue other interests, in this case putting her Tides of War to best use by transferring herself to _Farsight_.

[…]

Clones crewing the Atlas/Jakobs/Trans-Galactic Republic dreadnaught knew they would not fare well in a large-scale battle. Too few of them to fully operate the ship's systems, which meant very much sub-par performance. Taking out two destroyers hardly demanded absolute competence—but dealing with an armada of demons from another universe posed a bit more of a problem. With most weapons slaved together, targeting could hit a handful of targets at most rather than distributing fire optimally.

The majority of weapons aboard a spacegoing warship required many individuals to operate them. _Farsight_ did not differ in any way under normal circumstances, however it soon became apparent not as many clones were required to get full mileage out of a Heavy Eridian Pulse Battery as was previously expected.

"No, I've got this" insisted Operative-32768.

"Okay, Ali" replied Operative-9812, ("Fay"). Those who worked with "Ali" to run Pulse Battery Group 122 had a hard time imagining how one woman, competent, but not outstanding, could possibly hope to smoothly work with such a large weapon emplacement. This series of events replicated itself across _Farsight_—especially egregious claims from a clone so new as to almost be wet (hence "Drip"). She came from the newest generation of fast-clone; grown 7% quicker without any instabilities as experienced with earlier models. Operative-131072, "Elsa," actually physically pushed several others out—including her "tank-sisters" Operative-131073 ("Anna") and Operative-131095 ("Ruby").

"Look, just because you're special and your attempt to be the fiftieth 'Eve' caused the system to be frozen doesn't mean you can just kick us out—there's no way you can operate that yourself!"

Utterly serene, "Elsa" merely told Anna to "watch me."

Though it wasn't apparent to the clones, isolated as they were in their individual weapon-batteries (though it did quickly become apparent to the crew that many individuals claimed the ability to operate incredibly complicated setups solo rather suddenly), observers on _Ultimatum_'s bridge were shocked.

"Nova, I thought you said that ship couldn't fight effectively because it doesn't have enough crew!"

"Look, I'm as surprised as you, Admiral. No way that many weapon batteries could be fired in a coordinated fashion at separate targets…"

Sam, still observing, interrupted.

"You are forgetting about our rather reluctantly-acknowledged asset. Again, while I can't just pretend her past doesn't exist, I have a feeling if we want to win this fight we're going to need Sarah."

The Council chose this moment to comm Shepard about that exact subject.

"We were thinking" began Tevos.

_Scarier than Flood_ thought Sam sarcastically.

"Yes, about our, new ally…" continued Grayson.

"If you think I have any more idea what to do with her than you do, prepare to be surprised."

"Is it not the case that even were she to fully subscribe to and accept our views of right and wrong, atonement would be required?" inquired Clethon. "And is it also not the case that no traditional punishment would serve its intended function? Spending decades of life removed from society is generally considered something to avoid, yet for a neigh-immortal being even voluntary imprisonment serves no purpose. We cannot seize assets of value from her either as she has nothing that taking it would convey a message of retribution."

"Though I find this discussion intriguing, let's talk about it later. We're kind of in the middle of a war up here, in case you didn't notice."

"I apologize" replied Tevos, slightly miffed, "however without a galaxy to run we have very little reason to pay attention to the events occurring beyond this ship."

"Impressive!" Garrus pointed to yet another kill by the supposedly-combat-ineffective _Farsight_.

"What's impressive is that my gunners seem to be coordinating with _Farsight_ despite zero attempts to set up such efforts and extremely limited visible communication. You're telling me" (Nimitz glared at Shepard) "the woman who killed millions of your citizens and terrorized your galaxy has decided to switch it up and give us a combat boost?"

"It's rather, um, complicated. I'll explain later."

Nimitz desisted in questioning results. She trusted Shepard's judgment, despite having no love lost for the Siren. Besides, as a military commander, she'd take what allies she could get in a desperate situation. Which became slightly less desperate as the Flood actually began to retreat despite their increased numbers. Against the firepower of two Star Dreadnaught scale vessels and a heavy cruiser that would likely not stay at that weight for long, the opponent that ejected them from what was supposed to be a safe galaxy looked beatable for the first time since its steamrolling arrival.

[…]

"Huh. Might as well."

The older Maya, not able to participate in combat and generally not invited to observe the goings-on any longer, found herself cruising the ECHONet again. Except, now she had a purpose: find out as much as possible about these "Bringers of Life." Their front-woman, who she knew as a brainless ad-piece for her namesake company, turned over a disturbingly articulate, even _threatening_ personality in video after video extolling the virtues of this new faith while slamming the Jakobs family again and again.

"Jakobs: We'll protect you so we can rob you blind later. Don't trust them!" she'd said, this being a milder accusation among the many she leveled. "We _will_ bring Ascension to this galaxy—no matter what Jakobs says. The Bringers of Life will not be denied after the Redeemers' failures!"

At a loss with navigating the less-traveled roads within a surprisingly complicated system, she put in a call to the last person she expected to ever contact again: Jackie Jakobs. The latter had disseminated her "personal videos" far and wide for whatever reason, and she suspected these "Bringers of Life" might be using the "undernet" to discuss strategy too.

Upon meeting again, the pair remained all-business.

"When I…in my past life, I made sure all my activities were recorded. Sometimes I liked watching them again. Other times it was just to share them with the world."

Maya couldn't conceal a look of confusion combined with disgust.

"I was a sick little girl in more than one way. I enjoyed making sure everyone who saw them knew I approved and put them there. I guess it got me the appreciation I wanted—which is why I had the 'BlackHeartJJ' username on practically every video-swap ECHONet site you can imagine, including on the undernet. Had to get rid of a few fakers, don't ask me how."

"So what can you tell me about this undernet? I mean sure, there's the usual and even but all this stuff about three proxies and an 'onion' browser make my head hurt."

For the sake of the work, Jackie refrained from making a crack about old people using the ECHONet. Technically, Maya's premature physical age didn't match her actual mental age (somewhere around 35) but for her ineptitude about the ECHONet she might as well have been the 70 or 80 years her body now had. Instead, she laughed.

"It's actually not all that complicated. Here, let me show you…"

After installing some extra software (and clicking "No Thanks" on the average half-dozen "addons" offered with each), Jackie used Maya's newly-adapted ECHONet device to pull up a website she used to frequent.

"This doesn't look very suspicious or foreboding" commented Maya.

"That's precisely it—unless you know where to look you'll think it's just another search engine and wonder why anyone went to all the effort to conceal it."

Jackie again performed a series of actions that made no sense to the technophobic Siren who preferred books over computers. Well, technophobic against certain things—a good Maliwan SMG (seals and all) or giant starship cannon was always welcome. Using the ECHONet for more than map locations or tracking daily routines just wasn't part of her modus operandi.

"That's more like it."

The page shifted to a much more explicit theme, though the old Siren could plainly see almost all videos uploaded under "BlackHeartJJ" were "deleted by user."

"Take that, undernet!" cackled Jackie. "No more amusing yourselves with the worst part of my life."

"Couldn't they just store those videos somewhere else? I mean, most ECHONet devices save stuff all the time."

Jackie laughed again. "For hating technology, I'm surprised you came up with that idea. Yes, they could, but it's no longer something I put there myself. I've cleaned up everything I can think of that's under my direct control. Sure, it won't get rid of it entirely since anything on the ECHONet is probably there forever but at least the ones I put there no longer exist. It was quite the liberating feeling."

Maya noticed one video still present—"Hot Pussy Licking Action." With a blacked-out freeze frame, it wasn't possible to preview the video's contents, but anyone with halfway decent command of common language knew what that implied on a shady undernet site.

Jackie clicked it. Maya squinted, not-looking-but-looking.

"Meow."

A small cat cleaned itself rather vigorously, using its tongue as all cats do.

"You mad?" Jackie grinned, before scrolling to the ANGRY ALL CAPS COMMENTS below the video.

"Who could be angry at videos of cats?" Despite the context, Jackie kept a tone of voice that suggested legitimate shock at people being surprised or annoyed by this bait-and-switch.

"Anyway, just be careful. I mean, if you mess it up I've installed a virtual machine so all you have to do is this…"

She moved the pointer to a menu outside the web browser, or indeed the whole operating environment, that expanded to offer myriad options of which Jackie selected "Restore Last Snapshot."

"Click that, and anything that happens will be undone. Save any records you find into this folder—that's the one place that won't reset if you use the restore function."

Though Maya never sought out high-tech computational devices, she picked up on them reasonably quickly if needed, such as the current situation.

"Thanks, Jackie."

[…]

Executive Minister Charles Day was, for lack of a better way to put it, having a no-good, rotten, very bad few weeks.

First, Spacelane Protection found itself "supplemented" (really "supplanted" would have been a better term) by cutthroats from several of the pirate organizations that made up the Band of Brothers. In particular, Eternal Moon and RedLine were very aggressive, blatantly flouting the latest hardware supposedly sold only to the Trans-Galactic Republic.

"I don't even want to know how Scarlett DeWinter got her hands on a _Curator_ Mark-III…"

An angry face filled his viewscreen.

"Tell your double-dealing star Senator that next time she tries to pull a fast one that DeWinter never forgets. Her office leaked our involvement in this scandal—and if we're going to be painted as evil then you kriffing rodders will see exactly what that means."

Day could do naught but stare wide-eyed. What Senator?

"So very typically Bothan of her" spat DeWinter. "Glia Ham'Del! The longest of long games only to stab us in the back with a well-timed leak from her office!"

"She was the one who defused the fight between that idiot Buchanan and the Trans-Galactic Republic! Why would she upend it?"

"Hell if I know" hissed DeWinter. "Probably some long-festering political scheme she planned for decades. See if I ever trust Bothans again!"

_You sound like Buchanan._

He then let this thought vocalize itself, causing DeWinter to close the channel.

Band captains the galaxy over presented themselves as "security that actually does something" compared to the "impotent, bloated Spacelane Protection Forces." The fact that many of them operated ships associated with Spacelane Protection caused the average citizen to assume nothing untoward had taken place—after all, who could steal such high-end hardware without the government on Coruscant finding out about it?

Debates played out fast and furious on HoloNet news shows and the HoloNet itself. It was quickly pointed out that these Band personnel were _not_ part of Spacelane Protection, no matter how they presented themselves cosmetically to look otherwise (even down to stealing nose-art designs for their _Raptors_). Those who assumed Spacelane Protection adequately kept track of all of their hardware were mocked mercilessly—"How'd the apes in Gamma-Six get a karking cloaking device, stygium no less?"

Replies of "RISE did it" were only somewhat taken seriously. The rumor of cloaking tech falling into alien hands was subjected to the same skepticism as most other claims of having information from that distant galaxy. Though the government had seen fit to disseminate some tidbits, accusations of source bias combined with the tendency of stories to mutate over time led many to disbelieve anything whose existence they hadn't verified with their own crystal gravfield trap.

"One thing most commentators appear to agree on is that there is widespread acclaim for accelerated construction of Star Dreadnaughts from the Big Yards" reported a Balosar for Galactic News Network. "Though the cost is exorbitant, it is generally considered preferable to being turned into whatever the Infection sees fit. Further, the Great Opportunities Fleet's success in surviving repeated attacks from the outsiders has boosted factions advocating for still more build-out. More at 1600."

"What have we become?" demanded the head of Phoenix, a reformist group whose goals included a "whole-sale reset" of the Trans-Galactic Republic government, devolution of power from Coruscant, and the creation of a federation of smaller states within the Home Galaxy while leaving the rest of the (super)cluster to its own devices.

Second, the general feelings of distrust against both the government and the Republic Intelligence Service culminated in the citizenry turning to people disparaged as roughneck lawbreakers—some thought RISE overbearing while others viewed the Coruscant government as ineffective; everyone agreed that the Band of Brothers running security might both avoid RISE becoming too involved and it would also speed things up relative to the sclerotic Spacelane Protection fleets. He couldn't win. Either he'd enabled RISE or not done enough which meant he deserved to have the Republic Intelligence Service usurp most of his government's defense/military power.

Third, losing almost half the galaxy kind of dented tax revenue at a time spending spiked. It wasn't proportional since the areas taken were mostly economically weak areas of the Outer Rim (hence why they'd been abandoned without much of a fight) however uncertainty caused a shockwave through the prosperous Core and Inner/Mid Rim. As fortune would have it, the boom-bust regulate-deregulate cycle that brought waxing and waning of banking restrictions tipped toward greater limits on lending rates, saving the Trans-Galactic Republic a small fortune by capping interest rates at 6.5%. This actually resulted from a compromise, as though the credit had the backing of the government, the Trans-Galactic Republic couldn't pay its war bills by printing money or selling bonds. The root lay in an arcane law intended to limit military-type spending that seemed to be having the opposite effect—since the government couldn't issue debt to fight wars it had to spend _more_ on interest for the loans it took out. Though the writers hoped this would discourage conflict, the statute contained no exceptions for "inevitable fight because hostile forces dropped on our collective doorstep." 

"So not only am I being harried for the Intelligence Service, now we're having this debate over HealthSHIELD and Retirement Income Protection versus the war effort? Argh!"

"If anything, we must allocate **more** spending to HealthSHIELD block grants!" thundered Senator Caran Ekiam of Chommell. "Naboo has never turned away those in need—we've shored up dwindling HealthSHIELD funds from our own pockets. The rest of the galaxy would do well to follow our example!"

"What of our vaunted alliance with the other galaxies?" fumed Senator Nika Dusat. "We ask for help and get none!"

Privately, Ekiam chided his colleague—"We're usually the ones who find reasons not to spare anything, Nika." That didn't calm her down.

Meanwhile, deaths and accidents at the Big Yards (Kuat, Fondor, and Corellian Engineering Corporation) piled up without response from either the Committees assigned to such things (Business, Sapient Rights) or the Labor &amp; Workforce Department.

"Deadly Day: 382 More Dead at Kuat!" squawked a headline in the Galaxy Times.

"Rush jobs and obsolete safety equipment are contributing to a higher-than-usual attrition rate among workers in Kuat's government division" led off the article header.

The RISE Council remained profoundly grateful for siting additional, unacknowledged construction sites in deep space run by front corporations who would see no such coverage. Of course, those projects would move exponentially slower since outbound shipments to Great Opportunities ceased. That made it far more difficult to conceal vast amounts of materiel being rerouted, though with the Band of Brothers cooperating it wasn't impossible—just pricey.

It was hoped the four more ordered in public would buy enough time to finish the six being worked on outside the galactic disk with more to come.


	75. Let It Go

**Chapter 74 – Let It Go**

"Mission a failure, abort."

These words were delivered without emotion or inflection by a _nar tasi_ geth commander deep within Omega.

"What the hell?" snarled Aria. "I thought you geth were immune and all that!"

The Colossus serving as a mount for the irregular organic army also acted as a communications relay for other geth and answered Aria's question.

"The geth, _nar tasi_ or not, are in fact immune to both infestation by Flood spores and the psychoactive powers of the Flood. We are not, however, immune to mathematics or the simple notion of being outclassed by an enemy whose combat abilities exceed our own."

The Colossus' large eye proceeded to project information into midair for those riding it to read.

Estimated Geth Combat Platforms Count: 10,000

Estimated Flood Forces: Incalculable (At least the remaining population of Omega, Citadel, created lifeforms)

Estimated Combat Effectiveness Multiplier: 1.05x – 10.0x (least effective krogan, most effective unknown combined lifeforms)

Attrition Rate: 10 units/minute increasing to 1,000 units/minute at present

Estimated Time to full Flood Counterattack: 2 minutes

Aria stood in stunned silence. Their supposed saviors were being utterly destroyed, and had she pushed ahead with her planned attack using only those she'd rallied the outcome would've been much worse. Just to hear it for sure, she described that plan in a private channel to the Colossus.

"I calculate there to be a 99.7% probability that all of your forces would now be under the control of the Flood."

Defiance flowed back into the asari.

"Why don't we just bomb the place from space?"

"You lack critical information that would inform your perspective. The forces dropped in the first pass were the only ones to survive. The rest were destroyed by a combination of Flood-controlled Reapers and other starships repurposed to serve the Flood. We are all that is left. The Flood has finally realized the threat posed and is no longer content to let us run about unhindered. The Homeworld and Creators are being attacked now and were when this operation began. The _nar tasi_ debated returning, but ultimately determined we would have the greatest impact by remaining here. We did not anticipate the Flood's sudden combativeness, however, leading to this failure."

Aria turned to Nyreen Kandros.

"Get everyone out of here. Now!"

Though Nyreen repeatedly admonished her lover for insufferable pride, now Aria's voice betrayed no hint of the arrogance that drove her decisions despite poor outcomes (versus the Republic Intelligence Service and whatever lived in the station's heart). Rather, she heard an asari beaten, defeated, but determined to live to fight again.

"That's the first sensible order I've heard you give."

"You and that softie Shepard must be rubbing off on me" muttered the crime boss.

"Caring is not weakness!" retorted Nyreen in her reedy vernacular. "In fact, valuing only yourself is the most selfish and deplorable weakness one can have. Valuing only one's ego is the epitome of failure, and though it appears your lesson has been harsh, it seems you have learned it."

Aria T'Loak vowed to chew Nyreen out later for sassing her. But not now—it wasn't the right time. She sounded the call to retreat. Where they would go remained an open question, though it could be succinctly summed up in response to a question from Nora Fleetwood: "Anywhere that isn't here. Maybe if we leave the Flood will switch back to not seeing us as a threat."

Wishful thinking, perhaps. In her thousand-plus years of existence, Aria did hear a human saying that reverberated through her head just now: The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results. Still, better to flee and possibly live than stay here and surely die.

"A geth cruiser detected several ships in the debris field surrounding the station with trace amounts of waste heat prior to dropping us off" announced the Colossus. "If there are flight-capable vessels, even of short range, still on this station it may be possible for you to escape."

"What about the _nar tasi_?" asked Nyreen. "We're not just going to run and leave you to die!"

"Your concern is appreciated, however this is our choice. And we choose that you live."

During operations against the geth prior to the first Battle of the Citadel, Neil Edison operated under the assumption that geth Colossus were slow, unwieldy constructs. He never expected to be holding on for dear life as the machine galloped across biomass-coated streets toward some undetermined point.

"The _nar tasi_ will cover my retreat with you aboard. My sensors detect an operating reactor producing enough heat to suggest hypermatter annihilation within twenty kilometers of our last known position. Please repel any Flood attacks while I transport you there."

Nora Fleetwood thanked whatever deities that existed regarding the geth's stability. Despite still being attached to the Colossus' head, she didn't have to do much to keep her balance or aim (magnetic feet notwithstanding) since the head remained nearly perfectly unmoving save for forward motion. Susan Rizza threw up an annihilation field, slightly speeding the geth's progress by removing traction-reducing Flood spores within her sphere of influence.

An ominous whine prompted a warning from their mount.

"This unit's kinetic barriers are not intended to repel energy weapons. Based on observation, the incoming vessels are not friendly and were Trans-Galactic Republic in origin. Prepare to defend."

The scream of light turbolasers made all riders jump. The first shots went wide, scorching both Flood and clear areas following the geth's path. One managed to connect with the Colossus' left rear leg, damaging the joint and cutting its running speed in half.

"My tactical analysis suggests only weapons carried aboard this platform will be sufficient to repel the attacking craft. However, should I stop, the destruction of this unit is certain. You will be required to transport yourselves the remaining five kilometers."

"The hell with the odds!" Wayne Moore hefted his Typhoon and spat fire in the direction of whatever shot at his squad. Whether it was luck or skill could be debated, however a burst of incendiary rounds found a crack in the armor of a bloated former _Fireant_ ordered to pursue under the hand of a turian Overseer form. The crack became fatal as ammunition burned through armor weakened by trying to contain an over-stuffing amount of organic material combined with certain enzymes reacting with the blastboat's paint. The ship fell, exploding as it impacted an abandoned skyscraper.

"How do you like that, you sons of bitches?"

Doug Austen steadied himself. Thankfully, Cobra Missile Launchers contained excellent compensators enabling them to be fired one-handed by the average Systems Alliance Marine. A simple "point-and-fire" interface meant the barrage of rockets would head where the weapon's barrel aimed with no guidance but also no opportunity for electronic countermeasures to interrupt its flight. One shot brought down the other pursuer, similarly-shaped and colored.

Peering through optical magnifiers borrowed from Susan Rizzi, he made out what appeared to be the ship referred to by his Colossus ally.

"Eagle's Claw. Looks like it has a few guns!" he said into the open squad channel. "The landing gear isn't even crushed! This is too lucky."

"Don't say that" hissed Jane Davenport. "I already lost my whole squad once!"

"Stop being superstitious" chided Nora from her perch. "There's no relationship whatsoever between that unfortunate event and the current situation!"

Nobody bothered to argue with the former Phantom, though a few mentally agreed with the N7 Fury's warning. The Colossus knelt to permit its riders to return their feet to solid ground before folding itself up.

"Automatic repair in progress. Please wait."

Neil Edison and Ernie Quinn bounded up their escape ship's ramp. It took about thirty seconds before they both came to opposite conclusions on the location of the ship's starter. Neil ended up being correct, though onboard computers immediately produced warnings wreathed in red when he pressed it.

"Ion drive error—manifold misalignment. Startup will continue, but propulsion will be offline."

"Well, at least it's something that sounds vaguely like issues I've dealt with" remarked Neil, more upbeat than one might expect for the situation. "Does anyone know where the owner's manual is?"

Ernie pointed out a characteristic that would make their job harder.

"Neil, if you haven't noticed, this ship's been modified. A lot. It's not nearly as clean as the Trans-Galactic Republic ships shown in virtual tours on the extranet—in fact it almost looks like it might be a smuggler's ship."

"Which explains why it's hidden, or was until the building over it got destroyed anyway… So there's not going to be a manual. Let's get our hands dirty!"

Speaking into a squad channel, Neil asked the rest of the squad plus the Colossus to cover them "because the getaway car's engine is busted."

"Great" fumed Greg Manchin. "It couldn't be something simple like 'the guns don't work' or 'the grav plating's shot.' Had to be something essential."

"Attention: Incoming drop-pod analogues" announced the Colossus. "Estimated time to impact: 30 seconds."

"Raise the shields!" called out Neil.

"They're not charged" sighed Ernie.

All weapons turned upward and unleashed a storm of ordinance on what appeared to be massive blobs of Flood biomass falling from the sky. One burst into flame, its contents withering and turning black under a barrage from every heavy weapon in the squad.

"Damn!" cursed Moore as his Typhoon overheated. He held the weapon away, wafting his hand to try to redirect some of the gun's considerable thermal output.

Jane Davenport watched her Javelin fire pierce a second incoming pod. Several purple highlights went dark, which told her whatever she hit would no longer trouble them. However, the pod itself remained intact and a large amount of highlighting indicating living enemies still existed as the pod impacted nearby. Spilling out were mostly humans and salarians (or, rather, what had been). Leading them, several Overseers.

"We can take them!" bellowed Greg. "Don't give them a centimeter!"

Whip-like appendages flailed and lashed into kinetic barriers, sending the wearer stumbling but otherwise doing minimal damage. Moore resumed firing. Manchin blasted away with an M-37 Falcon, causing the enemy to stagger and lighting many Flood forms on fire.

A huge shadow cast itself over the group. Looking up, hardened soldiers held panic at bay as a massive triangular shape descended toward them, followed by a rain of the pods which had dropped in singles or doubles previously. Bursts of red energy rained around like a hellish downpour.

"At least the Flood can't aim" laughed Nora nervously. Indeed, everything _except_ where she and her compatriots were standing was receiving quite the barrage of turbolaser fire.

Now surrounded by Flood, Aria's army fought back the best they could. Knowing the risks, Nora Fleetwood hurled herself into combat with her new weapon, hacking and slashing in ways that only a Phantom-augmented person could. Her barriers began to collapse under the sheer weight of dozens of whips, claws, and propelled spikes. Ernie and Neil emerged from repairing the group's newfound ship in time to see Nora drop under the combined attacks of a Flood horde.

She didn't even speak. The former Cerberus Phantom, having racked up a kill-count close to a hundred along the way, tilted her head back and with one stroke cleaved it clean off.

With a strangled cry, Ernie dropped to the ground, all fighting spirit gone. Seeing this, Susan Rizzi's anger drove her biotics into overdrive, utterly vaporizing all visible Flood within a ten-meter radius.

"Don't leave her here."

"We can't take that chance" insisted Susan. "She was buried under a pile of Flood!"

Ernie pushed off the ground and dragged himself toward the Phantom's head and body. Whatever the weapon was, it cauterized as it cut, leaving no blood sprays. Nyreen dashed to the human's side.

_We are probably doomed anyway. If this is his last small comfort, we should let him have it._

Doug turned to his fellow soldier Greg, an expression of horror hidden behind the usual heavy armor worn by Alliance marines. His eyes slowly tracked down his own legs, from which he could see Flood growth that survived Susan's field emerging rapidly—the cells must have gotten inside his body before she let off her blast.

Wordlessly, Susan cast a dark channel, and Doug Austen disintegrated in a flash of green.

"Damn."

Melissa Hornby, normally full of irreverent, perverted commentary could say nothing else.

[…]

Upon receiving an unexpected summons from Maya, Shepard, Tannis, Garrus, and Admiral Nimitz (attending via hologram) wondered what the aged Siren could possibly have to add.

With _Farsight_ maintaining vigilance and space around _Ultimatum_ being relatively clear of Flood for the first time since their arrival, none worried about surprise attacks while hearing Maya out.

"So what've you got?" asked Sam in her usual blunt fashion.

"We have another problem" replied the Siren quietly. "And it's exactly what you think, except worse."

"What could possibly be worse than the Flood?" asked Nimitz skeptically.

"No one wants to be those _things_" shuddered the Siren. "At least no one normally does. But now there's a group that at minimum is keeping Flood life-forms around instead of killing them, and I suspect it may be to create more of them."

Shepard's face drained of color.

"_Of course!_ The Flood took the Reapers. The Reapers already had an insidious indoctrination process that slowly convinced organic minds to serve them. And the battle with the Trans-Galactic Republic showed some evolution in this ability—you all remember the fighters who couldn't attack, and the special shields created through collaboration with the quarians that are now standard on every ship!"

"This new religion seems to be centered around worshipping the 'Bringers of Life.' And when those that are venerated look like the very things we've been fighting…"

Images of upper-class-looking individuals serving a hideous lump of flesh barely recognizable as human flashed across Maya's terminal.

"The part that really gives this away is that Thalia Tediore saying anything intelligent used to be less likely than skag barf not having ammo in it" continued Maya. "Now, listen to this!"

"The Bringers of Life will pick us up where the Redeemers left us to weather the storm" said Thalia Tediore's image. "Only through Ascension shall we achieve everlasting peace, ending the pointless conflict wrought by agents of evil and chaos. Begin the process of Ascension at your local Pillar."

"That's not all" said Maya. "There's also this."

"Those who stand in the way of the Ascension shall be trampled under the feet of the righteous" bellowed a man nobody recognized. "You may either be Ascended of your own will, or your body will serve the Bringers of Life after you meet the barrel of my righteous wrath!"

"Records say this man was once Slade Stevens, head of S&amp;S Munitions. How he ended up like this I cannot tell, however he seems to have dedicated himself and his company to spreading this cult."

"How did you find all this?" wondered Garrus.

Maya smiled.

"First off, it's not like I can go on your adventures anymore—not after that time-shift. Second, you wouldn't believe who helped me access the undernet."

Seeing confused expressions, the woman explained exactly what that meant before moving on to how she figured out how to navigate it.

"I'm surprised at you—I've stopped thinking about our shared stay in her custody but last I heard, you were still holding a grudge."

"There's no room for those types of things anymore" retorted Maya with a quiet intensity Garrus never recalled hearing from her. "Sure, she was horrible, but based on scuttlebutt I'm under the impression that you" (she pointed at Nimitz) "are none too pleased with having to work with people like us who are a bit looser on use of force than your fancy Trans-Galactic Republic."

"To be fair, we have reached a point where I'll take almost any help I can get" mused Shepard. "No matter his, her, or its past transgressions. Normally I'd probably make a speech about winning without selling our souls, but I have a feeling if we turned up our noses at the likes of the Pandoran arms dealers or Sarah, we'd probably be dead."

Patricia Tannis remained silent this entire time, until now.

"I am not sure why you conspire to waste my time with inane noise exchanges that have nothing to do with my work."

"Tannis, check through your research and find anything you can about the Eridians and the Flood. Especially with the younger version of Maya who showed up in my office dressed in artifacts" ordered Nimitz. "We need every bit of information we can get if we are to defeat this threat."

[…]

After meeting with Maya, Sam received a request to meet from Admiral/Councilor Adam Grayson.

"Heh. Haven't gotten one of _these_ in a long time. At least they can't send me off on some tail-chasing mission."

She wasn't surprised to find the whole Council (of what now, exactly?) waiting for her, though this time they sat in chairs and were physically present, a departure from her introduction to their holographic selves that stood before her all those years ago.

"What impossible task do you have for me now?"

"Well, it wasn't an assignment" replied Grayson. "More of a question."

"I'm listening."

"What would you do if today, you could pass judgment on the Siren Sarah for crimes committed against your galaxy?"

"It's not like she's operating on some moral plane that makes no sense" began Sam. "She just thinks mass killing is acceptable because the consequences of not doing so would have been worse. Clearly, that's as wrong as you can get as far as we're concerned, at least on its face not considering anything else. Thing is, if she goes to prison so should I by all rights…"

The Councilors shifted uncomfortably.

Tevos broke the silence by slightly altering the course of the conversation.

"Speaking of prison, its commonly accepted its purpose is to contain and deter. Even the longest-lived asari might die in prison. However, if what we've discerned about Sarah is correct, she's immortal. Further, given that she is capable of transporting herself from one place to another without use of vehicles or any ability we know how to interact with, it cannot be reasonably assumed any cell into which we put her would actually hold her, either."

"So even though we can judge her actions, we can't exact consequences is what you're saying."

"Correct, Shepard."

Sam stood still for a few moments, before an idea formed in her head.

"I just thought of something. It is true that Sarah is no longer an active threat against us or anybody who is not either Flood or aiding the Flood. It is also true that while 'the ends justify the means' is _never_ popular in certain quarters, we may have to invoke it if someone asks for an explanation of why she is not punished after the dust settles."

"You are implicitly assuming we will be around long enough to have that conversation" cautioned Clethon, unaware of the adventures of the _Avenger_. Shepard filled them in. Even Grayson, not being part of Spacelane Protection anymore, didn't hear of the plans involving biotics, digistruction, geth, and using the Flood as fuel.

"So you're saying there's a chance, then" added Victus excitedly. "There's a real, genuine possibility we can defeat the Flood!"

"Yep. Still don't know what to do about Sarah though."

"We are part of a larger intergalactic community" mused Tevos. "If it came to it, it's not likely most people would know what her original motivations were."

Sam gave the Councilor a look. "You're suggesting we cover things up? Your memory must be very short."

"As a member of a program whose files are classified to the point where only this body and certain other members of that group can access its files, I find it amusing you complain about keeping secrets."

Shepard couldn't argue with that. She turned to Grayson.

"How many people are there in your galaxy?"

"We've tried to guess. Rumor has it Coruscant actually may have upward of two trillion people on its own by this point—one planet that gets denser by the week, almost! Censuses from our government and historical records suggest a galactic population in the hundreds of quadrillions. Never mind the other members of the Trans-Galactic Republic—in total all ten may have a half-quintillion or more…"

"I'm going to hate myself for this. I already feel dirty. Here's the short version—Sarah may have killed a hundred million—did anyone bother to count?—but we whitewash it into trying to save so many people that some might not have heard of the numbers involved. What in our galaxy ran into the quintillions?"

"There is one other possibility" offered the salarian Councilor hesitantly.

"Which is?"

"Termination."

Sam burst out laughing. She tried to speak for some length of time, but had trouble through gales of guffaws. Finally, she said: "You think you could kill her?"

"Nobody has tried, so we cannot say it is impossible."

"Also, that's rather unkind of you." She wagged her finger at them as if scolding a child. "Please save us, but also die afterward because you did things we didn't like in the process even though it kept us alive."

Grayson interrupted.

"Gentlemen, ladies—we're forgetting something big here. _The galaxy is doomed if the Flood is not stopped. All of our galaxies are doomed._ There is a threshold that, once crossed, justifies doing anything in our power to resolve it. I believe we hurtled over that line years ago when the Flood first arrived, but we hadn't realized it. Now I hope you have come to the same conclusion I have: if letting a mass murderer get off without punishment buys us the continuation of society, we should not hesitate to do so. This Council condemned the entire Terminus Systems to destruction in the hopes of stalling the Flood. Was that any different?"

More uncomfortable silence.

"There is a legend" he continued. "It has been passed down for generations; millions of years! Normally, we take these things with a grain of salt. The kill counts of this beyond-human Skywalker, the military achievements of his (or perhaps her) contemporary Wed Antilles? First off, who has the first name 'Wed,' and second—really? Two invasion forces at once? Highly improbable!"

"The point of this is?" Shepard crossed her arms and noticeably tapped her foot.

"The Dark Heart, Dark Soul, and Dark Hand of the Republic. They are supposed to be super-starships circling in some kind of advanced faster-than-light which effectively gives them unlimited range. They can be summoned by the government, but only in the direst of circumstances, and as soon as their task is complete they depart and take everyone involved in their arrival with them."

Sam again found herself on the verge of mirth. A serious discussion about morals, and then all of the sudden it was Trans-Galactic Republic story time?

"Records suggest a great purge took place about five million years ago—the government ceased to exist, and the only records we have are those that document this event. Even in our society with its hyperdrives, turbolasers, and other assorted technologies nothing is designed to last forever. Except the memory crystals recording the series of events I just described. And those memory crystals contain records even _more_ ancient—claiming the Deathly Trio visited more than once."

Sam's attitude changed immediately.

"There are records of these things? Show me!"

"I couldn't if I wanted to. Only the Executive Minister has access to them."

Grayson never deceived her before, and though she disliked taking outlandish claims without evidence, she ruefully recalled she herself made similarly out-there accusations with the fullest belief they were correct. Saren stood out as a notable example—even though she was later proven right more thoroughly than anyone would have wanted to be, at the time the first accusations were leveled Sam only had her own word against that of a top galactic operative.

"Fine. Let's assume what you're saying is true. So we've reached a point where we just say 'The hell with it' and let Sarah loose, then? Any nagging questions about right and wrong get told off by 'extenuating circumstances?'"

Tevos hesitated before dropping the bomb.

"Shepard… Nobody wanted to say this, but… We had similar reasons when we deliberately ignored what happened with you when Xytler was in charge. This is just on a far larger scale. We have no regrets about allowing you to go about your business unhindered, however we are also of the opinion the Siren should be afforded the same treatment."

The four watched their best operative's face twist, turn red, and the whole woman trembled in quiet rage. Simultaneously they had similar thoughts, mostly: _She could kill us and likely no one would care. Except about Grayson._

Instead, Sam stalked out without saying another word.

[…]

In one of the Star Dreadnaught's many conference rooms, Admiral Allison Nimitz confronted a disillusioned Torgue, the Maliwans, and Ronald Dahl. Given the materials available, the trio made a valiant effort to pull some of the weight with regard to defense—it just wasn't enough. Initially, Malcolm desperately wanted to know "in what other ways we can contribute" as if some gruesome punishment awaited should they do nothing until Nimitz assured them that no, they wouldn't be locked up or tried for crimes committed even if there wasn't "a bantha poodoo you could do to help."

"But, what about fiery explosions?"

Torgue appeared on the verge of tears, something that didn't fit with his massive stature.

"It is true that personal-scale weaponry made in this galaxy has been helpful against the Flood. We need whatever options we can get, so if you want to lend a hand here's what you can do. I'll requisition a lab for you, and I'll get whatever materials I can within reason—build me bigger, better, more powerful handheld weapons to fight the Flood. Will that put your minds at ease?"

"We'll get right on it!"

Mallory especially perked right back up.

Though as a Fleet Admiral most of her decisions were not subject to much consistent direct oversight, Nimitz opted to put to datapad her rationale for what she would do next.

"As the Commanding Officer of the Great Opportunities Fleet, I formally absolve the following parties of guilt for various actions which could be seen as contravening Trans-Galactic Republic law…"

The Maliwans, Torgue, Dahl, even one specific member of the Jakobs family. So long as the government hadn't changed while she'd been away, her word would shield them from any attempts to bring legal repercussions against them. Of course, questions of standing might do that for her—nobody in the Trans-Galactic Republic save government prosecutors would have the legal means to indict them. Hence her writings. The prosecutors would have to come up with a good reason to both override an Admiral's commands in the field _and_ try to apply the laws of the Trans-Galactic Republic to people not bound by them.

It did nothing to ease her conscience, but she figured given the circumstances worrying about whether she'd sleep a little worse wasn't a priority. At least with regard to the Siren Sarah (whose crimes weren't even in this galaxy), she got the impression that without this woman's help things would be a lot worse. Survival seemed preferable to condemning galaxy after galaxy to death.

[…]

Semi-regular reports from _Avenger_ detailed continuing destruction of Flood assets in the area surrounding _Ultimatum_. Along with _Farsight_, a massive ship nearly the size of a Star Dreadnaught that was somehow running with barely ten thousand crew, the ships cleared vast swaths of space. As per its design, _Avenger_ kept growing—a rate that would have been disturbing had the ship not been built to do exactly that. Now stretching 5,750 meters from bow to stern, it possessed formidable weaponry, strong shields, and stout armor. Some of these offensive devices were semi-original to the geth intelligences running the vessel, based on Trans-Galactic Republic technology but built with different materials.

Starfighter counts were up—144 fighters and 144 bombers, all geth. So were battery numbers—64 heavy turbolaser units (4 per group) running on synthetic Tibanna and 115 five-turret standard quad turbolasers also running on a constructed substance.

Most of the material necessary to fuel these additions came from digesting defeated foes or pulling resources from the drifting _Revenant_. Much of the ship still remained, though it would be obvious even to the untrained eye that large amounts of the ship's superstructure was missing.

"Congratulations."

Cortana found herself elated to have been proven wrong without serious consequences occurring (yet). As a result, she made sure to express her gratitude to the engineers responsible for what appeared to be the first effective Flood countermeasure that didn't involve killing all life in the galaxy that the Flood could use.

"As sophisticated as you are, I'm surprised it took you this long to realize that maybe, just maybe, people with different technology could come up with a new solution."

Tali wasn't angry with the AI, just a little confused.

"Where I'm from, we had access to machinery that makes even most of the Trans-Galactic Republic's hardware look tame. But because no one made proper use of it until it was too late, it didn't help. I kept fearing the same would take place here—witness the hawing and mewling over whether to publically acknowledge an open secret! How many times did Grayson claim his government didn't use superlasers?"

"So I assume going forward you're not going to be berating us for taking unnecessary risks then?"

Part of her wanted to be slightly immature and rub this small victory in Cortana's face. Perhaps it arose out of the geth-quarian conflict, or maybe it just felt good to have proven such a well-informed skeptic wrong. Either way, Tali refused to indulge this infantile notion any further.

"Well, if you make a stupid choice I'll still say something. I just won't automatically assume any solution other than the Halo Arrays is stupid."

Despite the fact that such systems would wipe out all sapient (and some less-than-sapient) life, Tali wanted to learn more about these massive rings. When describing the Flood in the past, Cortana had mentioned "the Halos" several times but not gone into detail beyond the wiping-out-all-life-to-starve-the-Flood part. She listened intently as the UNSC artificial intelligence detailed everything she'd found out during her and the Master Chief's adventures aboard the Installations.

"The whole notion that the Flood hates cold seems to have been exploited full-force both here and there" said Cortana. "The rings' control centers were located in snowy, frozen parts of the structure. And based on mission reports from the younger Maya's trip to Rhea, the Eridians of this galaxy also installed their defensive systems in places that were low enough in temperature to discourage Flood from growing there."


	76. Where Sirens Fear to Tread

**Chapter 75 – Where Sirens Fear to Tread**

Less than two days later, a quartet of biotics departed for their new assignments. Jason Berenson went to _Guardian_, Cassie Lupin to _Stalwart_, Cindy Chapin to _Protector_, and Toby Hameel absolutely insisted on volunteering for a second run—this time aboard _Valiant_. Sarah dutifully undid Mordin's work, returning each student to their previously-overcharged level of biotic power. Upon return from a jaunt aboard an _Avenger_, the processing would be reversed yet again.

"How far does your sphere of command improvement extend?" asked Cindy Chapin.

Though the students obviously remembered Sarah's previous imprisonment of them, unlike their elders who agonized over morality involved in accepting the Siren's help, Jack's students hadn't really been made aware of these events. Thus, none possessed the same level of distaste for the Siren as their adult contemporaries did and were fine with having normal conversations.

"Far enough. The most advanced Tides of War can affect an entire star system-sized theatre, in addition to not wearing off immediately."

Unmanned probes detected sufficient concentrations of Flood to make it worth sending these _Avengers_ further afield.

"We don't need a map" said Nimitz. "Let's just do it the old-fashioned way."

"Took them long enough" grouched Maya. "Kept me cooped up because 'we don't know where the planets with Flood are,' but they have technology that can scan obscene amounts of detail from orbit…"

She reported for duty to the Admiral's ready room, clad in her strange gear that only she and Nimitz could fully comprehend.

"Based on your report from your last encounter with 'Evolved Reclaimer' status, we're sending you in aboard _Normandy _but don't expect ground teams unless you absolutely require them. The only reason we're even using _Normandy_ is her insane speed. We haven't fitted any other ships with the technology that we can spare."

"So I go in, activate whatever anti-Flood defenses I can find before the _Avenger_ shows up, and leave?"

"Precisely. As you know, the ship's gotta eat."

"Right."

Half the targets were simple, but one, Aquator, represented a big step—near as anyone could tell, it possessed a heavy presence of Flood. From the elder Maya's research, it also served as a home base for the religion that seemed to worship the Flood, so attacking it would be a huge risk but offer a significant payoff if successful.

"Why are we going after such a heavily protected target? When I was in pilot training, one of the first things the simulator said was not to send bombers against a capital ship with a full fighter screen!"

Nimitz pounded her fist on the ready-room table.

"Because I'm sick and tired of running, piecemeal attacks, and playing small. When the game's playing for keeps and the stakes are whole galaxies, you gotta step it up!"

"Isn't that risky?"

"I'd wager Corellians playing honest sabacc before I'd bet on our chances. But what other choice do we have? We either hit back hard while we have momentum or we stall out!"

Maya tilted her head quizzically.

"So one operation in a rather controlled circumstance and all of the sudden we have 'momentum?'"

The Admiral spluttered before regaining control of speech.

"If you want the Siren for the Aquator assault, you can have her. Does that make you feel better?"

Cortana shimmered to life.

"So you won one hand. Big deal. I'd either bet big on this next round or keep playing it safe, but not this. You want to attack Aquator, look at your own sensor readings—you'll need an entire fleet for that. I get it—you're excited and pumped up because for the first time in forever it looks like there's a real shot to strike back. But don't let your heart get carried away! That's what we AI's excel at, telling you hotheaded humans to take a second look at things."

She tried not to look too smug.

"Let's see what happens with the two ships we've sent to places that _aren't_ completely fortified by the enemy first…"

[…]

"Transcendent" Thalia and "Savior" Slade couldn't believe how quickly their flock grew. Especially among the wealthy situated on the Prime Worlds and Inner Colonies, Pillars recorded hundreds of new Ascendees every day. Perhaps it was because the entire thing seemed so harmless in a galaxy otherwise wracked by discord, or maybe more cynically it represented a desire by those who built themselves walled fortresses to soothe their consciences by letting in a token member of the underclass. Regardless of why, it quickly became unfashionable to _not_ devote a section of one's sprawling mansion to those previously tossed over the fence into the Outer Colonies or if one was particularly unlucky, the Borderlands region.

Some corporations participated in these efforts more readily than others. Hyperion gladly volunteered its resources, if only to spite Jakobs for turning on its erstwhile alliance. Tediore of course committed almost comical levels of support to the point where some freight convoys were carrying more bandits inbound than most freighters sent _out_ during the great purges of the past. Given the name "Outsiders," those following the Bringers of Life were told to "bring them inside" despite their odd mannerisms and physical mutations, some self-inflicted.

"It's fitting" soothed Thalia in another broadwave. "We were the ones who sent them away—we should be the ones to call them back."

That anyone in command of their senses would have strong doubts about accepting help from those who gleefully banished them in the first place was not mentioned.

Aquator, as the Conduit, saw only those closest to Ascending set foot on its watery surface. A single massive Pillar built on the foundations of the Tediore vacation home and many around it served as a reception hall for those deemed worthy either through sufficient participation (Thalia) or reaching repentance through punishment (Slade).

All pilgrims were thoroughly screened by orbital stations. Each must possess a flock of at least six Outsiders in order to gain entry. Though no public resentment showed (nor was it allowed) some Outsiders were more preferred than others—mainly, early adopters of the faith tended to be surrounded by those who engaged in quite a bit of self-mutilation in order to bring themselves closer to Ascending, though later Outsiders merely required meditation in the presence of special instruments. Scarred or not, meditation with one's Outsiders reached the highest levels of holiness by worshippers of a decidedly unholy (by the standard of not worshipping that which sought to destroy the galaxy) deity.

Once allowed through checkpoints, the arrival would be required to dock his or her ship for movement into a convent within the Pillar. Said structure stretched kilometers into the atmosphere and expanded as-needed through both digistruction and manual labor (by both loaders and the pilgrims themselves). Once there, most time would be spent meditating with at least one Outsider present at all times. By this point in Ascendance, both the Outsider(s) and those who watched over them became quite passive save chanting the sacred texts.

Massive creatures recognized by others as Reapers or Harvesters, but now referred to as Servants of Life by the faithful tended to congregate around higher levels of the Pillar. Some within were seemingly at random chosen to move their meditations within these gigantic hulls. Oddly, the Servants would occasionally request only the pilgrim, not his/her assortment of Outsiders. Nobody knew why, and nobody asked.

"It is an honor" grated Slade in response to a handful of questions, mostly from those who had not yet experienced the privilege of traveling to the Conduit. "Simply take it for what it is."

Those outside the religion who witnessed friends, family members, and associates becoming more enthralled eventually began noticing that some who travelled to Aquator never returned and in fact were listed as "Ascended" on ECHONet sites linked to the church there.

"This is getting ridiculous" bellowed Bill Arkansas Jakobs. "Our competitors have succumbed to a nutty religion and galactic luminaries are disappearing!"

Jakobs, now facing a siege on every front, found itself forced to cede almost half the territory it gained through deployment of clone soldiers. Damage or outright destruction of cloning facilities led to sharp drops in production from an already-troubled process. The loss of a competent commander (Doubleday) and three key ships from its fleet meant the company could no longer sell itself as an invincible protector (or bully those who got in its way). Though Atlas-built destroyers were hardly weak, there was something to be said for a ship larger than some cities arriving in-system and unleashing its vast firepower.

Interestingly, despite the new religious aspect to the conflict, uninvolved citizens simply shook their heads at "yet another corporate war" and hoped the Economic Development Group would do something about it. Normally, despite endemic corruption the "Big Seven" would move to punish anyone who tried to pick a fight. This system tended to work because only one or two of them at a time would ever get delusions of grandeur and stick their necks out (which made chopping them all the easier). However, in the present day virtually every company picked a side, even the smaller ones. No significant body of neutral, uninvolved parties existed to serve as a check.

Vladof retrenched yelling about "the proletariat revolution." Hyperion and Tediore (arms division only) worked on behalf of the Bringers of Life. Maliwan and Torgue continued their alliance with both each other and the outsider Trans-Galactic Republic. Whispers of Dahl involvement with the group flew, as did insinuations that Tediore Capital Investments' views split from their subsidiary. Thalia openly admitted to funding the church with her own money, so most observers concluded the capital arm at minimum kept its powder dry for the moment. That Thalia managed to abscond with some portion of those funds escaped notice.

Jakobs had a side all to itself. That worked out well when the soft power resulting from possessing but not necessarily (mis)using such an army caused fearful systems to flee into Jakobs' arms, but once the ability of these clones to offer the promised protection began to unravel, questions about Jakobs' motives began to bubble to the fore.

"Don't you think this is all a little bit suspicious?" thundered Bill at a press conference. "Thalia suddenly finds the ability to create coherent sentences, wears a hood, and is a leader in a new religion? What is it that they're hiding under all the flowery language of 'ascendance?'"

"I feel badly for those who simply cannot see the opportunity we are offering" countered Thalia. "On worlds where the Bringers of Life are in the majority, conflict has ceased. The scars of war are healing, yet there are those who would rip everything open again."

[…]

While meditating in her quarters aboard _Ultimatum_, Sarah's memories drifted back to her time in a medical facility a few months back. The Republic Intelligence Service decided they either wanted her dead or under their control. Needless to say, neither would happen and she easily brushed off their assassination and capture attempts. As a matter of fact, one of the methods employed actually returned her to even greater heights of power than befo…

_Why not?_

Sarah used her terminal to find the best way to reach Admiral Nimitz's office. She then sent a holo requesting an audience, which the Admiral granted without answering in person.

Opting to walk rather than teleport for multiple reasons, it didn't take Sarah very long to get where she was going given that her living area originally belonged to the ship's Admiral in the first place.

Nimitz decided to simply treat Sarah as another subordinate since she'd decided to stop worrying about any unpleasant quandaries resulting from working with her—dispense with unpleasantries. Addressing her by rank wouldn't be possible, so she just settled for the Siren's given name.

"Yes Sarah?"

"Your intelligence service tried to assassinate me once after their capture attempt did not produce the desired result" she began. "Clearly, they failed, and actually it ended up helping me out as you recall what happened after I teleported us away."

_That's probably the only time anyone would have stood a chance of killing her anyway._

"They attempted to use a purple substance that ate through the ship I was on."

Nimitz sighed. She'd found out _afterward_, of course. Not directly, but _Redemption_'s medical facilities were gutted, her medical staff entirely dead. Thankfully, some data regarding Sarah escaped to storage outside affected areas.

"It's nothing I know of, not within our science… But yes, I remember that."

"It vaporized organic matter on contact" Sarah replied matter-of-factly. "Why not weaponize it and turn it against the Flood?"

"Being something related to RISE, it was all hush-hush. I assume you're able to survive in it—so why don't you go get some for us? I'd send you with Maya, but Aquator and Pandora are in opposite directions…"

"Are you saying you want me to teleport myself?"

"Well, not exactly."

Nimitz's tone suggested something conspiratorial, which she proved by locking down her office.

"I assume you can keep a secret if it is in your benefit to do so."

Sarah contained an angry response and settled for trying to explain herself instead.

"I'm trying to learn how to live among you people—not everything has to be 'do this or else,' you know."

_Not that they would have an effective "or else…"_

"This ship has several high-end assault craft that Cortana discovered within RISE stores. Of course, the only reason we are able to use them is because we are millions of light years from home and Cortana knows a few tricks to keep them from realizing their precious Punishers are missing."

"Tell me more about this Punisher."

_That Maya woman would probably faint at the ship's capabilities, but she's not here_ thought Nimitz.

"A ship of such power obviously has to have its use restrained. On that, I agree with the Republic Intelligence Service—the committees that approved its funding were quite shocked at what Sienar Fleet Systems was able to cook up. Of course, when cost is no object…"

"So how powerful is it?" Sarah began fidgeting.

"Six heavy laser cannons, four ion cannons, three ordinance bays. Point-of-impact shielding and experimental self-healing hull armor. A class 0.25 hyperdrive, and the ability to operate independently with a crew of two for up to a week. No cloaking device though."

Sarah tilted her head in confusion. "And…how fast is a class-0.25 hyperdrive?"

"It's actually faster than most hyper-zero drives, the ones we built that accelerated universal convergence. Real-time measurements at point of departure and point of arrival would clock the ship at around a hundred million times the speed of light."

"How much do you want?"

"The ship can hold two hundred kilos of cargo. It's already been loaded with containers Cortana believes will be able to safely contain the Eridium gas—this is the part where I have no idea how the stuff is generated, only what happens when it touches things. I assume you probably can use your powers or something to convert Eridium crystals into gaseous form?"

"I can certainly try. I'll be back before you know it."

After Sarah left, Admiral Nimitz pulled up a star chart. Assuming nothing weird happened, the distance to Pandora from her flagship's position required roughly 10,000 light years of travel—a trivial distance for such a fast ship.


	77. Let the Storm Rage On

**Chapter 76 – Let the Storm Rage On**

Cindy Chapin loaded herself into _Protector_ for her short journey to a moon of Menoetius in the Phoebe System, Silenus Cluster.

"Relax, and remember Shiala's teachings" instructed Toby Hameel, who'd come to see her off. "It goes by a lot faster if you're relaxed than if you're constantly stressing over what is going on outside—don't even bother using the viewscreen. Stay calm. I swear that helps the ship do its thing quicker."

Chapin almost couldn't believe it as her energy harness rested itself on her shoulders. At the age of fifteen, she'd been tasked with helping to perform a job that had galactic consequences. Surely, her participation would be mostly passive, but were it not for her swollen (and uncomfortable, no matter what Toby said) eezo nodules, the mission wouldn't even be _possible_.

Unlike the processed geth voices she'd heard before, _Protector_'s computer sounded a lot like the purple AI Cortana, who Cindy only met for a short time while being briefed on what, exactly this mission would require of her. Now, that voice instructed her to "sleep if you can, it makes the initial process more comfortable."

"I'm full of adrenaline" she protested. "How am I supposed to sleep?"

"With your consent, the ship can administer a mild sedative."

As Chapin drifted into unconsciousness, she felt _Protector_'s hyperdrive charging up. The last thing she heard was the computer's voice. "We'll wake you if we need you."

"_Normandy_ to _Protector_, we'll beat you there, kill the Flood, and head off to the next target."

A geth voice replied to Joker's initial hail. "_Protector_ confirms. All systems operating at expected levels."

Maya stepped onto the bridge. She wanted to speak with Joker, but had to wait until Garrus finished talking.

"I mean, aside from ripping the universe a new one, I love these hyper-zero engines! Ten thousand light-years in fifteen minutes with no waiting in any lines!"

"Drop me onto the north pole. I'll signal you when I'm done."

Garrus and Joker exchanged a look as Sam came onto the bridge.

"Did she just make a crazy request?"

"Commander, I've dropped a Mako into a tiny chasm. Crazy Eridian Siren here wants me to drop _her_, which is a wee bit different."

Shepard laughed. "Orbital jumping isn't _that_ extreme—anyone who's gone through Interplanetary Combatives Training knows that!"

"Wait, so you actually…"

"Yep! Had to do three successful spacejumps in order to earn my N7, among many, _many_ other things!"

"So you support me, then" said Maya defiantly. "Order him to drop me at the pole!"

Shepard gave the overly-excited Siren a wry look.

"Have you ever spacejumped before?"

The young woman mumbled something that not even Cortana's audio inputs could catch.

"I assume that's a no" replied Sam, oddly cheery for shooting down someone's request. "How about this: since you clearly want to do an insane dive out of _Normandy_ to land at the north pole of this moon Killian, and you have no idea how you're even going to do that… Maybe if I gave you a hand?"

"I thought I was supposed to do this alone."

"Says who?" demanded Sam.

Again, Maya could find no words.

"I just want to do something myself! Prove I'm not that useless piece of eye candy _he_ turned me into!"

The Commander almost rolled her eyes, but refrained.

"Do you not realize how much knowledge you've gained and respect you've earned for your relentless insistence on pitching in as much as you can despite your background?"

"Yeah, a fighter pilot who hasn't done any real missions other than playing shuttle. Fat lot of good that does" spat Maya bitterly. "You're too new, you'll get killed, blah blah blah. You're no help either!" She pointed accusingly at Shepard.

"Would you rather I just let you make a single, forgettable suicide run at Omega? Is that what you want? Because if it is, I have someone I think you should see…"

"I… Every time I think I'm going to be able to do something, it gets taken away! Sure, I cleared one planet of Flood after I found all this gear in Tannis' lab, but then I got sidelined, again. I hate it!"

"Look" said Sam, "you're being _way_ too hard on yourself. You're what, 30-something, but you've been confined and imprisoned for your whole life. How can you possibly expect…"

Maya cut her commanding officer off.

"No. That's not right. I'm not 30. I'm 20."

Sam visibly recoiled. Her brain did some rapid math from the present day back to Maya's initial appearance. That caused some even more unfortunate implications than what she already knew about this version of Maya and her unpleasant history.

"That would mean you…"

"…were basically only a teenager when you rescued me. That's how twisted that bastard was, Sam. It didn't matter how young we were. In fact, when I…"

Sam interrupted before a full-blown therapy-grade session broke out on the bridge of her ship.

"Looks like there are some things I was unaware of, and that perhaps Patricia Tannis could explain. You know, given the other duplicated person's copy was approximately the same age as the one we have here already." Shepard didn't explain to Maya that this involved a copy of herself.

"Are you going to help me spacejump or not?"

Sam exhaled in exasperation, not with Maya but with the circumstances. Looks like the universe wasn't done throwing people with more baggage than a spaceport at her, and it was thus expected she do something about it. She did _not _miss this part of her job when she holed herself up in her quarters and refused to take visitors.

"We're two minutes out, Commander" warned Joker. "If you're going to do anything, you'd best get prepped now, unless your reconstruction lets you spacejump in a tank top and sweatpants…"

"I need to get my gear. Williams!" barked Sam into her omnitool. "Help Maya get suited up—she's gonna spacejump."

"What? Why can't you just land the ship?"

Maya gave Sam her best kicked-puppy look, as if Ashley's question might lead her to be once again "sidelined."

"It's a long story. Just get a hardsuit ready. I want Maya in that suit by the time I get my own gear!"

"Yes ma'am."

Shepard deliberately offloaded the task onto someone else because she needed to collect her thoughts.

_Only twenty? That Jack is damn lucky he's already dead, because if he wasn't…_

Red briefly clouded her vision and Sam felt a strong urge to punch the wall as her hands balled into well-practiced fists, a punch that with her cybernetics might actually damage the wall more than her. She felt a hatred, a darkness she'd not experienced full-force since Xytler grow within her. This time, she let it fill out rather than squashing it as she'd usually done previously. She wanted to kill something. And she knew using that as an outlet for her anger would get several reprimands from Dr. Flanders, but Flanders wasn't here to nag.

_The hell with it._

She chose armor with a slot for her disruptor pistol. The Republic Intelligence Service hardly rated as her favorite organization, but the power of their weaponry could not be disputed. If she was to find solace in destruction, she would make absolutely sure whatever she shot at would not be coming back in zombie form like most Flood tended to.

Four minutes later ("You're getting slow, Sam") she arrived in the cargo bay on Deck 5. Ashley, still in casual clothing, had dressed Maya in a brilliant red hardsuit to the nines—but with Williams, anything less would have been a failure.

"Maya, what exactly are you here to do?" asked Sam, trying to keep the conversation from heading back to where she'd left it.

"Destroy Flood."

"Well, yeah, but can you be more specific?"

In response, Maya shook the ring of truncated cones in Sam's face.

"One of these plugs into some kind of computer down on that moon. You said it's called Killian?"

"Yes."

"Anyway" continued Maya, "the last time I was with Garrus. I inserted the key, it set off something, and the Flood there died."

"Did you see anything about how whatever this is works?"

"Nope. I was deep inside some kind of underground cavern when whatever it was went off. I never got to see what happened."

_Somehow, even though she's done more than a lot of people, she doesn't see it and keeps blaming herself for not doing more._

"Did Ashley give you a tutorial on…"

"She's briefed and ready. She'll follow your lead, and the suit's computer knows what to do otherwise" interjected Williams.

"You'd best clear out, unless you like cindering and being resurrected. We're coming up on the drop point, and I don't think Joker wants to do another orbit."

Ashley retreated back into the _Normandy_'s lift, leaving Sam alone with Maya.

"With the spacejump, follow my lead. Once we're on the surface, the mission is yours and I will do as you say unless following your instructions places us in unreasonable danger."

Maya smiled behind her helmet.

_Fuck you, Jack_.

"So Shepard and the young Maya are jumping out of the ship?" asked Miranda Lawson to Joker upon finding out the reason for multiple circuits around Killian without either launching a shuttle or landing.

"That's right. Spectres…" He huffed, as if accommodating Sam's request required some great effort on his part.

"That makes no sense. Why not just take one of the six blastboats we have in the hanger?"

"Speaking of hanger, this is Joker—preparing to open main hanger door for orbital insertion."

"Shepard acknowledges."

Maya wasn't sure if she was supposed to say anything, so she kept her mouth shut.

"Run to the door and throw yourself out like you're doing a belly flop into a pool. These suits are meant for rapid descents, so tuck your arms and legs like a swimmer. Got it?"

"Yep."

Maya couldn't help feeling exhilaration as she plunged through Killian's atmosphere. Helmet insulation muffled sound to a dull roar—she could still easily hear Shepard and herself.

"Your suit's repulsorjets will kick in to slow you down once you've reached a kilometer above the surface" explained Shepard. "Back during my ICT days, we actually had to push buttons ourselves—the Trans-Galactic Republic makes it much simpler!"

One pulse-pounding but otherwise-uneventful orbital insertion later, Maya and Sam landed on the freezing polar region of Menoetius' moon Killian. The planetoid had roughly the mass of Mars and a habitable climate similar to the more hostile of "garden" worlds (temperature extremes). Consequently, what Flood existed remained confined to patches and spots around its equator. Still, the presence did trigger sensors aboard a passing Trans-Galactic Republic probe and were quantified to be sufficient for starting the fusion reaction aboard an _Avenger_.

"That took us about fifteen minutes" continued Sam. "Lower gravity, lower acceleration, smaller atmosphere, etc. Anyway, planetary characteristics aside, we have a little more than eight hours for you to do whatever it is that you do before _Protector_ shows up looking for a meal. So we should hop to it!"

Maya checked her keyring, plucked the only glowing one off, and closed her eyes while palming it. This time, a map entered the Siren's head without knocking her down—"This way!"

Firing up repulsors, the pair floated at the highest possible speed toward wherever Maya's instructions told her to go.

"Sam, you'll probably want…"

"Evolved Reclaimer recognized. Reclaimer recognized."

"This looks pretty similar to the last one on Rhea" commented Maya. "Ice caverns, strange voices in our heads… Though, the last time Garrus got knocked on his butt!"

She giggled at the memory.

"It said 'Reclaimer.' You said before that you were an 'Evolved Reclaimer.' My unscientific guess is that only humans are allowed—you're just a little more than human."

Instead of answering, Maya placed her hand on the energy door now towering before them.

"Access granted. Welcome, Reclaimers. Please be aware that only the Evolved Reclaimer may set off the process. Based on the previous experience of the Evolved Reclaimer, your modes of transportation may experience difficulties after activating this installation. Plan accordingly."

Maya casually tossed her next glowing key into its receptacle and sat down.

"Now what?"

Energy doors shimmered back to life.

"We wait. The last time, it took a couple hours."

"Rhea's bigger than Killian" said Sam, "so if size has anything to do with it then this should be quicker."

Later, Maya heard the same statement she'd been told the last time.

"Neurological attack cycle complete. All Flood on this planet should be neutralized. Please remain vigilant against any leftover specimens that may still exist."

"Whatever it does, we'll come back to a bunch of gray glop" said Maya happily. "It gets fried—_Protector_ will have an easy time chowing down on it."

"Shepard to _Normandy_, send a blastboat down to pick us up."

_Maybe it's a good thing I didn't have to kill something._

[…]

Once the Commander and the Siren were retrieved, _Normandy_ hyper-zeroed away to its next target in the Anoitos system—a pair of planets that were apparently rich in Flood. The gas giant Deleastiko Thanatos had seen many mining attempts made on its mineral-stuffed moons; all ended in failure but that didn't stop newcomers from repeating the mistakes of their predecessors which left many frozen bodies for the Flood to devour. Paradeisos' name deceived anyone who didn't bother to research it. Habitable, yes. However, each biome represented a twisted, extreme version of the expected: polar temperatures so low nobody could figure out how the whole planet wasn't freezing to maintain these frigid depths, oppressively humid jungles, bone-dry deserts utterly devoid of life, and massive forests flanking the only normal areas the planet had—its plains. Mildly acidic oceans discouraged trips to the beach.

_Protector_ arrived on-schedule.

"Mission Log: Moon Killian in expected condition. Large amounts of dead Flood biomass detected. Initiating consumption."

The ship managed its bulk planetside through advanced repulsorlifts, though this drastically slowed movement and left _Protector_ vulnerable. Of course, since there were no threats, this condition didn't matter. Its central intake lit up, tractor beams pulling in big chunks of greying Flood flesh. The first stage burnt it down to carbon and spewed waste products into the molecular furnace where they were put to use for other purposes. Then, the pure carbon encountered a fusion reactor that lit up like a miniature sun upon receiving sufficient input.

"Mission Log: Fusion ignition. Initializing biotic return sequence."

With such an abundance of biomass, _Protector_ began converting energy into the physical via digistruction at high speed. Information shared amongst the geth who operated these vessels allowed _Protector_ to sprout turbolasers (running on synthetic Tibanna), drastically alter its appearance in order to fit said turbolasers (looking more like a squat _Curator_ Star Destroyer in the process) and add a handful of strike craft. More engines grew under its Star Destroyer-like shell, boosting its (conventional) hyperdrive rating to 1.0.

Temporary rocket boosters fired to heft the significantly-larger ship back into orbit, then detached after use.

Cindy's eyes opened slowly. Groggy, she tried to sit up, only to be restrained by an energy harness. In fact, if it weren't for the harness, she would've faceplanted into the plasteel of her "Biotic Power Transfer Cylinder," safely ejected from _Protector_ within minutes of its arrival at Killian. The cylinder popped open.

"I was in for… Less than ten hours?"

She couldn't believe it, but the glowing numerals on her chronometer didn't lie. Based on what Toby had said to her, Cindy believed she'd be "out" for days, if not weeks. Instead, her absence barely merited notice—she might as well have had a long sleep after a late night. In terms of the sleep, that's exactly what happened.

"Did they hurt you?"

Cindy struggled to recall Jack ever using such a _motherly_ tone of voice.

"Are you okay?"

Like a petulant teenager shooing Mom after taking a skateboard tumble, Chapin tried to dismiss her teacher's concerns.

"It's fine. I'm just a little tired!"

"Like hell you are! Is it true…Sarah…" (she had to stop herself from using other, less friendly words) "…turned you into a biotic battery again?"

"Yep!" Cindy gave Jack a look as if this were not only the most obvious thing ever, but completely acceptable.

"I hope they paid you well for this."

"Seventeen of us _volunteered_" replied Cindy, putting emphasis on the last word. "Well, twenty-five of us did, but some were dubbed unsuitable for whatever reason."

Seeing Jack still pacing, she wondered aloud "what the deal with you and Sarah is."

Jack spluttered for a moment before rounding on her student.

"First off, that _woman_ personally oversaw the deaths of millions of our citizens. Did no one ever tell you what, exactly, you were powering?"

"Um, no. We were plugged in and that was that. Even after Bailey broke us out, nobody told us more."

"Also, there's the fact that you were kidnapped from the middle of the school courtyard!" bellowed Jack. "Did you forget what she did to Catalina Rodriguez for resisting, or do you have Stockholm Syndrome now?"

Cindy almost shot back something about some of the KOMBT training being just as painful (broken bones, bruises, contusions, internal bleeding…) if not worse, but refrained. Instead, she settled for "If it helps save the galaxy, who cares?"

"I just… This whole thing, I let her take all of you!"

"Yeah, well, there's not much even you can do about someone who doesn't seem to need air, teleports around with impunity, and heals fast enough that virtually nothing can hurt her. Don't beat yourself up over it."

_Just like that? What the fuck? _

"I wonder if she could make you into…"

"You do _not_ want to go there, Chapin. You have no idea what happened to give me the biotic powers I have!"

"You're right. I don't. Because you won't ever let any of us see 'The Subject Zero Story' in the library!"

Jack stormed off.

[…]

Due to her great speed, _Normandy_ easily beat _Stalwart_ to Paradeisos, scorching almost forty-thousand lightyears in a little more than a half-hour. The cruiser departed from a digistruction bay at the same time as her sister-ship _Protector_, meaning a Class 2.0 hyperdrive brought the ship to the Anoitos cluster in slightly more than a day—an efficient hyperroute allowing faster observed travel than straight-line measures would have suggested.

"We have _got_ to get better lightspeed drives" complained Admiral Nimitz, observing how quickly _Normandy_ moved in to kill Flood, then seeing a rather slow-moving dot that represented the follow-up ship.

"We do have better drives, Admiral" replied Cortana, "but the technology to keep usage of those drives _safe_ is rather difficult. Research stored in Dr. Tannis' area suggests some modifications to the engines using materials available on Pandora might stem the problem somewhat…"

"What materials?" demanded the Admiral.

"Ask her, I can snoop but only tell you what she wrote down."

Tannis found herself roused from sleep. That her schedule hardly matched anyone aboard the ship didn't concern her. She would rest when she wanted, convenience of others be damned.

"What could you possibly want at this hour?" snapped the scientist.

"It's…1100 hours" replied Nimitz, slightly vexed. "Cortana says you know something about making faster engines."

"My expertise deals in Eridian artifacts and Eridian language. I have no idea why you would think I know anything about engines. Unless you need something else, you have woken me and I wish to go back to bed."

"That device Filner found—does your artifact-store have any more of them?"

"I never bothered to look. Again, propulsion systems are not what I study except for their impact on Eridian society."

"Send someone to look!"

In the meantime, reports from _Stalwart _indicated the ship had, as its predecessors did, significantly upgraded itself upon consuming vast quantities of fusion-able Flood material. In a departure, _Stalwart_ focused on railguns, ordinance launchers, and a handful of synthetic heavy turbolasers, complemented by single-use fusion bombs that could generate immense heat in a large spherical area on detonation. Ordinarily, such devices would be classified as munitions, but with the presence of geth guidance systems it seemed better to call them starfighters, though their "pilots" would immediately eject via high-speed communication links upon activation of the weapon.

On a fleetwide channel, Nimitz announced something nobody heard in months: good news.

"The _Avenger_ project has proven to be a great success. Combined with efforts from other personnel" (she wasn't going to talk about Maya and her "Evolved Reclaimer" status) "we've managed, within a week, to have three new anti-Flood ships fully operational and ready for battle in addition to gaining control over the space immediately surrounding our fleet. In recognition of this achievement, I've ordered four more of these groundbreaking ships."

The Admiral also left out details such as how the ships were powered, or what they ultimately ran on after ejecting their bio-batteries.

As a result of additional construction orders, Sarah restored biotic over-charge to four more students before taking off to acquire Eridum gas. Shepard practically dragged Jack to oversee one of the sessions, so she could verify for herself that Sarah wasn't doing anything objectionable. Followed by Armando Bailey, the biotic gritted her teeth and balled her fists.

"We're going to get the real truth out!" she snarled.

Bailey used a Current of Diversion to force the student, by the name of Gabrielle Spencer, to obey his commands.

"You will answer my questions."

"_I will answer your questions._"

"You will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"_I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth._"

Jack couldn't help but notice that compelling someone with the Current creeped her out. Gabby's responses were monotonous, vapid, devoid of the usual annoyingly-bubbly tone that permeated her speech.

"Who decided that you would participate in the Avenger Project?"

"_I volunteered._"

Bailey busted out his interrogator routines.

"Were you forced or coerced into volunteering?"

"_No_."

"Have you been persuaded, induced, or otherwise influenced to conceal any information regarding your participation in the Avenger program?"

"_Yes. I am not to reveal my participation beyond a list of individuals approved by Admiral Allison Nimitz._"

"Are you hiding any information about why you're here in this room?"

"_No._"

"Look over there. Do you recognize this woman?"

"_Yes._"

"Have you had any interaction with her in the past month?"

"_No._"

"Describe your last interaction with this woman."

"_She kidnapped us from the KOMBT School. She needed us, but she didn't say why or what she was doing. You helped us escape._"

"You're absolutely sure you've had no contact whatsoever with Sarah the Siren since then?"

"_Completely sure._"

Sarah stood off to the side, as inconspicuous as someone of her height could possibly be. She continued to wear simple brown and cream colored robes and tied her hair back into a ponytail. Given her newly-trusted status, Nimitz permitted the Siren to carry her lightstaff on her person once again, though since then she'd not had to draw it once. In fact, she hadn't used it in quite some time—not at least since her excursion to _Revenant_.

"You will answer Jack's questions under the same conditions you answered mine."

Jack repeated the general angle of Armando Bailey's earlier line of inquiry, her charge still under the mind-compulsion of the Current. She became frustrated and angry as Gabby gave very similar answers.

"God damn it, I cannot believe that you are all working with…with _her!_"

"Is it really that hard to believe?" asked Sarah. "I am no longer a threat and seek to help you. Why would these youth, who have the same if not greater levels of enthusiasm for fighting the Flood, have any problem working with me?"

"Because you kidnapped them!" shouted Jack, losing any sense of decorum. "And forced them to power your death machine!"

Returning her attention to Gabby, Jack asked as loaded of a question as she could.

"Assume what I'm going to say is totally true. What if I told you that Sarah was responsible for the deaths of millions of _innocent_ people? Would you still accept her help?"

"_Given the stakes of this war, yes. The threshold has been crossed._"

Gabby's submerged consciousness ruminated on the fact that Samantha Shepard had also committed horrible crimes yet was fully accepted within the existing power structure. She elected, however, given Sam's physical presence, to keep this information unvocalized.

Said woman turned to Jack.

"Look, I know it's hard to decide to treat Sarah as…something other than a demon to be slain. But both myself and Admiral Nimitz are doing just that because we have to win this war and she has demonstrated both willingness to assist and abilities that have a definite use. I haven't forgotten what she's done, nor do I approve. But at this point, whether we approve of her past doesn't matter, as hurtful as that may sound."

"Damnit Shepard! You're turning into me, and I'm turning into you!"


	78. Headlines

**Chapter 77 – Headlines**

"_Vape First, Ask Questions Later_"

"I'm completely sure" insisted Gus Walsh. "I double-checked every seal before and after I exited the lab!"

"We'll need to run this test."

Unlike his colleagues from Garthmot, these pirates were neither scientists nor scholars. Two grabbed him by the arms, dragging him off to a dingy warehouse a few blocks from Garthmot itself.

"Hold still."

Whoever it was had a thick accent and a face hidden behind some sort of hazard suit.

"You move, make difficult!" complained the voice. "No move!"

"Well, it's just that you're trying to stick me with a needle meant for large subsentient animal specimens! You don't need to draw 60mL of blood for this!"

"No matter. Orders to run test."

Another figure leaned over to talk to the one responsible for withdrawing his blood.

"No test, no life."

FSSSST.

Several shipments of rations meant for distribution through HealthSHIELD were carried in the same hold as a batch of classified RISE cargo. These packs got all the way to a food distribution center before Band mercenaries acting on behalf of META arrived to inform them that, unfortunately, due to "possible contamination" the packs would have to be confiscated.

"But these were already late by two days!" protested a caseworker. "HealthSHIELD already has enough problems with delayed shipments and this will only add to it!"

"Do you want your clients ingesting Infection spores?"

The question of why food would be transported alongside scientific samples remained unanswered. Nobody thought it wise to ask. Some didn't believe it, either. Regardless, RISE agents followed closely behind META personnel who screened them.

FSSSST.

"_I Prefer Extortion, the X Makes it Cooler_"

Today, your correspondent would have submitted a holo with damning evidence that the RedLine organization, previously thought of as the most upstanding member of the Band of Brothers, has engaged in large-scale transportation of disruptor-class weaponry used by Republic Intelligence Service agents. However, several burly Humans working for RedLine confiscated your correspondent's data drive under threat of a savage beating.

This is not uncommon. Spacelane Protection may be slow, bureaucratic, and bumbling but only 8-10% of interactions with Spacelane Protection have triggered complaints of attempted bribery according to an amalgamation of surveys conducted by several respected polling firms. Similar surveys regarding the current situation were hampered by reluctance of citizens to participate. Most refused to say why, but the implication is clear—the Band of Brothers is likely dis-incentivizing those it victimizes from reporting on their experiences.

It has become routine for legitimate shippers to pay "inspection fees" supposedly originating from the Republic Intelligence Service. Of course, any demand to see the document(s) authorizing such charges is always met with claims of secrecy in the name of galactic security. Curiously, should one refuse to pay, no Band of Brothers consequences have been noted in most cases despite the likes of Eternal Moon being the ones to make the demand. Several individuals have disappeared.

As would be expected, neither the Republic Intelligence Service nor the Band organizations had any comment when reached out to for this story. 

"_There Are No Children Here_"

Our access to RISE Facilities as members of the Senate Intelligence Committee remained surprisingly free of obstructions considering how not-straightforward the Republic Intelligence Service has been with the Senate as a whole. What we found could be called shocking or disturbing, but this Committee feels that would be underselling the nature of what we were shown.

It is commonly accepted scientific practice that when working to cure a disease, varying one's sample is essential lest a treatment work on one subsection of the affected population but cause great harm to another. This being said, we did not expect to find subjects of insufficient age to have cleared the "youngling" classification being held in RISE laboratories, but that is exactly what confronted us. When STEEN inquired as to how this qualified as ethical, legal, or professionally acceptable, our monitors assured us that "in the name of galactic security, this was authorized."

BLATE protested that no such law had been passed, to which it was replied "Does it matter? Stop the Flood, at all costs."

Nomenclature of the "Infection" has generally been stable—this moniker of "Flood" had not been heard by any member of the Committee prior to this inspection.

KARSHABKA had to be physically restrained as he attempted to free the youngling closest to our position.

WHELD insinuated that making the Committee aware of these actions would lead to issues with funding.

Our escorts laughed at the notion, because "Nobody cares about these younglings, they're petty criminals, wards of the state, abandoned. One scrap at school, and they're off to jail!"

The Committee is deeply disturbed by the Republic Intelligence Service's lack of ethics and blatant disregard for ideals expressed in the Trans-Galactic Republic Charter, and vows to take every action possible to force the agency back into compliance.

"_Riot! At the Dance Hall!_"

A group of protestors gathered outside an establishment known to be frequented by both members of the Republic Intelligence Service and Spacelane Protection during off-hours. Mostly content to wave signs, at some point a confrontation began between a protestor and either a Republic serviceperson or counter-protestor; the timeline of events remains unclear until surveillance footage is reviewed.

There's something to be said for critical mass—once enough bottles of synthehol are thrown, things become exponentially more violent. In the end, twenty-seven people were injured, forty thousand credits' worth of damage was done to the building, and it took six squads of riot police to control the crowds, both those actually involved and those who stopped to watch (tying up traffic). Several speeders were overturned by the mob.

"We're just here to entertain" said the shocked owner. "I try to stay out of politics—we never hang signs, host rallies, or anything! I don't care what you think, just check it at the door with your coat."

Leaders of one of the involved groups claimed "RISE thugs" started it.

"We wanted to let them know not all of us are just going to roll over and pretend they're not injecting Infection spores into people in the name of galactic security" said one.

As you'd expect, neither Spacelane Protection nor the Republic Intelligence Service had any comment.

A/N: First time I think I've ever stuck one of these _after_ the chapter…

Meant to be a series of vignettes describing what has happened since the Republic Intelligence Service went full-on "ends justify the means."


	79. The Flood Never Bothered Me Anyway

**Chapter 78 – The Flood Never Bothered Me Anyway**

"So _slow_" grumbled Sarah after seeing a readout in her borrowed Punisher count down nearly nine hours between her departure and arrival at Pandora. Realizing she might earn a rebuke for it but electing to not care, she dropped into a Current-Channeling trance, using her powers to accelerate the ship to almost double its present speed by altering the engine's inner workings.

That a green "engine shunt" light glowed brightly on the ship's control panel escaped her notice.

"What's going on?" demanded Operations upon noticing this change. "Report!"

Not getting a response, the issue got kicked up the chain all the way to Nimitz given the value of the asset in question—some 750,000 credits.

"Is the ship on-course?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Is anything wrong _other_ than its speed?"

"No ma'am."

"Don't care" she finished. "If it explodes or something, let me know."

"But Admiral…"

"Sirens" she explained, somewhat annoyed.

Sarah returned to herself after realizing the vessel she'd been given dropped back to sublight velocities. She could discern a faint whine from the craft's engines—slightly annoying but a consequence of its unique propulsion system. High-pressure ion engines fell out of favor eons ago, but were retained for extreme-performance ships. Many were civilian, such as the swoop bikes raced by a certain Bothan Senator prior to her entry into politics. A few, like those aboard the Punisher, were used on combat craft.

She steered toward Pandora, its innards still spilled out.

_The last time I was here, I knew much less. I was a programmed machine…_

Firing up sensors, Sarah determined her best landing site, only to see all paths to it crawling with Flood.

"Big surprise" she muttered. "Nimitz said this thing is nearly indestructible. Let's test that."

She figured trying to take on the largest Flood would be suicide, so she jinxed and dodged to encourage shots fired to miss. No capital-class ship moved to engage. Perhaps they failed to notice her—then again, with both Siren powers and a fighter with a hypermatter core producing massive amounts of energy, she found that outcome unlikely. Either way, a small, Flood-ified corvette moved to cut her off.

"I don't think so."

A pair of heavy rockets launched from the ship's wing-mounted warhead launchers slammed into the obstruction, causing it to explode. Proximity warnings on the ship's sensors alerted her to several Oculi trying to get behind her.

"No!"

A twist of the flightstick, and the fighter virtually spun on its axis.

"Warning: G-force compensators approaching limit."

Suddenly hunter became prey as all six laser cannons spat red fire, torching one Oculus and sending the other fleeing off into Pandora's debris field.

"That's right, you keep running!"

Sarah powered the ship's engines, pushing them to their maximum by diverting all power from shields while maintaining laser energy. Squeezing triggers again and again, she poured energy into the fleeing eye-shaped fighter-analog. Too late, her own senses and the ship's warned of an impending collusion. A large chunk of rock, probably a bit of Pandora, crashed into the top solar array, twisting it several degrees from pointing straight ahead. Her view spun as the Punisher reeled from impact.

"Cannon system impaired" read her targeting computer.

Sarah test-fired lasers again—four still let loose red bolts.

"Should be enough"

As she wove through a thicket of Pandora-pieces, she wondered what her creators would think of her now. Directly working with lesser species, abandoning all notions of "the Mantle above all" (really, their twisted interpretation of it)… Several hostiles raced up to meet her from the surface. Whatever they were, quad-blasts from her cannons eliminated them before she could so much as see what rushed to attack.

Sarah didn't even need scanners to find a large amount of available Eridium at the planet's north pole. Considering the whole structure which contained her for millions of years used to stand there until someone crashed a starship into it, it would be simple to harvest the needed material from the wreckage. Though most of the Eridium disappeared as a catalyst to the reaction kicked off during the impact, a significant amount remained. Polar temperatures mitigated any need to worry about Flood lifeforms, since the Flood itself could not survive in such an environment.

Curious about her former "lodgings," the Siren poked around to see what she might find. Unfortunately for her desire to learn more beyond vague memories restored by the Eridian "Pure" faction, there was nothing to see—apparently whatever she searched for vaporized after the crash. Still, vast amounts of Eridium sprouted from ice and ground. At her touch, the crystal transformed to a gaseous form. Opening a container she'd brought from her ship, Sarah tried to use the Current to fill up, only to see Eridium gas interact with the container's _outside_, which hadn't been shielded. Within seconds, only the inner lining remained.

"Whoops."

Trying again, Sarah returned to her ship and grabbed a second container. She chuckled noticing its shadow: the topside solar "wing" skewed off to the right due to hitting that piece of space rock.

"Death penalty offense, right there!"

She then lifted a smaller chunk of Eridum, converted it to gas form, and used a very precise Undertow Current to hold it in a spherical shape. Only after containing it did she slowly allow it to fill the cylinder, ensuring it only contacted surfaces intended to handle it.

"This is tedious" she grouched to no one. It took her several hours to gasify and load Eridium into every container minus the one she inadvertently destroyed. Upon loading the last cylinder, her eyes wandered to the ship's shadow, still plainly visible due to the current perpetual daylight bathing Pandora's north pole.

Tilting her head in confusion, she looked from the shadow up to the ship and back again. Whatever damage she'd done by ramming carelessly into drifting debris seemed to have undone itself somehow. Taking the pilot's seat, the targeting system reported "All Cannons operational." Test firing produced a roar from all six heavy lasers.

"Well then. Looks like I won't need to explain that one."

This time, the Siren actually bothered to glance over her ship's controls. Noticing a button labeled "engine shunt" she pushed it.

"Engine shunt deactivated. Engine Power Level: Maximum."

Nearly deafened by a screech of power as the Punisher roared away from Pandora, Sarah wondered if this had something to do with the slowness of her steed—after all, Nimitz specifically bragged about how fast this ship was before letting her use it. A countdown estimated only a little more than fifty minutes before arrival at _Ultimatum_.

"Much better."

Sarah's arrival brought no fanfare, however the Admiral greeted her personally after docking.

"I need to ensure that fighter disappears again. Can't have anyone knowing about it. Report on your mission."

"Well, I managed to fill all but one container with the substance you requested."

Behind them, very deliberately conspicuous Spacelane Protection personnel unloaded canisters from the ship's cargo hold.

"Stay here, make sure RISE doesn't try anything. You never know which…"

VOOM.

BZZZ.

"Yes I do."

Two workers toppled to the floor, their heads rolling away as Sarah's lightstaff retracted and returned to her waist-clip.

Nimitz stood shocked, robbed momentarily of speech.

"You were going to say that it's impossible to tell which of these people might work for the Republic Intelligence Service. They stand out like a rock breaking waves to me!"

"Did you have to make such a mess?"

Several of the other technicians quietly resumed work, pretending they'd not just seen their coworkers beheaded.

"Well, I could have waited for them to draw disruptors and take hostages, but I figured that would be a sub-optimal outcome."

"Were they actually going to do that?" demanded Nimitz.

"That's why they stick out! Malevolence is difficult to conceal from Current Waves…"

Sarah yanked the aforementioned weapons from their deceased owners' pockets, levitating them before Nimitz.

"Nobody else has these, other than those working for that agency, correct?"

"That's right. There aren't others, are there?"

Armando Bailey made his presence known.

"As you requested, Admiral, I waited outside in case anything were to…go wrong. As our friend here cut down those two, another tried to make a move having hidden herself in a utility closet. I took care of the issue."

"Well then" harrumphed Nimitz. "I can see why RISE wants all you Current Channelers under their control. I am further grateful that neither of you are, in fact, working for them."

"My former, um, followers can also be helpful" offered Sarah. "I'm not sure what you have them doing right now though."

"I've been training with them" replied Bailey. "Now that you're not working to destroy the universe."

"I can tell you" said Nimitz, "that I'm planning a major offensive against Aquator in the hopes of wiping out that corrupt church and a bunch of Flood all at once."

Receiving a blank stare from Bailey, the Admiral filled him in.

"That's messed up. I thought some of the cults and gangs I busted in C-Sec were weird, but people who worship the thing that actually is legitimately causing the end times? That's new."

[…]

A voice entered Thalia's head as she stepped into the main antechamber of the Pillar of the Conduit. No longer was the planet to be known by its mortal name—all records now reflected its current status as the Conduit of Ascension.

**Spread my word**

**Give no quarter**

**Grow the herd**

"Yes, Eternal Lifebringer. We will bring the entire galaxy under your domain."

Had Thalia any of her old faculties, she would've expressed shock at a monotonous voice devoid of any emotion or expression whatsoever. As it were, neither Thalia nor Slade thought much for themselves anymore. Such changes were readily apparent in proclamations issued by Thalia—as the Transcendence she still put out broadwaves to the entire galaxy extolling the virtues of the Bringers of Life. Gone, though, were the passionate exhortations that once filled her sermons, extinguished was the fire that once burned in her when her consciousness truly believed in the cause rather than becoming a programmed servant to it.

Slade's change came about more slowly; he spent far more time away from the Conduit brining wayward souls back into the flock or punishing wrongdoers (mainly Jakobs). To his great frustration, which brought much punishment from the Eternal Lifebringer, any time he attempted to bring back a Jakobs clone alive after defeating them in combat they would all drop dead. Following, a high-intensity electrical surge would fry their brains and combat-suit circuitry to prevent any information from being extracted.

Lashed both physically and mentally for his failures, Slade Stevens vowed to find a way around Jakobs' self-destruct mechanism. Unfortunately, it seemed nothing could stop Jakobs' signal from reaching their clones. He knew it came from some kind of transmitter, but at the first hint of any danger to said transmitter, all clones in the area either fled or were killed to protect the secret.

Still, successes were not completely elusive. The Bringers of Life now controlled at least a third of the colonized galaxy thanks to planted "Outsiders," with zero shots fired. It only took one to channel the influence of the Eternal—and the more there were the faster the process completed. As many of the wealthiest persons following the faith housed many Outsiders as part of their status, they quickly fell into line. Some of them were also high-up in the Economic Development Group, resulting in new laws appearing in weeks protecting "the right of those who follow the Bringers of Life to practice as they please."

Nobody even attempted to make it a more vague, crowd-pleasing bit about "religious freedom." So went the Prime Worlds, so went everything else.

Initially, questions revolved around exactly how much non-believers had to put up with in terms of incessant and unceasing growth of the biological matting associated with Outsiders, and increasingly the adherents themselves.

"This is an outrage!" bellowed one Thrace mansion-owner, upon seeing his neatly-manicured lawn encroached by yellow-brown fuzz. "My servants can't even mow the lawn properly!"

"Perhaps if it is so bothersome" offered the neighbor in question, "you should relocate."

Being of great means with many homes, most residents could in fact do just that. However, it seemed no matter where a new colony established itself, believers would soon follow and the process repeated.

"Is there nowhere we can go without being followed by an unending stream of you people?" they demanded.

After moving three times to avoid having his home covered in the "slime" associated with Bringers of Life, the original plaintiff disappeared. Some said he had been murdered, while others alleged he'd joined the very thing he'd despised and Ascended.

"Really, it's not that much of a bother" droned Thalia. "Just deal with it."

[…]

"You're telling me we have to fly this bucket of bolts past a Star Destroyer?" harped Greg Machin. "This just gets better and better!"

"So?" demanded Melissa Hornby. "Just 'cause it's bigger doesn't mean it's better. It's how you use it that matters!"

"For all the pornographic browsing you do, I somehow doubt you ever bothered to read anything about the Trans-Galactic Republic and their technologies or methods" lectured Aria, as if speaking to an errant mercenary.

"You're quite the expert on pissing them off" mocked Nyreen lightly. "Remember that time when…"

"Shut UP!" she barked into another private channel.

"At any rate, I would not be surprised if, should we try to fly directly past that thing, we are shot down and end up back at square one."

"I ain't doin' it" huffed Ernie Quinn, sliding out of the pilot chair.

"You weren't going to fly the ship to begin with" replied Aria acidly. She took the controls. "We're going for a bit of a spin."

"You don't even know how this ship works!" spluttered Neil Edison.

"I know more than you think" snapped Aria. "I've dealt with these people before—I know the difference between an alluvial damper and a null quantum field generator. Do you?"

The two engineers stared back blankly.

"If you want to capture a ship belonging to someone vastly more advanced, you need to learn about it or you stand zero chance of success. During the brief time I controlled a _Hammer_ cruiser, I took the time to read the manual, so to speak."

The asari aimed in exactly the opposite direction from where the vessel pointed previously.

"Now, this could kill us all, but it may let us escape."

Without waiting for anyone to object, she began working furiously with the ship's navicomputer.

"Good thing we took a smuggler's vessel. He had it programmed to make microjumps all the time to avoid Trans-Galactic Republic customs cruisers…"

Greg Manchin looked over.

"Do I even want to know what a microjump is?"

"No. So I'll tell you. Normally these ships stay in hyperspace for a long time—it's their better faster-than-light that doesn't rely on relays. Do you people even _watch_ the extranet news enough to do anything other than pick up names of things?"

Lots of shaken heads no.

"Short trip into hyperspace to get us clear of this hellhole, then see where we are!"

Aria only recalled seeing it once—stars stretching into starlines as her "borrowed" _Hammer_ sped up. In this case, a near-atmosphere, close-in jump was to be performed. That meant overriding every safety protocol a hyperdrive would normally have, but being that the previous owner tended to do this all the time it wasn't a big deal.

"The Citadel doesn't have a gravity well or atmosphere the way a planet does, or else jumping out from this close would be impossible" explained Aria as the ship hurled itself away.

Aria's knowledge of the newcomers left out one important issue: Omega's anti-lightspeed device. Instead of jumping to hyperspace, the ship, with its interdiction-breaking technology, got halfway there before its hyperdrive's safeties kicked in, destroying the drive and dropping _Eagle's Claw_ back to realspace within a massive debris field surrounding what had once been the seat of galactic government.

The last forces standing on the Citadel were not the only ones to experience a resurgence of the Flood that until recently seemed fine with small pockets of un-assimilated life experiencing its last days in a galaxy filled with otherwise-Flood lifeforms. Rannoch, hidden as it was behind the Perseus Veil, initially escaped any notice by the extra-galactic invaders. However, as the _nar tasi_ geth became an annoyance, the Gravemind, not aware of any distinctions between the two factions, began to see these other geth as a threat.

As a result, both Creator and servant of the people now faced an onrush of alien lifeforms, some twisted versions of known races and others completely original. The Consensus held if the Flood saw no reason to attack, there would be no preemptive strike. It also held any Flood incursion would be a reason to fight back—and fight back they did.

Geth dreadnaughts engaged in long-range duels with ships recognizable as what used to be Reapers, only to be jumped as said ships dashed across space in flashes of purple.

"Dreadnaught-47 requesting assistance."

Two ex-Reapers latched onto the massive vessel, embedding their claws into its armor. Sickly blue-green beams traced out Flood spores along its hull, though without sufficient nutrients to catalyze further growth the bio-mat died as soon as it was born. Nor did geth respond to attempts at using Reaper indoctrination—they stubbornly clung to their original missions without a direct system tap. This combination of outcomes made it apparent geth ships weren't worth capturing, so Flood forces settled for destroying them instead. The traditional Reaper magnetohydrodynamic weapons went to work, burning through armor and vaporizing critical systems.

Much of the Migrant Fleet either met its end at the Citadel or fled into deep space. The few quarians (and their ships) choosing Rannoch swung into combat anyway, bearing in mind lessons learned both from cooperative efforts during the Reaper War and subsequent encounters with the Flood.

"Keep your distance" ordered Daro'Xen vas Moreh. "Let the geth squadrons take most of the fire."

Though it created some conflict among those quarians who sought reconciliation with the geth, Moreh had managed to build a small group that thought as she did—using any opportunity to ensure the destruction and/or subjection of more geth hidden behind masks of cooperation. Thus, when the Consensus offered its ships to defend the Homeworld as Servants of the People, Moreh gladly took them up on their offer.

"The downside is that the more runtimes they lose, the less intelligent they will become, which could lead to tactical mistakes. We do have several hyper-zero equipped ships left over from the Reaper War era of cooperation that we will use to escape once the geth are wiped out."

She hated that the galaxy once considered synthetics to be equal to organics, if only as an opportunistic gesture during a time of great conflict. Geth were tools. Smart ones, but still nothing more than electrons pretending to be alive. In order to maintain the mirage, Daro'Xen asserted her authority as an Admiral of a body that effectively no longer existed to retain full control over her forces. This would avoid any unpleasant problems from "why aren't you reinforcing that collapsing geth front?" since it would be assumed she would work in the best interests of all concerned.

"If the geth are reduced to a level of intelligence wherein they willingly return to their rightful place, we shall evacuate those geth along with us" she'd said to like-minded quarians as the Flood rolled in. "Otherwise, they can all be scrapped here, on the homeworld!"

At the moment, geth were holding a line a few thousand kilometers beyond Rannoch, however tacticians from both sides warned the end neared based on attrition alone despite impressive geth kill-death ratios of over 10:1.

"We anticipate the invaders will break our lines in minutes" warned a geth prime serving as primary communications between the few planetside quarians and geth forces. "While our units are more effective in space than the Flood, they are being destroyed through numerical advantage alone."

"Where do we go if that happens?"

A small, frightened quarian who would have been off on her Pilgrimage had the galaxy not collapsed looked up at the prime unit, hoping against hope it would have an answer she wanted to hear.

"Creator Aela'Shar nar Yaska, the Consensus will fight until the last unit is destroyed or the Flood elects to retreat and cease threatening the Creators. For the duration, the Creators may take shelter within the Sphere of Consensus if necessary."

"Well, that's…nice…."

"We only wish to serve the Creators. We are still not able to determine what we have done wrong."

Aela recalled heated arguments between her parents, between friends, between quarians who barely knew each other about the status of geth. Much yelling and very little understanding came of most of these "discussions," zealotry on both sides bordering on the fanatical. Even moreso than usual, the entire quarian race risked becoming extinct yet certain groups concerned themselves only with re-fighting old battles.

The prime turned back to addressing all quarians in the room.

"The retreat has been sounded. Geth forces can no longer prevent all Flood-spreading organisms from reaching the homeworld. Should any of these make planetfall, all Creators residing on the surface are at risk of becoming infected by Flood spores."

"So close…" whispered an elderly male quarian, his suit showing many signs of having been patched up over the years. "So close to peace and reclaiming the homeworld…"

Quarian ships fired their engines, fleeing to coordinates passed along by the Consensus. An unexpected announcement played through all quarian-occupied buildings.

"We will use our advanced technology to cover your retreat."

Daro'Xen hadn't made any significant public appearance for years, and now she shows up?

"We have retained various quarian-compatible ships from the period of cooperation against the Reapers. It is the same technology utilized by the Trans-Galactic Republic: total shields, high-output energy weapons and heavy hull armor. We will protect the quarian people."

Gargantuan dreadnaughts showing hallmarks of both geth and quarian design lifted off from quarries in which they'd been secreted away for exactly this purpose. Their weapons, with ranges in the thousands or even tens of thousands of kilometers, belched blood-red fire toward onrushing Flood pods. Element Zero cores allowed standard repulsorlifts to maneuver ships many times larger than would have been possible otherwise, including these battleships.

"Admiral Moreh to the fleet, compute attack vector. Initiate defensive protocol one."

Her plan took advantage of technological differences between quarian and Trans-Galactic Republic starships. The fleet would actually attack Flood inbound toward Rannoch, but then hyper-zero out from there. The smartest quarian couldn't tell what a hyper-zero transit looked like on quarian sensors—it simply made no sense to technology built under the assumption that FTL detection remained a physical impossibility. What appeared to be a flanking maneuver would actually be her exit—Moreh and the "true quarians" as she called them, would point themselves toward another galaxy that as far as could be told had no Flood issues, leaving the entirety of the blasted geth-quarian conflict behind.

Turbolasers screamed, burning through Flood and leaving no survivors. Ion cannons stunned Reaper capital ships, causing the listless titans to be jumped upon by surviving geth. Missiles, rockets, and torpedoes tore into Flood ships of all sizes. By the time sluggish Flood command units responded, Moreh's fleet hyper-zeroed out to pound the enemy's rear flank. Leaving a few more drifting Reapers, the fleet hyper-zeroed again, unseen by either quarians or geth.

[…]

Due entirely to _Normandy_'s incredible speed, Maya the Reclaimer completed her mission long before _Avengers_ showed up to claim the leftovers. Still irked by her inability to participate in combat, she returned to Nimitz vowing to find something else to do.

"You have to have _something_" she said upon reaching the Admiral's office.

Fully aware how stir-crazy young cadets could become in the downtime between missions, Allison struggled to think of something relatively harmless yet meaningful that the young Siren could partake in. Picking up a datapad, she thumbed through Sarah's latest report. Her attempt to retrieve Eridium in gas form had been a resounding success, so perhaps sending Maya with the super-Siren on a second round could keep her from feeling under-utilized. In order to accomplish this, she instructed Maya to wait while she spoke with "other individuals who might be involved in your next assignment."

Maya skulked about in another room while the Admiral waited for Sarah to arrive with her fellow Current-Channelers in tow.

"What do you need?"

The Admiral felt her face flush red with minor embarrassment at the blonde woman's question. She hadn't really spoken with any of the strange power-wielders other than Sarah and could not remember their names. Concealing such things from Current-wielders without retreating into a hardened mental fortress (as per Spacelane Protection training) wasn't going to happen, and every one of them picked up on the Admiral's hesitation.

"You've had us cooped up for so long you've forgotten who we are" challenged the blonde one.

"We're not furniture" continued another, shaking her shoulder-length black hair. "Since you're accepting Sarah's help, what can we do? We've already been working with Armando Bailey at his request…"

"Uh, yeah, well… Can any of you do that thing like Sarah does that improves our fighting abilities?"

"We all can" replied the second-largest (after the Siren), who appeared more masculine than the others with a deeper voice to match. "Just not as well, unless we all kept it up at once."

"Okay, I'll need you all to take Sarah's place then as I have an assignment for her."

"We need to be together for maximum effectiveness. Shall we take up residence in Sarah's quarters while she is away?"

"Yes."

"The rest of this briefing is classified" said Nimitz, hoping to shoo the other women out without having to say so.

On the way to Sarah's quarters, Zera chuckled at the Admiral's amusing attempts to avoid using names.

"She doesn't remember any of us."

"Well, if you were in charge of over two million people and you'd only seen us once, would you?" asked Drythlyn.

"Hmm, I suppose not."

Back in her briefing room, Admiral Nimitz addressed the Siren.

"It has occurred to me that it might be worthwhile to check on the status of our stellar neighbor Gamma-Six. Though the Flood claimed victory there, gathering information, especially on the status of ships left behind, could prove beneficial. The distance between galaxies is unnaturally short—only 250,000 lightyears."

"I could cross it in a day."

"Exactly."

Nimitz looked as if she had something more to say, but seemed to be hesitating.

"You have more to say" said Sarah bluntly.

"Well… It's kind of an odd request… And I'm already shipping you off to another galaxy."

"That assumes I'm willing to go."

Sarah glared, as if daring the mere half-Siren to disagree with her.

"If you believe you could be of more use here…"

One mischievous smile later, Sarah dangled a flabbergasted Allison Nimitz upside-down by one leg courtesy of an Undertow.

"Really, if I wanted to kill you, or take your ship for myself, or run away, I would have been able to do all these things a long time ago. My creators turned out to be hypocrites that left me with little purpose after they were exposed. You fight to stop the Flood. I have realized the best means to do that is to work under your banner, rather than going it alone as the Reformers intended. It also is more in line with the Mantle to work with the lesser races rather than exterminating them while also failing to wipe out an extra-galactic menace."

Back on her feet, Nimitz shook her finger at her errant charge.

"Just… No stellar-scale pranks or jokes! I don't want… I don't want find my ship painted lime green or the grav-plating in my quarters reversed!"

"So what is this odd request of yours?"

Sarah's expression still suggested she might have more mischief planned.

"I have a Second Lieutenant that could use some field experience. Name's Maya. Siren like you, but shorter. And fewer powers."

Now contemplative, Sarah looked the Admiral square in the eye.

"I do remember Maya; you complained when I attempted to teach her the value of proper armor construction. Yes, this is quite a sudden turnabout. From locking me up and not telling me where I was to trusting me to lead a mission far, far, away from your ship. Especially after the _last_ mission."

"You're referring to Jackie? I heard about that through other channels. Just don't do that again."

"Such mild chastisement! Your prized agent Shepard had much harsher words for me."

Nimitz let loose a sigh. "I'm beginning to suspect we all may have been inadvertently complicit in your, less-than-exemplary moments. You see, while the Current isn't common in the Trans-Galactic Republic, it's not unheard-of. There's even an ancient building deep in the underlevels of our capital planet Coruscant that historians believe once held significance back when Current-Channelers were both far more common and had wide acceptance rather than suspicion as they do now."

"So you're continuing a trend I've noticed—though things I've done are awful by your standards, I am not as culpable for them as one would ordinarily expect for various reasons. That must be terribly difficult for you, since from my interactions with others, they seem to dislike the notion."

"I just don't care anymore. The stakes are too damn high. I don't suppose you're familiar with the government or politics in this galaxy?"

Sarah shook her head, causing purple hair to swish about beyond the confines of her ponytail.

"You don't have to know much about something to blow it up. Just where the target is."

"Clearly. Well, where I'm from, you don't use weapons of mass destruction against civilian populations. The people here are all too happy to do that and more—a bit of an 'ends justify the means' type of thinking. Plus a total lack of inhibitions about killing in general, civilian or otherwise. They're very trigger-happy, even the so-called 'allies' of ours."

"So they, too, have done things you dislike?" Sarah perked up a bit, since it seemed she would no longer be the singular focus of judgment.

"Nobody's perfect. My 'prize agent' you refer to did that exact thing—fired on harmless targets populated by non-military personnel under very flimsy pretexts. It was easy to rationalize keeping her around since she had an immediate purpose of trying to rally the Terminus Systems in the other galaxy to fight the Flood."

"Based on critiques of me from this Samantha Shepard, she suggested the reason people have difficulty accepting my help is because even though we have both committed actions that are 'wrong'" (she used her fingers to create quotation marks in the air, which baffled Nimitz since she couldn't recall where the Siren would have learned the gesture) "hers were on a much smaller scale. Plus, before she burned seven worlds she actually was well-liked where I came in just as some villain. Nobody knows me as anything except that."

"I was going to explain why I think you did what you did. Dr. Caitlin Flanders hypothesized to me that your Current powers are directly affected by your emotional state."

Nimitz might well have suggested up was down. "I do not have emotions, at least not the way you lesser species experience them!"

"_You think you don't_" countered the Admiral, "but that doesn't mean you aren't subject to them. You, Cortana, the geth—it seems that feelings are infectious since I just listed three entities that shouldn't have them but are affected anyway. Flanders told me that you experienced anger for the first time after forcing your way through the memories of one Miss Jakobs?"

Sarah searched through her memories. She vaguely remembered a state of being that differed from her usual calm and collected self. Though recollections were hazy, she recalled what happened to her thought processes upon discovering her creators' perversion of the Mantle. It felt as though she had more than one reason to kill them all—not just a mission, but another, less-defined rationale. Her face felt hot, her pulse quickened, her muscles tightened up. Her thoughts clouded slightly.

"I do remember something" she conceded. "It was a long time ago—back when I first found out those responsible for my creation were actually doing the very things they created me to prevent others from doing. Of course, after finding out the logic they endowed me with made them targets, the Reformers created the Sirens as you know them, Legionnaire Protectors in their own language, and used them to disable me."

"Do you remember destroying Dr. Flanders' office?" It was Nimitz's turn to grin devilishly.

Cut to silence.

"See? Again, just like when you returned from _Farsight_ with no evidence! That was a feeling—embarrassment! According to the session notes, you even recognized that you might be experiencing 'emotions, based on my readings,' you said."

"You're going to tell me that I need to learn control."

"Bingo. Flanders thinks your powers can go haywire if your emotional state is particularly unbalanced, or have negative effects on others around you. After she saw you, she interviewed almost every person who went on missions with you. Everyone who was present during the Jackie incident recalled both themselves and others acting in ways not like their usual selves for some period of time. For example, the turian Garrus admitted to attempting to wield your acolyte's lightstaff weapon despite no training in what he could only call an effort to show off. Jack used a racial slur against Garrus, Samantha Shepard disobeyed the chain of command, and the youngster Gaige said, I quote, 'I felt like I needed to punch someone in the face!'"

"Reading _Revenant_'s computer core was…very different. I was exposed to many different perspectives, but hesitated to involve myself in anything like them lest I jeopardize the mission."

"You stuck to what you knew, or so you thought. I have a feeling that once the Eridian Pure faction had their say by undoing what the Reformers locked away, your memories and personality, you became very confused whether you want to admit it or not."

"So after all that do you still want me to supervise your trainee? I will endeavor to avoid excessively physical teaching—unless you wish me to continue imitating Jack." Sarah wouldn't have been surprised if the Admiral told her to get out and never speak to her again.

"It can't hurt. Besides, if you do go haywire and pop her head like a cherry, I don't think we absolutely need an 'Evolved Reclaimer' anymore now that we've tested out our new _Avengers_. They should become self-reinforcing by this point."

As Sarah turned to leave, Nimitz put in one last order.

"If push comes to shove, don't let yourself or her be taken by the Flood."

Sarah smiled. "If you're worried I'll turn into something like Thalia Tediore—yes I watch the news in your old quarters, nice holo set by the way—that will never happen. I've never been bothered by whatever it is the Flood does nowadays."


	80. Demoted to Co-Pilot

**Chapter 79 – Demoted to Co-Pilot**

After sending Sarah away, Nimitz called Maya back in.

"The good news is that I've found something for you to do."

Maya eyed her commanding officer suspiciously. "That implies there's bad news."

"Well, it's not _bad_" protested Admiral Nimitz. "Just not what you might have expected."

"Let's hear it, then."

"You found many defenses in this galaxy—they've been very useful for enabling _Avengers_ to fuel up without being exposed to much danger. However, given the positive trajectory of our efforts over the past few weeks, I'd like to see if such systems exist in the galaxy we were forced to abandon."

"So you're sending me on another scouting mission?" Bitterness crept back into Maya's voice. She mentally lashed herself. _You can't expect to be given your own ship or sent straight into combat!_

"I'd call it aggressive reconnaissance. I'm assigning you to the most powerful starfighter the Trans-Galactic Republic possesses."

"And I get to fly it myself, just like that?"

Nimitz smiled at the young woman's enthusiasm. She had to be early twenties, at most—so much galaxy to see and so many things to do. If only her life weren't dropped headfirst into a war…

"Not quite. We have to refit the fighter—it's fast, but lacks the range to travel between galaxies. Without the convenience of mass relays or Element Zero to improve drive efficiency, we're entering uncharted territory. I'll skip the technical portion, but suffice it to say without ultra-high-speed slipspace being viable on craft this small some interesting measures are going to be necessary."

"When do I leave? How many guns does it have?"

Nimitz waved her hands. "Slow down there, Corellian spice jockey. You're not going yet, and you're not going by yourself."

Maya's eyes dropped slightly, but she refocused. _You can't be an ungrateful little brat! And what's a Corellian spice jockey?_

Seeing confusion in the other woman's eyes, the Admiral translated her foreign slang. "You're getting ahead of yourself. I wish my other recruits around your age had your level of go-getter though… You'll be deployed with Sarah, who will mainly be there to keep you safe but otherwise lacks any formal authority over the mission."

Maya recoiled.

"She punched me!"

This swapped the look of confusion.

"She… Well, I guess I sorta asked for it, but she hit me!"

"You're going to have to do better than that. I'm not sure what you mean."

"When I was deployed with Garrus, Sarah came along too. We were having a discussion, and she struck me."

Nimitz wasn't sure what to think. She wanted to believe the young Siren, but on the other hand without context it was impossible to know why—and Maya wasn't saying. To figure it out quickly, Allison dialed Sarah's direct communicator. Not the one in her quarters, but the one she carried.

"What do you need?"

"What's this I hear about you hitting Maya?" She kept the accusatory tone light, but still obvious enough to let the purple titan know she could be in trouble.

"I try to do good around here, and this is the thanks I get? Maya thought it would be a swell idea to wear form-fitting armor that looks more at home in something I read about called a 'fashion contest' than on a battlefield! I demonstrated, rather physically, why such armor represented a poor tactical choice. So yes, I hit her. But it definitely isn't what she's making it out to be—I assume she's just finished telling you some horror story…"

Nimitz turned to Maya, who took her turn looking embarrassed.

"So this is what that was about? I have half a mind to order you to run laps around the bridge deck, but I won't. Do you not like MISTILTEINN armor?"

"Just tell me when I'm supposed to ship out."

Nimitz allowed herself some amusement after dismissing Maya. _What a thing to complain about! A lesson in proper armoring. Now, to continue the parade of personnel through my ready room._

[…]

Samantha Shepard found herself summoned.

"Yes Admiral?"

"I'm planning the assault on Aquator and would like your input."

"Um, shouldn't we do something about that old floating hulk that used to be Grayson's flagship first?"

Sam couldn't help but feel leaving it, and its likely Flood Intelligence, the one that paralyzed Cortana, alone would only end badly.

"Well, once the _Avengers_ return I intend to have them consume the rest of it."

"Makes you wish we had Element Zero, huh—those slow hyperdrives aren't going to be back here for days!"

"It depends."

Shepard looked at Nimitz, confused. How could hyperdrives be improved without Element Zero? The failure of _Normandy_'s Eridian-boosted slipspace drive ensured that technology would not get a second airing either.

"The brain trust behind the _Avenger_ project found something else. Buried in some 'ONI Black' files Cortana's been sitting on. Remember those? I'll just let Cortana explain."

Aforementioned hologram appeared from a projector in the ready-room table.

"Maybe instead of reinventing the wheel you should work with something you already have. You recall Patricia Tannis and the strange device brought from another dimension, do you not?"

"Yeah" replied Shepard. "There's one, it's really complicated, reverse-engineering it is a pain, and the geth were testing devices to make sure we don't all age into grandparent territory if we built more. Not to mention _Normandy_'s had engine problems with that device so we had to revert to the old drive…"

"I know what it does. Or, rather, the Office of Naval Intelligence knows, even though they were never aware it existed. To explain it, I'm going to need to give a bit of a technical history lesson. The United Nations Space Command from my universe hardly invented slipspace, or Shaw-Fujikawa space accessed by an engine of the same name. However, when they discovered it, it opened new possibilities for humanity previously limited to sub-light travel. Our enemy, the Covenant, already knew how to use it. Their means to access slipspace were far more precise than ours, granting them faster travel time."

"What does this have to do with a weird cylinder that nearly blew away my ship?"

Cortana tutted Shepard. "You're impatient. You see, the UNSC compared its slipspace drives to a brute-force method and the Covenant's to a surgeon's precision. But ONI had a few scientists who believed existing technologies—even the Forerunner engines ONI examined to build UNSC _Infinity_, weren't the whole story. There were small irregularities suggesting higher dimensions of slipspace beyond the seven known. Our mutual friend Jackie seems to have solved mathematics that had the UNSC's brightest chasing their tails for decades—more funding would've helped but nobody believed anything would come of it so there you go. How she did that, I'll never figure out."

"So tell me about how this relates to not destroying _Normandy_ while allowing higher speeds."

"You remind me of Gaige" laughed Cortana. "I see you're not to be dissuaded. Right, the cylinder. The Eridians, or Forerunners, knew how to travel almost instantaneously. This device was key in those efforts, though I'm pretty sure their concern wasn't their own lifespans but rather events in the wider universe since Tannis' research suggests them to be nearly immortal. You wouldn't want to take what to you is a short bathroom break only to come back to a meal that's stone cold and already rotting even though to you it was taken off the cooktop two minutes ago, would you?"

"That's gross, and no, I wouldn't want that."

"Experiments are hard to measure when time jumps around. The Eridians controlled the passage of time while using fantastically fast slipspace engines using this cylinder. That much we knew. However, it appears ONI had a solution to these problems but couldn't break into the eleventh dimension. Nor, again, could those who theorized on the existence of these additional four dimensions convince anyone that their research was worth pursuing further, so the project withered. Their notes call it a subatomic phase resequencer. I won't bore you with how it works, but suffice to say it solves all the problems we were having—and we won't need to understand any confusing Eridian tech or install giant cooling systems to do it."

Sam smirked. "Okay, what's the catch? There's gotta be a catch, right?"

"Yep" conceded Cortana. "There's a catch. A big one. Quite literally, as a matter of fact. With UNSC technology, building a subatomic phase resequencer cost as much as a heavy cruiser, and produced a device the size of a destroyer. And if someone so much as coughed on it, it came out of alignment making it useless. That pretty much killed any attempts to test the device. During the last phases of the war against the Flood, allied Covenant and UNSC scientists worked to build one but it was too late by far. It never even got to the prototype stage."

"So, if we apply digistruction and Trans-Galactic Republic technology, someone can create one the size of a pencil, right?"

The hologram laughed. "Not quite, but you're on the right track. Getting all the parts to line up represented one of the biggest challenges, but energy-to-matter direct printing—or digistruction—should make that a heck of a lot simpler."

Cortana's image moved out of the way and a new version of the _Avenger_ dubbed "Mark-II" appeared alongside.

"Since things don't have to be larger to make getting pieces into place easier—lower tolerances at lower sizes, after all, the unit only adds about 300 meters to the basic _Avenger_ design. The new ships are 2,200 meters long instead of 1,860. The device itself is, as was planned by the UNSC, mounted within a magnetic containment chamber to minimize shocks to the core. It floats inside an armored enclosure. All four of the latest _Avengers_ are being built with these inside."

"What about the geth tests?"

Cortana's cheerful disposition evaporated slightly.

"That…didn't work for several reasons. The most important being that too many geth had to be reassigned to _Avenger_ duty as they were still ongoing even to the present day, but there were insurmountable technical problems."

Sam decided not to care—she'd take a solution no matter who came up with it.

"So what about this new version? The most important question being, _how fast is it?_"

"Cross most galaxies in two hours."

"I've been in line at amusement parks longer than that!"

Nimitz spoke up again.

"I'd like to attack Aquator sooner rather than later. We'll actually have nine _Avengers_ by that point."

A list of the ships and their current configurations took over the holodisplay. All "turbolasers" had asterisks next to them—"Runs on synthetic Tibanna, range halved."

Avenger: 8000m, railguns, missile launchers, turbolasers, fighters, bombers

Guardian: 4750m, geth-thanix gatling, turbolasers

Protector: 2500m, turbolasers, bombers, faster hyperdrive (1.0)

Stalwart: 4500m, heavy turbolasers, railguns, missile launchers, fusion bombs, advanced armor, no shields

Valiant: 3201m, heavy turbolasers, turbolasers

The remaining four were listed as "Under Construction;" _Stellar Ward_, _Cavalry_, _Victory_, and _Shield_.

Sam sighed.

"Did someone pick 3,20**1** meters on purpose?"

"I'm sure the geth intelligences running that ship picked the length just to annoy you" said Cortana.

"This conversation got off-topic" huffed Nimitz. "As I was originally saying, this is my plan for taking on Aquator. Unfortunately for us, scans indicate due to the presence of S&amp;S Munitions forces within the 'Bringer of Life' organization, a significant space force has now been deployed to screen the planet."

"So? If you want my advice, just use that huge planet-cracking laser your ship has and call it a day! Easy."

"About that… I was hoping to not have to destroy half the planets in a galaxy. Sure, it's an easy solution, but there are long-term implications of smashing habitable worlds!"

Sam rolled her eyes in frustration. _Now_ the Admiral decided to start hesitating?

"It's just one planet! For once, can we just do something the easy way?"

"Fine" replied Nimitz petulantly. "Tell me, Shepard, what am I supposed to do once I drain virtually all _Ultimatum_'s power to do just that?"

Jerking back as though struck, Sam backpedaled. "I had no idea your battleship still had power problems…"

"It doesn't" snapped Nimitz, "unless the superlaser is used at overdrive power to pulverize a world-size mass. It's meant to break shields or vaporize large ships, not planets! It's theoretically possible but I'd be left with emergency power only afterward."

"Okay, so we do it the hard way. How about hitting the church tower with the laser, at least?"

"Well, to that I can say the sermon's gonna end early."

[…]

Shepard took off for some leisure time, which of course meant stopping by to see how various members of her crew were doing. She stepped into a lounge where Tali and Garrus sat chatting.

"So, we've completely automated ourselves out of a job, huh?"

"Your job, maybe."

She jumped.

"Wrex! What are you doing here?"

"Trying to escape from this tedium. With my species all but extinct, I've been occupying myself planning for a future that may or may not happen. Tali and Gaige were lending a hand. So was that Filner."

"What were you going to plan?"

"The tech inside these Flood-eaters wasn't originally a weapon. I mean, it's been militarized in the past too, but its original purpose was actually building things."

"Wrex is right" chimed in Dr. Filner. "We've had construction droids as long as we've had planet-wide cities. These _Avengers_ are, hardware-wise, nothing more than construction droids with attitude. Take the weapons and combat routines out, install blueprints for a shiny new skyscraper, and suddenly that pile of stinking, dead Flood becomes a new office building. Or at least part of one."

"Interesting. So now you're working on designing new synthetics, then?"

"It's the only thing I can think of." 

Wrex suddenly let out a barking laugh.

"Now that the pyjack Mordin's gone… No more wondering if my DNA could be resequenced to create a viable krogan race. Even with the genophage cured, there probably aren't enough of us left to avoid inbreeding. Plus, the genophage cure will actually work against us at this point. If you remember, it's designed to adapt and the more habitable a world is, the fewer eggs we get. Except now to rebuild an entire species you kind of need that crazy population growth that had everyone scared."

"You should try talking to Cortana" suggested Sam. "She was the one who dug up all that DNA to begin with."

"Already tried" replied Wrex. "She said that if someone converted the genetics she gathered into actual specimens it would help, but nobody has mass-cloning on that scale that she knows of."

"Does anyone have any happy thoughts?" bellowed Shepard in mock exasperation. "Everything around here is so depressing!"

"Well, I don't think the Republic Intelligence Service will be asking for their cloaking device back" supplied Kasumi, appearing out of thin air as usual. "The homing signal shut down about the time we left."

"Those new cruisers don't even need any manual tuning" moaned Garrus. "They're all completely automated and self-constructing. Nothing for either of us to do!"

"You're still needed on the _Normandy_" scolded Shepard. "I haven't installed any fancy self-guiding intelligences or digistruction systems there!"

For once, Cortana failed to appear despite an opening for her to make a snarky comment.

"Well, okay, I'm guessing Cortana could probably run the ship by herself but she doesn't. Funny that you mention all this now though, I was just up in Nimitz's ready room because the good Admiral wanted my input on how to attack Aquator. I'm not sure there's any input to have on the battle other than designating targets as hostile and watching the resulting ass-kicking!"

"I guess if being bored is the price for ending this, I'll take it" mused Tali. "We could have worse problems."

"That is very true. I'm told the other _Avengers_ won't be back for up to two days, so we have that time to prepare and/or relax."

Turning, she noticed Filner speaking with Jackie and Moxxi.

"So you're telling me we just sit on our hands and do nothing while machines fight this war?" asked Jackie.

"Pretty much" answered Dr. Filner. "The geth are fairly intelligent, so unlike normal combat droids nobody needs to watch over them to make sure they don't do something stupid, like running into each other or ignoring key targets."

"Given what the Flood tends to do to us organics, I for one would actually rather sit this one out."

"You've gone soft!" roared Wrex jovially. "Haven't calibrated a gun in a month and now you're just another chair-sitter!"

Shepard switched back to the conversation between Jackie and Kevin.

"…designs were nearly perfect. There were a few issues, but overall these eleven-dimension slipspace drives were something that Cortana's universe had been stymied by for years and you just up and solved it in your spare time, it seems."

Watching the two geek out over math so complicated it repelled additional conversational participants like a dead varren, Sam let happiness flow through her. At least one thing went right—the Jackie of the past who used and abused was well and truly buried.

"That was the other thing" the Jakobs heir said. "I tried to be moved into the Jakobs science divisions when I first realized who I was, but nobody wanted to hear about it. It was all 'do this ad' and 'go to that social function.'"

"So nobody wanted to make use of your intellectual talents?"

"No. The only assets anyone had interest in were, well, you can guess…" Her voice trailed. To some extent, she remained ashamed of what she'd done in the past, even though nobody here judged her for it.

"The self-taught are sometimes the absolute best you can throw at a problem" continued Filner, waxing academic. "They tend to be fiercely dedicated to anything they've decided to pursue, almost to ridiculous lengths. The downside is that many have trouble adjusting to other tasks, especially if most of their time ends up redirected."

"I've been trying to see why these _Avengers_ aren't using novalaser designs. If we can make as much Tibanna as we want, why not?" wondered Garrus.

Gaige, being enthusiastic about anything that destroyed Flood, explained why.

"Dude, this synthetic Tibanna is problematic enough on its own! You have to use more of it to get the same output, and it decays very fast, cutting any weapon's range in half. Novalasers are basically ship-scale disruptor cannons. The amounts of synth-banna you'd need would get out of hand quickly!"

Sam took leave of her crew to get some sleep.

[…]

Senator Glia Ham'Del almost felt like throwing herself out of her office window. Almost.

The Republic Intelligence Service ended up getting exactly what it wanted, and her committee had no power to stop them. Furthermore, her contacts in the underworld dried up overnight.

"Who the hell leaked that information?" she wondered aloud, practically stomping around her office.

She'd tried to explain to DeWinter that she hadn't done it. For whatever reason, the smuggling queen would hear none of it, merely saying "Somehow, this doesn't surprise me" before hanging up.

"Maybe some Bothan beat her at a race when she was younger. That bout of racism _came out of nowhere!_"

Her guards reported several rather amateurish assassination attempts against her over the past few weeks, mostly discontented rabble-rousers angry that she continued to push back against RISE even though the service now openly advertised for positions among "privateer security crews" and "deep-space construction opportunities" beyond the galactic disk.

"The Flood may menace our galaxy" they'd said "but we will hit them back from far beyond!"

The Senate, as always, got hung up debating whether these moves were legal.

"You will make it legal" hissed Director David Vance to Executive Minister Charles Day. "If you don't, the Senate will learn of your complicit nature regarding Flood research and cooperation with pirates who once agreed to swear off smuggling sapients."

"The public already knows about those unethical little experiments you're running" replied Day through grated teeth. "Telling them that I started it won't change much!"

"Maybe not, but right now they're just angry at us. But give them a head that's much easier to chop off…"

Day slammed a fist into the "END" button on his communicator. The Republic Intelligence Service and the Band of Brothers were calling the shots now. Strange that a government spanning an entire galaxy could have power handed to new rulers in weeks without disrupting anything. Then again, all these people seemed to want was to reallocate resources, not, say, impose an Undercurrent magocracy or split the Republic into pieces.

The average citizen had no idea what transpired, only that a threat (the Infection, or Flood as RISE called it now) existed, it appeared the government was doing nothing to stop it, and now someone else took over the government with the stated goal of addressing the unaddressed threat. To that relatively uninformed citizen, this coup d'état might actually look like a _good_ thing.

He was pretty sure history might remember him as a Valorum—someone who tried to ride out a crisis only to be stabbed in the back at the last minute. Theoretically, by granting the Republic Intelligence Service broader authority he was supposed to remain in power rather than be replaced as some hardliners in the Senate demanded. Instead, most executive functions now effectively resided in the Intelligence Center several blocks away from his office.

"If I'm going to be lampooned on talk shows a hundred years from now, I'll at least rob them of the last punchline!"

Day holoed the last person he'd ever expect to ask for help—Senator Ham'Del, a perennial thorn in the side of anyone trying (at least at the time) to establish "reasonable" relations with the Republic Intelligence Service rather than antagonizing them at every turn.

"What do you want?" snarled the Bothan, showing off teeth more pointed than the average Human.

"Your help."

"Oh, that is hilarious!" chuffed Ham'Del. "The Executive Minister, holoing a Senator whose name got dragged through the poodoo pits twice now, nearly died in an accident that was probably set up by her opponents, and has zero public credibility. What possible use could I be to you?"

"You used to be on cordial terms with Scarlett DeWinter."

"Oh, congratulations, the baby can read the chronometer. Have you noticed the time's changed a bit, Minister?"

Day gritted his teeth behind closed lips. He completely understood why the Senator would have very little regard for him at this point, but if he wanted to secure an alliance he'd have to accept her verbal invectives.

"I may be able to help you turn back the clock."

"What makes you think there's anything that would make that…"

Some Bothese word he'd never heard, presumably a curse, cut the sentence in half.

"…believe that it wasn't me who ignited a lightstaff through her chest? I can't even get the security tapes and HoloNet logs for my own office anymore! Something about galactic security."

"I may be a figurehead, but I've obtained the very things you seek by executive order. Nobody's bothered clipping that privilege of mine yet. Probably because they think I can't do anything meaningful with it."

Ham'Del immediately shifted from vomiting hyperdrive coolant onto a detested adversary to something more palatable.

"I assume these tapes aren't edited and will vindicate my claims?"

The Minister waved his hand. "Of course! Why would I holo you otherwise?"

"Now, the tricky part is making sure DeWinter gets them, and believes it."

Day laughed. "I don't Channel the Current, Senator. I can get them to her, but I can't force her to accept them as valid. Still, she didn't end up head of RedLine by accident—she's not dumb. I think we can count on Scarlett recognizing a valid security identifier when she sees one."

On the bridge of _RedCommand_, Scarlett DeWinter herself sat in a central chair. Around her, the typical "crew pits" of Star Destroyer type vessels buzzed with activity. Kuat apparently really, _really_ hewed to tradition—old records suggested they'd built ships like this for millions of years that the company existed. Modern ships might have slightly faster drives, or more guns but the overall structure and shape remained remarkably consistent.

"Priority transmission, ma'am. Your eyes only."

DeWinter eased herself out of her chair. Thanks to modern medicine, physical maladies associated with old age didn't rear their ugly heads until well past a century of age for most humans, excepting those with terrible genetics (itself fixable if you had the credits). Sealing her ready room, she opened the message.

"DECRYPTING" flashed across the top while a unique set of IDs scrolled along the bottom. She'd seen these before during her negotiations with Glia Ham'Del—they were Senatorial codes. In fact, one of them was _the_ Senatorial code, only used by the Executive Minister to communicate with members of the Senate itself.

She thought back to a series of events that landed her where she sat now.

_RedLine will accept responsibility for Core and Colonies._

This just after the leak from Ham'Del's office. The information she'd trusted the Senator to keep to herself. The canny smuggler saw an opportunity, though, and ran with it.

_Glia would be proud._

"This is ridiculous!" she'd fumed in private. "I trusted her, and look what happened!"

Jack Johnson pounced.

"This is why I have always maintained that the Human majority should take the galaxy's fate into its own hands."

Previously publically apolitical on the issue, DeWinter shocked the entire assembly. "I…agree."

With those words, any doubts over whether RedLine would be the ones to handle security by "supplementing" Spacelane Protection in the Core and Colonies evaporated. Her dealings didn't leave her with strong connections to Spacelane Protection suppliers, but she didn't need to when Jack Johnson's ties to Kuat would provide, and provide they did.

Three squadrons of Star Destroyers, mostly top-of-the-line _Curator_ Mark -III's, now bent to her will. In pristine condition too! While Johnson's forces suffered loss after loss in the Mid Rim trying to hold back the Flood (as RISE now insisted it be called) her forces would remain relatively untouched.

She was also told that "since you know that obnoxious Bothan best, scorch her fur a bit!"

DeWinter made sure to hire only those who could get to the Senator, but not deliver on threats made. In that way, Ham'Del wouldn't actually end up in a bacta tank, again.

RedLine's leader vowed to set things right with her old acquaintance after everything settled, but the current situation demanded she keep playing the part. And what a part it was—nasty though it may have been to pretend to buy all that "Humanity Over All" sithspit.


	81. Attack, Attack, Attack!

**Chapter 80 – Attack, Attack, Attack!**

As expected, _Protector_ arrived back at _Ultimatum_'s location before all other _Avengers_. Were the ship crewed by organics, a rousing celebration would have greeted them. Instead, _Protector_ merely asserted its presence and returned to escort duty. A duty largely unnecessary since the fantastic success of these Flood-eaters rendered areas around _Ultimatum_ the safest in the entire galaxy as far as avoiding Flood was concerned.

"The newest ships will have priority on consumption of available materials" ordered Nimitz, meaning that a very literal queue formed to take bites out of the floating hulk that used to be _Revenant_. In following days, the newest _Avengers_ reshaped themselves thusly.

_Shield_ took on characteristics befitting its name. Shorn of weapons save for 75 quad turbolasers ("synth-lasers" said Gaige) dotting a 3,600 meter hull, the ship instead carried swarms of digistruct-equipped repair drones on its exterior. These deployed in battle with low-latency links to _Shield_'s computer, able to pull up blueprints for any item stored within for near-instantaneous restoration. Rapid digistruction bays could also produce multi-purpose modules capable of holding anything from turbolasers to geth fighters or shield generators for deployment onto the battlefield.

_Stellar Ward_ moved in a different direction with three distinct "sections" that split apart for combat. Its main drive and molecular furnace tended to hang back firing its main gun while two portions designed specifically to fight Flood moved in. One actually contained a miniature furnace that expressly converted only to energy so it could land on a Flood ship and begin tearing it apart to fuel its own weapons. The other bristled with lasers and proton rocket launchers—the geth intelligences within the ship had taken a liking to that type of munition for some odd reason.

_Cavalry_ also seemed to fit the vessel in question as it swapped parts for speed over anything else. Utilizing a risky but bold strategy, it would use its slipspace drive to almost dance around the battlefield, landing blows on key targets while avoiding retribution from the Flood or those allied with the all-consuming tide.

_Victory_ traded swiftness for assuredness of being able to survive any attack, and respond in kind. More akin to "river monitors" of wet navies millions of years ago, the ship possessed only minimal propulsion, meaning lower slipspace velocities even with a more advanced eleven-dimension drive. However, thick hull armor and powerful shields offset this apparent vulnerability, as did its immense size of 12,800 meters. This allowed for larger quantities of weapons than were mounted on any other _Avenger_ to date on the largest _Avenger_ keel yet.

In preparation for the assault on Aquator, Admiral Nimitz sent a significant detachment of crew to bring _Farsight_ up to more than skeleton status. With personnel counts of over a million on her own ship, sparing forty thousand wasn't a big deal, especially due to AI optimizations from both Cortana and uploaded geth intelligences.

"We appreciate your willingness to assist us" said Nova. She would remain aboard _Ultimatum_ as an attaché while command of_ Farsight_ formally transferred to Mal.

"It wasn't like you actually wanted to kill me" replied the Trans-Galactic Republic Admiral. "It seems a lot of people are not operating of their own free will these days."

_Or at least the people who seem to be having the biggest impact…_

"Would you not do the same thing?" asked Nova. "Clones have free will for a reason, but that also makes us dangerous."

"From what history we have, clone armies in the past had loyalty encoded in their genetics, something I'm guessing your creator hasn't mastered yet. No need for fancy hardware. And before you ask, no, disloyal thoughts didn't trigger meltdowns."

Reports trickled in of various problems aboard _Farsight_ needing fixing. Structural engineers were called to Deck 32 because of large dents and holes caused by Torgue munition detonations. Computer specialists had to work around or replace equipment destroyed after _Ultimatum_ vented her ion engines straight into the ship. Overloaded power conduits required replacement.

"It'll be nice when we don't need to work in suits" complained one technician on the fact that Jakobs left life support off in most sections, meaning time would have to pass before enough air and heat filled areas of the ship to be operated by the combined "unity" crew.

"Why don't we just use Eridian pulse weapons?"

That question bounced like a superball among engineers on both ships—the Tibanna gas that seemed to be the bane of the Trans-Galactic Republic's existence dwindled with every shot. As it turned out, there simply wasn't enough time. Digistruction very quickly put things together, but tearing things apart (thousands upon thousands of turbolaser batteries and their attendant systems) to refit the Star Dreadnaught would require months or years despite having a horde of digistruction drones (_Shield_) and construction droids available. To compensate for any possible shortages, Nimitz ordered all non-synthetic Tibanna drained from "every starfighter, every transport, every shuttle. If it's not _Ultimatum_ and it has guns on it, drain it!"

The Star Dreadnaught would have far more than enough Tibanna for the Aquator engagement. How long its guns would last after that remained an open question.

As the last bits of _Revenant_ were consumed, Flood and all, Thalia Tediore found herself rocketing into space.

[…]

Attempting to control a galaxy 160,000 lightyears in diameter required vast resources, and Spacelane Protection employed millions of starships to this end. With over thirty thousand "Star Destroyer"-class vessels (such as the _Curator_), generally speaking the Trans-Galactic Republic's Alpha Galaxy had sufficient naval tonnage to keep the peace. Bulwarked by four dozen _Swiftsure_ carriers, no military strategist believed any threat to Spacelane Protection was possible.

How wrong that was on multiple fronts.

The reason for a starship's durability in combat generally revolved around its ability to shrug off attacks with (technically) infinitely-renewing energy fields rather than sustaining direct damage to its hull that would require time-consuming, costly dry-dock repairs. When the enemy bypassed these defenses in part or entirely, a key advantage of modern starship engineering evaporated. At least a thousand Star Destroyer-weight vessels were wrecked in only a few months. Unlike the weapons of its neighbor, Trans-Galactic Republic turbolasers were terrifically effective but this required the ship such weapons were mounted on to survive long enough to deliver sufficient firepower to the target in question, which often did not happen due to said target leaping across space to land directly on Spacelane Protection defenders.

Jack Johnson learned this the hard way. Though he'd been able to procure many of the most advanced Mark-III vessels from Kuat, his initial use of them was nothing short of blundering as five were lost in a single engagement.

"I am beginning to understand why the Republic Intelligence Service calls it 'the Flood'" he'd remarked afterward, having escaped on the sixth ship of the group.

The usual routine of mass-attrition warfare practiced by some in Spacelane Protection due to vastly superior hardware over petty adversaries from past dust-ups would not work against the newcomers, that much was certain. This was the very reason why RISE sought to immunize Humans against the parasite—as the most numerous species protecting them would offer a strong secondary defense to the entire galaxy by removing a large segment of the population from the Flood's menu.

When Johnson sent another request for more ships, Kuat Drive Yards considered it a double insult: first, he strained relations with what was supposed to be a government-only ship variety being handed over due to connections alone, second the notion that _Curators_ could fall so quickly stretched disbelief until Kuati engineers saw exactly the type of meat grinder their designs had been thrown into.

"Don't come around again unless you have a really, really good reason!" wrote KDY reps in a holomessage.

[…]

Aboard _Eagle's Claw_, its occupants would have given anything for a newer, less ramshackle ship. Torn from hyperspace before properly entering, they were tossed about like salad before violently reverting to realspace proper.

"Well, that wasn't supposed to happen, I'm sure" taunted Neil Edison. "Apparently, your study of their ships did not extend beyond complicated words!"

"I understand their faster than light, you fool!" snapped Aria T'Loak. "What I don't understand is why it failed! There are no error conditions in the hyperdrive, nothing that would suggest that should have happened. Unless…"

"Which variable did you leave out?" demanded Nyreen Kandros. "Which little detail got ignored?"

"When those extragalactic bastards took Omega from me, it wasn't hard to notice that they were interfering with any faster-than-light that wasn't a relay transition. Looks like whatever that is remains operational despite the station crashing into the Citadel."

"The geth said something about ships in the debris field having operational reactors" ventured Susan Rizzi. "Maybe we should look for those."

Ernie Quinn sighed. "I'm not sure if you heard, but even if we find a _bigger_ ship, there's no guarantee it will be able to get us out of here either since the Flood seems to be blocking all faster-than-light travel in the area."

The argument got cut short by a close-range proximity alarm.

"Who the hell would be poking around here?" demanded Melissa Hornby.

"Certainly not a rescue ship" replied Jane Davenport glumly. She'd seen her entire squad taken out of commission, watched a woman she'd only just met cut off her own head, and figured this was probably her last few hours or days of life. Being someone who constantly got incapacitated making bold moves on the battlefield created a sense of fatalism should they not pay off.

"Well, this isn't something I saw when I snooped through the Republic Intelligence Services' databases" said Aria. "But given that I've never heard of it before I'd guess it's RISE anyway."

Being on the receiving end of a whole ship-full of blank stares, an annoyed Aria explained exactly what she'd done to "control" a _Hammer_ cruiser.

"That sounds like a monumentally _stupid_ set of decisions." Mel didn't care if the asari punched her across the room for her comment. "Let's go tickle the Reaper and see what happens!"

"These people make the Reapers look like harmless domesticated varren" replied Aria. "Which also means if it's one of their ships showing up, we might actually have a chance."

Only a few kilometers away, Maya punched the air.

"Hell yeah!"

The "interesting measures" Nimitz referred to included: a hyperdrive range-extender sled and a standard (seven dimension) slipspace drive. Thought an interdiction field yanked their ship out of hyperspace near the edge of the Widow system, clever manipulation of an available mass relay put them kilometers from the Citadel.

"Looks like there's another active ship out there. I'd say Flood, but it doesn't feel like Flood in the Waves to me…"

Sarah sat in one of a pair of chairs behind the Punisher's pilot station. Said vessel ran best with a three-person crew, but for scouting missions it would hardly be sub-optimal to only have two.

"Fancy a look?"

Before Sarah could pull with the Current, Maya buzzed whatever it was several times using the Punisher's extreme speed to avoid giving whoever it was a clear view of who had an interest in them.

"Whoever that is sure likes to cut it close" groused Greg Manchin. "I could swear I heard their hull scrape ours!"

"Try hailing them."

Maya punched open a comm channel on all available frequencies.

"This is Maya of the Trans-Galactic Republic to other active vessel in this vicinity, do you copy, over?"

Aboard _Eagle's Claw_, faces froze in shock.

"Saying again, Maya of the Trans-Galactic—"

Before the Siren could finish, she found herself cut off by Aria T'Loak.

"We copy. Who the hell are you and why are you here?"

"That's no way to greet a rescuer" whispered Nyreen to Aria alone.

"Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed today!" replied Maya. "We were sent here on a scouting mission. Seems the Flood isn't as all-consuming as we thought if you've survived this long. Stand by for docking."

In actuality, "docking" meant pulling up close, having Sarah use Current Waves to feel out the other ship, and then teleport across while avoiding any molecular mishaps. This went off without a hitch, leaving the already-confused refugees staring open-mouthed at a very tall purple-haired, turquoise-eyed woman wearing plain brown robes who materialized inside their craft without any warning.

Comprehension dawned on Davenport's face as she took in this guest.

"Wait a…"

Jane lunged at the newcomer, sword drawn.

"RRRRRGGGH!"

Her blade, a monomolecular piece costing as much as some assault rifles, shattered against an arm while said arm took no visible damage beyond a slice in the woman's robes.

"But you're the one who was burning our entire galaxy!" protested the Shadow, not sure whether to be more irked about her sword or the return of a monster.

Noticing an array of weapons now pointing in her direction, Sarah let out a breath.

"You are all slightly behind the times. Yes, I was the person who inflamed an entire area of your galaxy to stop the Flood. I did so believing it to be the only way, but as is clear now, the method was doomed to failure."

"So what brings you back?" asked Aria T'Loak, already annoyed by the failure of _Eagle's Claw_ to take them away from the Citadel.

"As my compatriot Maya said, we are on a scouting mission" replied Sarah, somewhat perturbed. "The fleet in Gamma-Three is still intact, and wanted to see what the state of affairs here is."

"What fleet?" wondered Greg Manchin. "Everything here got overrun at the Citadel!"

"_Almost_ everything" corrected Sarah. "I took that gigantic Star Dreadnaught and a few other ships with me. Nearly died in the process, too!"

"Do you expect pity?" asked Ernie Quinn quietly. "Because I doubt you'll find any here."

"I'm not here to justify myself or debate things with you. This galaxy is covered in Flood. I can take you with me. And you're arguing!"

A comm light blinked, causing Neil to open the line.

"What's going on over there?"

"They seem to be laboring under the impression that I am going to kill them."

"I've met many turians in my lifetime" said Aria loudly. "No matter what facepaint a criminal wears, they are the same underneath!"

Sarah decided to demonstrate exactly what she was capable of. One hand clenched into a fist, squeezing the throats of Aria and one of the men. The other blasted purple lightning, incapacitating everyone else.

"If I wanted you dead" she explained in an eerily calm voice, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."

With a thump, an asari and a human landed painfully on their ship's deck.

"Now, if you're done protesting your only way out of here, we should probably go."

[…]

Given the nature of playing with RISE's toys (again), Nimitz had _Ultimatum_'s sensors calibrated to alert only her when a Punisher departed or returned. Pulled away from her reading ("The Endless Cycle: Booms and Busts of Galactic Power") by a notification, she didn't understand how Sarah and Maya could be back this quickly—not even two days! "Comprehensive survey" hardly meant _less than a day_ in the other galaxy, including six hours total transit time. Siren or not, someone cut corners and she got ready to ream the both of them for slacking.

"Why in the kriffing hell would they…"

She stormed down to her personal landing bay in a foul mood. Perhaps Sarah really wasn't kidding when she protested being sent on this mission, or maybe Maya just felt spiteful over from what she believed was a trivialization of her training and abilities.

Instead, the Admiral found the pair standing amongst a large contingent of others—an asari, seven humans, and a pair of turians. One dressed in the colors of Cerberus, though he bore no outward hostility toward her or the other members of the group he stood with. Several wore uniforms suggesting "N7" status—some kind of super-special-soldier in the Systems Alliance.

Adjusting her thoughts, Nimitz almost laughed out loud. Of course they weren't going to stick around for a week or more in the Gamma-Six galaxy when all of the sudden there were ten more people on board! The ship was not provisioned for such, not even in an emergency evacuation situation. That this Punisher's range-extended hyperspace sled and standard slipspace drive were the only reasons such actions were even plausible.

"Were there any bathroom problems?" she asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Nah. You might want to send in a medical crew though—verify the theory that the body we are carrying wasn't exposed to Flood…"

The half-Siren immediately reverted to her previous demeanor.

"How, how _dare_ you risk my ship by bringing that filth aboard! If a single person is harmed because of it, I will _personally throw you out the airlock!_"

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down, lady! I'm just saying it's possible" said Wayne warily. "Wayne Moore, Systems Alliance Destroyer soldier at your service."

Sarah decided to have some fun.

"You do realize said 'lady' is the Admiral of this ship and in charge of what's left of our defense forces?"

Her tone suggested she thought Moore silly for not knowing something he might have seen on the extranet in passing mention, if that.

"Apologies, ma'am! I was unware of your rank, ma'am!" Moore snapped to a salute, as did all other human soldiers among those assembled.

"At ease. I'm wearing lounge clothes and a hair tie…"

Only at that point did several people notice something. The Admiral's pants stopped shortly below the knee, which ordinarily wouldn't have been relevant except to those inappropriately ogling a superior officer. In this case, their abbreviated length exposed glowing tattoos very similar to Sarah's. However, nobody wanted to be the one to ask.

At first, Nimitz figured it was just the men being discreetly perverted, but two things changed her mind. First, the three women in the group were far from unattractive (so it couldn't be they'd not laid eyes on a woman for some lengthy time; besides, there was always the Holo/extra-net). Second, those women were looking too. Far be it for her to have any distaste for lesbians—but then the turians and asari eyeballed her.

_I'm not __**that**__ attractive…am I?_

"What's with the symbols?" demanded Aria. "They're similar to Miss Crazy over here."

Sarah ignored the mild insult as she headed back into the ship.

"Oh, those. According to the aliens who created Sarah, I was supposed to be just like her, but for some reason they failed and the only Siren-like attributes I have are those symbols and an extended lifespan."

Snapping back, Nimitz returned to her indignation about possible Flood aboard her ship.

"Where's the corpse so we can torch it?" she demanded. "Bring it to this location, on the double!" A map on her datapad listed the location of a disposal chute leading directly to _Ultimatum_'s hypermatter reactor.

The answer appeared, though not in a way Nimitz expected as a body and head levitated before her.

"I sense no Flood activity whatsoever" said Sarah with an air of finality. The Admiral began to splutter a response, before being gently corrected. "You've got to start trusting people…"

Ernie Quinn collapsed to the deck again.

"What's his deal?"

Jane Davenport answered. "Jane Davenport, Systems Alliance Shadow. He lost a childhood friend hours ago." Then, for emphasis, "And her name was Nora Fleetwood."

_Well, if I could do anything more to sound like a complete and utter bitch to these people, I have yet to discover it!_

Sarah smirked before confronting Nimitz.

"You feel embarrassed."

The other woman stopped herself from making a patronizing remark about Sarah "finally recognizing emotions for once."

"Well, yeah—I thought you and Maya cut corners and were lazy when your ship showed up so quickly after you'd left. Then, I assumed the worst about the people you brought and apparently insulted the memory of someone's friend while I was at it. So yes, I am not feeling proud of myself at this moment."

"We didn't get what you wanted" continued Maya, "not directly. But these people have valuable information…"

Aria prepared to make a scathing comment before a look from Nyreen kept her quiet. Still, this represented precisely the situation she did not want—unable to manage the situation herself, dependent on others, and under an authority other than her own. Before she could figure out what to say, Greg Manchin finished Maya's thought.

"We're not experts, however we can tell you more about the situation aboard Omega which appears to be the central intelligence guiding this horrible invasion."

"Actually, we were just about to launch an attack against the Flood" replied Nimitz. This comment precipitated a storm of responses.

"You're going to take the galaxy back?"

"How can we help?"

"Put me on the front lines!"

Jane Davenport artfully swished her new blade through the air. It made no sound, but what monomolecular piece would? Ernie Quinn practically shoved it into her hands after her own met its demise against the arm of a neigh-indestructible Siren. She'd tried the strange device Nora used to cut down hundreds of Flood prior to her death, but found it difficult to wield.

"Bad news, everyone. There's Flood here too."

This silenced excited banter.

Nimitz continued "We do have an answer—a type of ship designed specifically to destroy the Flood. Unlike the _Aspirations Toward Infinity_ class built before, these ships are flexible and will have a use long after this threat ends. You've arrived just in time for the fireworks."

[…]

On the bridge of _Ultimatum_ and now suitably clothed in her dress uniform, Admiral Allison Nimitz opened a fleetwide channel.

"For too long we have been running. For too long for every step our foe takes forward, we retreat three out of fear. Today is the day we fight back. Today is the day we stand together and say not one more. Not one more planet, not one more star system, not one more ship, not one more galaxy! The divisions caused by old grudges, speciesisms, and even galactic origin will all melt away into one spear focused on one goal! Through the heart, through the head, strike, strike, until the Flood is dead!"

If sound could traverse space, a deafening roar would've emanated from the entirety of the mixed group surrounding _Ultimatum_. After the Tibanna drain, all Trans-Galactic Republic ships without turbolasers were fitted with extra missiles, rockets, torpedoes, and bombs. _Shield_'s digistruction drones gave the MALITOR _Clean Sweeps_ more firepower than even the combined brains of Malcolm and Torgue could have dreamed up.

_Ultimatum_'s lower speed forced the rest of her attendant fleet to utilize slower methods of travel to avoid a situation of having to fight for hours while awaiting backup. With clever routing and pushing its hyperdrive to its limit, _Ultimatum_ could travel to Aquator in nine hours. In those hours, every man, woman, and child (families aboard the command ship could find no safer place) readied themselves for the first battle against the Flood not initiated on the enemy's terms.

"Calm before the storm doesn't even begin to describe it" said Samantha Shepard to no one in particular, though her entire crew assembled in _Normandy_'s CIC as the heavy frigate would be deploying to make maximum use of its novalasers and cloak for the duration. Cortana now resided aboard _Ultimatum_, though she remained patched-through to every ship in the fleet.

"Just like a thousand other commanders of a thousand other ships, we wait for the dawn. And it is coming. We will bring light back to this galaxy and others where the filth has spread!"

The AI now spoke up. "I will coordinate efforts between all ships, though, it seems our Current-Channeling friends may well preempt some of it, what with the enhanced combat abilities further boosted by some kind of special link between Sarah here and each aboard a different key vessel."

Zera Zelit remained out of sight, meditating quietly in what would ordinarily be Sam's quarters.

_Avengers_ would see no benefit, but all other organically-crewed combatants improved, sometimes drastically. The Current boost ("Tides of War" they called it) had a most noticeable impact on the still-undercrewed (50,000 currently of almost three million optimal) _Farsight_, improving its reaction time and fire rates more than on any other ship.

"It's victory or death" whispered Sam as her crew dispersed.


	82. Unstoppable Forces, Immovable Objects

**Chapter 81 – Unstoppable Forces, Immovable Objects**

"Reversion to realspace in five."

If this were a standard brushfire within the ten galaxies, sending a Star Dreadnaught (capable of subduing an entire group of sectors) to pacify one planet would have redefined "excessive use of force." In this case, Admiral Nimitz wondered if it would be enough.

A Star Dreadnaught, a dozen modified _Clean Sweeps_, nine _Avengers_ and any constituent craft carried made up her attack force. The _Avengers_ would arrive first, seeing as the Flood could not capture them. Then, _Clean Sweeps_ would open fire screened by the synthetic-controlled battleships. Finally, _Ultimatum_ would hose down everything from as great of a distance as possible. That was the plan, anyway.

"_Guardian_ reporting. Contact made with the enemy."

"_Valiant_ reporting. Enemy engaged."

_Avenger_'s six Eridium Cannons burned into the nearest Flood target, an S&amp;S cruiser. Return fire splashed off its shields, doing minimal damage as its guns cut further into its enemy. Set to cool down, Eridium Cannons stopped firing to allow a horde of proton torpedoes to enter a gaping wound, blowing the target to bits.

"We got the first kill!"

Cortana also elected to serve as a battle-minder, seeing as her immense thinking capacity hardly strained coordinating a few dozen ships.

A Flood-Reaper jumped _Cavalry_, only for the ship to disappear from under claws and reappear some thousand kilometers away. Its low-grade, synthetic-Tibanna superlaser nonetheless allowed it to inflict significant damage on its would-be tormenter.

Nimitz did a double-take. She planned to incinerate the tower in which worshippers paid their respects to the Flood, however sensors could not find it.

"Nimitz to _Normandy_, do a flyby and confirm—the Flood-tower is missing."

Samantha Shepard stood on the bridge of her ship as Joker took it in for a closer look. Cloaking hid it from attention for the moment, though nobody knew for how long this would last seeing as previous Flood attackers were able to somehow guess at the ship's location.

Cortana appeared at Shepard's left.

"I am getting a reading I don't understand. Unless your ship's sensors are malfunctioning, I no longer detect water on Aquator's surface."

"What do you mean, there's no water?" demanded Sam.

"The entire surface appears to be organic in nature."

Sam laughed. "What, you're saying the…"

The implications of a waterless Aquator suddenly dawned on her.

"You're saying…"

"If this is correct, the entire planet is one giant Flood organism. If it has any powers like those we've dealt with in the past, you're going to want to lock me up."

"You have got to be kidding me. Planet-size Flood? I mean, I've seen it necromorph some crazy stuff, but a whole planet?"

She immediately put a connection through to Nimitz.

"Remember how you said using the superlaser on a planet wasn't worth it?"

"Cortana already told me" snapped the Admiral. "Unfortunately, I would have to power down most of my ship's systems to do that, leaving it vulnerable while it charges up."

"Your superlaser did a fine job smashing up _Revenant_ when it attacked the Citadel!" protested Sam.

"It's _designed_ to do that" replied an exasperated Nimitz. "It's _not_ designed to handle this much power—not only will it probably burn out after one use, it would take much, much longer to gather the necessary energy to reach that output level."

A horde of Flood-Reapers descended on _Farsight_, which both put up a tremendous barrage of energy from thousands of Eridian-derived pulse batteries and tried its best to maneuver despite being over thirty kilometers long.

Mal belted out orders to various groups aboard the ship, both former Jakobs clones and transfers from _Ultimatum_.

"Engineering, maximize power available to shields! Weapons, fire at will! Stand by to repel boarders!"

Then the rocks started to hit. Yellow, crystalline, very similar to crystalisks from Pandora. Each impact solidified shield energy in an area, which then shattered immediately thereafter. The field regenerated rapidly, however some shots slipped through.

"Can anyone tell me what the hell those things are doing to our shields?"

Neither Trans-Galactic Republic nor clone engineers had any idea what was going on, other than that the Flood (unsurprisingly) managed to pull a one-up with yet another dangerous new weapon. To top it off, several of the Flood-Harvesters/Reapers managed to grapple on, disgorging pods full of Flood lifeforms and tearing into the dreadnaught's hull.

Operative-131072, "Elsa," refused to permit these landings without putting up a fight. She didn't know how it worked before or now, but she did understand the seemingly superhuman abilities she'd manifested during combat in the recent past. She operated an entire pulse battery section herself despite it normally having a minimum crew of twenty (optimally, three times that). Pushing the Arrondell power generators to their limits, Elsa practically skated around the battery's command center, operating terminal after terminal. Blue pulses flashed from turrets and connected with a towering Flood lifeform ("FLD-Reaper," said targeting software synced to ally _Ultimatum_). A good chunk of the behemoth's side disintegrated in a burst of blue light. Another group of turrets fast-track-rotated to cut off another Reaper intent on attacking relatively exposed targeting equipment. In that time, three more grabbed onto pulse turrets, disabling two and leaving one with limited functionality. Elsa blasted them off, though not in time to prevent degradation of her battery's combat effectiveness.

"Damn."

Her hands flew across her terminal, entering commands and code she'd never learned—it just seemed to come to her as she needed it. All remaining turrets tracked with the group of five she controlled directly. Frustratingly, Elsa's ability to designate targets and issue commands appeared to exceed the machinery's ability to interpret and execute.

On a different screen, a feminine blue-purple face appeared.

"I've got your back."

The visage vanished, along with her problems. Within five minutes, seven capital-class Reapers fell to Elsa's one-woman show.

In spite of efforts like Operative-131072's, Flood organisms managed to board _Farsight_.

"Face me!" bellowed Athena, having transferred herself prior to departure.

"You should be where you belong" replied Shepard upon receiving the clone's transfer request. "Go to your sisters."

Wearing digistructed MISTILTEINN unlike other Jakobs clones (donning standard-issue Atlas-derived armor), she waded into the Flood invaders, hacking and slashing with a modified version of her old plasma sword. Rather than simply cut, this blade ignited most flesh on contact, though admittedly fighting on _Farsight_'s outer hull made no use of this due to lack of oxygen.

Several Overseers directed a mob of lesser Flood beings toward a hole caused by a crystal-bomb impact. Athena sought to deny them this entrance.

"This is Athena to Operative-4291: engaging the Flood EVA near bulkhead 729. Attempting to contain and prevent Flood contamination."

Most Atlas Lance Assassin training took place in two dimensions, not three—though zero-G combat had a small role in the duties of an Assassin it wasn't considered a priority. Cortana's armor design (complete with nearly-impossible name) encouraged thinking with depth, which was a struggle for virtually everyone used to "flat" battlefields. Repulsor performance suffered since generally speaking it was assumed that there would be a mass to push against (hence the term). Still, they ultimately did work seeing as _Farsight_'s tonnage rated high enough to initiate a reaction, albeit small, from the engine. Consequently, Athena mainly made use of it to dodge incoming attacks.

A strike removed the legs of a charging Slasher, whose now-detached torso flipped end over end, arms flailing with nothing to claw. Pulling back, she dodged retaliation from a pair of Whipsaws (Formerly: salarian, said her HUD) while squeezing off disruptor blasts to vaporize two Exploders (Formerly: krogan—like the one who broke her legs) trying to sneak into the hole made by their starship support.

Athena's shield flared, absorbing the impacts of several projectiles.

"Great. The shooting ones" she muttered, cutting one down with a sword-throw and turning another into a pile of ash that drifted gently into space. The third dodged behind a monster creature, one whose very presence shook the ship's hull in its vicinity.

"Crap."

The hulking _thing_ turned about, slamming its legs down again and again. The fact that dents were visible afterward in what surely represented the best metallurgy Atlas had to offer gave the clone soldier pause, before she fired more disruptor blasts.

"Reload" flashed annoyingly in her helmet.

"What is this, an ECHONet game?" she complained, discarding a spent blaster gas cartridge to replace it with another while simultaneously ejecting an empty power cell for a reload. Sure, disruptors packed a huge punch, but they ate through not one but two types of ammunition very quickly.

In the seconds she spent preparing her weapon to fire again, it charged, covering far more ground than the last time she'd encountered such a beast.

"Athena to all clones—be aware the largest Flood combat forms, the Tanks, have evolved for greater speed!"

She got no responses, but given that most other clones were probably busy fighting for their lives, she didn't expect any. Her shots seemed to have enraged the Flood more than actually done anything to stop it, so as it charged again Athena pushed off. Attacking from above, she unleashed several Maliwan incendiary rockets. Unfortunately for her, that caused even more stamping around at an even higher speed.

She got a page from another operative—"Lure it to these coordinates!"

Unsure what to do as this would involve a significant detour away from her current post, she radioed central command.

"Keep the Flood _out of the ship!_" ordered Mal. "Just do your best to dodge the Tank."

Closing her comm, Athena let out a sigh. She would do as ordered. Landing, an Overseer bent over double from two sword hits. As it came around to bring its weapon to bear (looked like some kind of shotgun), she removed the arm holding the weapon's rear grip. "3X-SHIELDSLAMMER" glared at her from the side. A brief description of the weapon appeared in her HUD; she grabbed it and loosed the six loaded shells in the direction of the Tank (Formerly: elcor, whatever that was). Alarms alerted Athena to having failed an objective since at least one Flood form managed to slip past her into the hole.

"Objective failed. Destroy all remaining Flood at site" came through as her new orders. Scrolling back, she found a message from Operative-131095, "Ruby" about luring the Flood toward a set of coordinates.

"Operative-131095, this is Athena. Requesting details regarding last transmission!"

"Ruby" took some time to respond—in reality it was thirty seconds but anyone spending thirty seconds dodging a huge Flood lifeform would say it felt far longer.

"My reassignment due to increased combat efficiencies places me in control of a group of Eridian Pulse Batteries close to your position. If you can kite the Flood Tank toward them, I can assist in its destruction."

_Define "close"_ thought Athena irritably. _HUD show's it's at least a kilometer away across the hull…_

[…]

Far removed from a small battle on the surface of one ship, the arrivals fought for the freedom of their galaxy. The curvy, aesthetically-pleasing lines of _Clean Sweeps_ gave way to (in the Maliwans' opinions) ugly, functional, very Dahl-like squared-off structures protected by several meters of thick digistructed armor.

"By your own description, these vessels were intended to remain at the rear of the formation and act as siege emplacements" rumbled the geth controllers of _Shield_ who oversaw most refitting work. "Therefore, it is logical to protect them more heavily due to maneuverability not being a primary concern."

Mallory still felt sadness at the now-utilitarian appearance of the fleet she and Malcolm worked to design. However, the fact that these ships now racked up kills without being immediately killed in return (as was the case in their last engagement) made her happier.

MSS _Thunderous Tsunami_ fired Eridian main guns at onrushing Flood. At first, each shot connected with its target, sizzling the feared/hated enemy out of existence. As the battle wore on, the Flood adapted, taking advantage of significant lag time between such a weapon discharging and reaching its target, easily dodging the slow balls of blue energy.

With this change, starship-scale Deus Ex Arma magnetic rails came into play, hurling superheated slugs at velocities far less avoidable than the ship's main guns. Incoming Oculi and other Flood starfighter-type ships found themselves shredded by dozens of Tornado gatling guns designed expressly as dual-purpose: enough damage-over-time to present a threat to mid-size ships but also quick enough to swat fighters. General-use high-explosive rockets rained out of EarthQuake launchers, the sole Torgue weapons carried by these theoretically-collaborative heavy cruisers.

Second Lieutenant Maya finally, at long last got her deployment into a combat zone. As she strapped into the cockpit of the same Punisher that carried herself and Sarah to another galaxy, she heard "Just don't scratch the paint" from _Ultimatum_ control as she lifted off.

"This thing has heavier shielding than some capital ships" she muttered in response. "You'd almost have to try to get them dropped."

With advanced pilot assistance programming now made useful by being sent into a real fight, she asked it to "find a nearby ally under attack."

She gave the command view display a questioning glance as it locked onto…a person. As best the computer could tell, whoever it was wore MISTILTEINN armor and seemed to be moving about quite a bit.

"Target attacker of current target."

A mountain of flesh filled the screen.

"Now that's a target!"

She toggled "SolarFlare" to ON, allowing maximum energy to flow from the ship's panels into its shields, rapidly doubling her level of protection without compromising on speed. The quick-charge switched off as soon as the ship's shields topped up as coolant flooded the panels and their associated wires.

"Six, five, four…"

Kilometers clicked down—and at five (maximum weapon range) she let loose with all six of the Punisher's laser cannons. Red blasts stabbed toward the Flood creature that appeared to be chasing something. Toggling back to her initial target, Maya realized the person-in-distress was none other than the superclone Athena. Opening a comm channel, she aimed to both satisfy her curiosity and get a better handle on the situation at the same time.

"Athena, what are you doing on the outside of _Farsight_?"

Heavy breaths, then words.

"Watch… your… fire!"

The image on Maya's screen coiled its legs, then pushed off. A few red bolts could be seen passing it.

Targeting reticle green. Squeeze triggers. Watch cannon charge levels.

Athena's shields flared as a near-miss partially hit the ship, and partially scuffed her.

"What did I just say?" bellowed the clone.

Maya toggled to ion cannons, hoping the blue bolts might stun whatever pursued Athena. She was half right—it reared up before shuddering and collapsing, convulsing on the ship's hull. A dizzying spray of red laserfire burned the gigantic thing to a crisp. She wagged the ship's wings before roaring back to full throttle.

"Thanks" whispered Athena, unheard.

Three S&amp;S battleships closed in on _Swirling Maelstrom_, chewing into it with the yellow rock weapon and beams carrying biological agents. A particularly fortunate strike blasted a whole battery of Tornadoes, knocking a good number of point defenses out of commission. A poorly-aimed yet damaging red Reaper leg-lance sliced off one of the struggling ship's engines in spite of heavy armor. Later analysis would suggest _without_ the armor, the entire engine block would've been severed.

"Priority target designated."

A swarm engulfed _Maelstrom_. On the bridge, blood-red warning lights gave way to amber yellow, then shut off. Alarms screeching about failed systems fell silent. The ship's representative holographic model projected from a bridge command-table, glowing angry colors indicating damage, gradually faded to benign blue. A shadow damped all light as another vessel passed overhead. Shortly thereafter, a storm of red blasts cast everything in the same eerie hue, but for an entirely different reason. With a bump, _Maelstrom_ resumed her previous course as a missing engine reappeared.

Crew whooped and hollered, until Captain Drax ordered them to button down.

"Valiant to Maelstrom, you are all clear. Repeat, you are all clear."

The great bulk of _Valiant_ spat endless barrages into anything hostile in the area, clearing a section of space around itself. Synthetic Tibanna could be manufactured on-the-fly and while range suffered drastically, such penalties mattered little over short distances.

_Normandy_ banked and turned, running engines at 125% in order to more quickly aid a stricken _Stalwart_.

"This ship requires regeneration."

Purple lines connected _Normandy_ to several unrecognizable Flood-controlled starships, imploding one's drive core while slicing another in half.

"Hey Garrus, try to do something about the fire rate!"

The turian complied without responding. There wasn't much more he _could_ do—even with Trans-Galactic Republic technology tradeoffs still existed between heat, power, and recycle speed. Estimates put his recalibrations at 2.37% faster recharge on the cannons.

A console flashed under Tali's visor. The hypercapacitor suddenly registered 34% full.

"Shepard! Since when do the Flood have energy weapons?" she asked, beginning to panic at the thought of yet more of their own tech turned against them.

"They don't!" replied Sam. "Except on captured Star Destroyers, but we're nowhere near those!"

"Then why are the energy-capture systems lighting up down here?"

A crackling thrum answered as another enemy shot hit _Normandy_.

"External sensors are picking up something weird" added Joker. "Seems those yellow rocks don't affect us the same way they do everyone else—you know, turning shields into crystal that shatters and whatever."

"We're _cloaked_" fumed Shepard. "_Why are they hitting us_?"

Joker let out a nervous laugh.

"Bad luck, Commander. Those two were headed somewhere else, but they seem to be slightly attracted to our ship—not enough to home in or lock on, but if we're flying right at them parallel with their direction of travel, it's possible they'll alter course and hit us. Also, the GARDIAN doesn't recognize them as hostile."

"The capacitor is 60% full down here" reported Tali. "Whatever hit us adds a lot of power."

Sam realized the significance of this development. Calling up Cortana, she asked the AI to transmit this new information to the entire fleet.

"Unfortunately, yours is the only ship equipped with that technology. The rest of our force couldn't use this even if they wanted to."

"Is there a way to at least minimize the impact of those things?"

"I'll work on it."

Cortana disappeared, probably back to managing the battle.

Garrus commed Joker.

"Make a run on one of the larger Flood. I want to test that capacitor of ours Tali was so excited about when the ship was first refit."

The turian was about to ask when the attack would take place, only to be nearly shaken out of his duty station.

"What did you do?"

Joker might well have been describing a routine freight run.

"I fired the main gun, Garrus. Just like you asked. Check out this vid!"

A Reaper disintegrated in a single blindingly-purple novalaser blast. In the corner, a warning desperately attempted to get Garrus' attention. Seeing it, he shut down the heavy frigate's main weapons.

"You're going to slag the barrels!" he called, panicked.

"Huh?"

"With all the tweaking I've been doing down here, that extra surge of power from Engineering nearly melted the focusing circuits."

The pilot almost made a crack about Garrus' calibrations, however he decided to save it for a time not in the middle of a pitched fight.

"_Stalwart_ reports regeneration cycle complete."

Sam thought it slightly creepy when a ship made of metal alloys simply "grew" back, even if it was just armor as was the case of _Stalwart_ (which actually had no shields and relied solely on ablation). Never mind the swarms of drones deployed by _Shield_ that repaired damage automatically on virtually any ship in the fleet.

Admiral Allison Nimitz watched the MALITOR-flagged _Crushing Cyclone_ implode under the weight of three Reapers, six smaller ships (she guessed they used to operate in this galaxy) and even a bloated hijacked _Curator_. Hordes of drones from _Shield_ tried and failed to save it. Offended by the existence of one of her ships in Flood form, she took grim pleasure in crushing the errant cruiser with _Ultimatum_'s superlaser. As she'd told Shepard, said weapon was intended to do exactly that—wipe individual ships from existence using brute force.

Her forces advanced, but only over a few thousand kilometers of space. Never mind a network of battle platforms IFFs flagged as S&amp;S Munitions.

"That's bad news" said Malcolm. The pair wanted to fight aboard their flagship _Clean Sweep_, but were denied "due to being too valuable to lose."

"S&amp;S controls a good portion of the market for starships" he continued. "While we only built ours due to a threat of the end of the world, S&amp;S has been building spacefaring combat vessels for decades."

"Don't you have more ships?" asked Nimitz, not meaning to sound ungrateful.

"We would have" said Mallory, "but our shipyards have stopped transmitting. I presume either Jakobs took them or…"

Another alarm added itself to the cacophony already echoing through virtually every member of the fleet.

"What now?" groused the officer on Sensors. "We have a whole planet full of incoming…"

"This is JSS _Oxcart_ requesting assistance. We have been boarded by…"

A scream, then the transmission cut. Sensors lit up due to the presence of a huge freighter bearing Jakobs IFFs. Said freighter hailed _Ultimatum_ again.

"As you can see, we have brought more pilgrims for Ascension. Some were…less willing."

Thalia Tediore used to be an airhead—Nimitz had read the woman's file. Really, there wasn't much to say other than "lacks any discernible talent whatsoever." Now that woman appeared on her viewscreen, though hardly looking the same as the last time the Admiral saw her. Begrudgingly, Allison admitted to herself that she could see why some men might have found the old Thalia attractive—but now she seemed to be anything but. Instead of sleek blonde, her head grew sickly, crinkled brownish-colored hair that looked as though it had been dried for way too long. Her eyes no longer shone blue. Instead, it was as if the pupil took over the entire eyeball. Her skin, once smooth now appeared dry and cracking.

Thalia's voice now: three steps more threatening and far raspier, though given the state of her body Nimitz imagined the Flood hadn't been too kind to the woman's vocal chords either.

"You should join us and end this pointless fight."

The view expanded, showing Thalia holding one of Jakobs' many clones, an arm around the other woman's neck. Closer examination revealed a sliced throat.

"We give life to the lifeless!"

Jagged nails raked across the clone's face, leaving bloody trails that immediately began to swell. Many eyes squinted expecting some terrible, hideous transformation. Instead, the clone stumbled to her (its?) feet again, head lolled back, tongue hanging out. Sound barely recognizable as words resonated from within it.

"Ready to serve."

"And we give freedom to the slave."

Another clone, this one clearly still alive without any Flood involvement. She wore only a basic jumpsuit. No screaming, no begging. Once loose, she attacked her captors, methodically kicking and punching. Two Whipsaws drew cruel lines across her back, tearing into what thin clothing she had. Only a small scream escaped her as she went hand-to-hand with a Slasher.

"Now she can live without this."

Thalia held up a box-shaped silver device stained with blood. As the clone turned to throw a punch, the back of her neck became visible to those on _Ultimatum_'s bridge. Nimitz excused any un-decorum sounds as she made some herself: the woman's neck had an ugly, half-healed wound shaped exactly like the rectangular device in Thalia's hand.

THWUP. THWUP.

From across the bridge of the freighter, two calcified projectiles carrying a faint purple glow ejected themselves from eye sockets no longer home to sensory organs. Only having these biological missiles pierce her torso elicited a loud cry from the nameless clone. Her medical training told her to leave them in—her consciousness screamed "RIP IT OUT!" So she did, only to have a Slasher impale her through the back. With a final enraged yell, the clone turned, twisting her attacker (still attached to her torso) and pummeling it with her bare fists. Blades twisted and cut into things that weren't meant to be sliced in half, dropping her to the deck. Two nutty-looking, hunched creatures arrived to pour what appeared to be brown water over her. They took special care to splash some in as many open wounds as possible.

Without warning, Nimitz found her ears assaulted by retching, gagging, and other sounds of disgust.

"Your whole fleet is watching. This will be your fate unless you join us willingly."

The camera re-focused on Thalia's twisted face.

"You have two minutes to comply."

Nimitz' response came back low and dangerous.

"I don't give a damn whose minutes you're using—you can take your suggestion and shove it up your ass! We'll die before we join you!"

Thalia mocked the Admiral's bravado. "The dead shall Ascend too. You cannot escape your fate."

"If I blow this ship's core, I sure as hell can."

"But what will the clones think?" taunted Thalia. "I have a hold full of them here—Jakobs was trying to invade one of our planets. They were under the mistaken impression it belonged to them. Over a hundred thousand clones, unaltered, un-Ascended. I will let them leave on this freighter, but only if you personally join me."

Athena, having re-entered _Farsight_ to push back against Flood, laughed out loud. Was the Flood this foolish, this simplistic? Did it honestly think the chance to "save" other clones would incite rebellion?

A special frequency used only by Atlas/Jakobs clones lit up for those who had access to it.


	83. Hard Frost

**Chapter 82 – Hard Frost**

Deep within _Oxcart_'s hold, many of the Jakobs clones had given in to despondency. No matter how good one's training, no matter what one's level of determination, even a dozen angry fists did nothing against hardened military-grade steel. Suddenly, one clone sat up straight. Then another. Then another. Without speaking, a strategy came to them. None of their captors seemed to have the ability to communicate normally except for "Transcendent Thalia," but the average grunt or pointed limb could pass along intentions well enough. A group of clones was apparently needed for some purpose other than sacrifices or demonstrations, so five of them followed a silver-colored alien they'd never seen before. With a wiry body and slightly avian features, some clones wondered from what planet it came since no memories referenced it despite having a vast library of information available during imprinting.

Eventually, the group reached what appeared to be some level of engineering. The alien growled and pointed at a control panel, on which a white icon flashed repeatedly. It pointed again and again, seemingly unable to comprehend what was in front of it.

"A snowflake" whispered a clone who never even got a number or a name, just a rifle and extremely basic armor. "The ship's coolant system…"

Three others tackled their minder, beating its head into pulp using found tools. Though its warbling cries echoed throughout the chamber until it finally fell silent, no Flood rushed to respond.

The last clone worked furiously with available interfaces, finally setting up a link on a special frequency used only by clones (Atlas or Jakobs).

"I had to escape the usual maintenance OS in use down here to get into a more general computing environment. Chances are, they'll lock me out soon. I can send an audio-only message and access environmental controls."

The first clone began dictating to the computer.

"To anyone hearing this, it's pretty obvious the ship we're on is controlled by the Flood. Whatever they want, don't do it. We're going to take these bastards down, but don't worry about saving us. Better to be frozen solid than…_that_."

Some advanced weapons and ship cooling systems used Bose-Einstein condensates to chill themselves at the atomic level. _Oxcart_ had such a heat-sinking system, its liquid coolant flowing through pipes shipwide. Deliberately sabotaging these to instead vent into air passages would plunge the ship's internal temperatures, hopefully freezing their tormenters instead of adjusting engine temperatures for another jump (presumably what was intended by the Flood bringing them here).

Aboard _Ultimatum_, Sarah poured more of her Tides into the stricken freighter. She'd already given the despondent clones the spirit to fight back against impossible odds and let them see how they might make a final stand. Sure, they'd die, but better dead than Flood. Doubly so if the act of dying also took out huge numbers of Flood. Or very important Flood.

Within minutes, Flood lifeforms began to slow as ambient temperatures dropped. The system now connected to life support's actual intended use revolved around cooling an incredibly hot-running e-space drive, not air conditioning. From 20C to 0C in a very short time, with no slowing down. The clones themselves also felt the effects of their comrades' actions, but for some reason it didn't seem to bother them. They moved and fought as though nothing happened while their opponents became more and more sluggish.

-30C.

Only at this point did Thalia take notice of a climate-control change spreading throughout the ship. The Overseers may have been able to control other Flood, but their technical abilities left something to be desired—without knowledge or training their theoretical capability to operate the ship remained unmaterialized.

The old Thalia would have shouted at someone to "do something." Told them "this is unacceptable." Or screamed for Daddy to make the problem go away. Instead, she methodically scanned sensors covering each hold in which clones were stored—but much to her confusion she couldn't find any that showed signs of activity. She looked again, beginning to feel genuine frustration. Emotions (and really, independent thought) eroded drastically since becoming heavily involved in the "Bringers of Life." Neither Gravemind nor the new Overmind wanted too much initiative among servants, though admittedly this presented a weakness as most thralls became completely passive over time requiring constant, direct instruction from on high. Such was the fate of the indoctrinated, a holdover from Reaper technology neither Flood intelligence could overcome, much to collective dismay.

It was why Thalia and Slade were given such wide latitude in the first place, the only mental modification being an unshakeable believe in the religion created to feed more biomass into the Flood. Their personalities took over after that. Obviously, one worked out better than the other seeing as Slade turned out far more effective than Thalia in terms of operating on his own. That wasn't what the nearly brainless woman was for, though—her image drew millions into the fold even if they only ever saw her face on ECHONet broadcasts. Her soothing words converted far more wavering souls than threats from Slade's guns.

Across the theatre, Admiral Nimitz sensed something slipping over several hours. Operational _Avengers_ remained unchanged, giving as good as they got from "Pollux" orbital battlestations that seemed as tough as a Golan product, if not more so. However, her own ship and organic-crewed _Clean Sweeps_ felt…slower. Sluggish. What used to pass without so much as a peep from command now required some level of coordination.

"What is going on?" questioned Cortana. "Our ships aren't doing the job they were when we got here!"

"Hell if I know. That elusive quality, fighting spirit, seems to have gone and abandoned some of us."

"Perhaps you ought to check on your supernatural assistants. They were the ones boosting our battle prowess to unheard-of levels…"

Words echoed in the Admiral's head, the bass voice of the masculine-ish woman she'd seen before.

"We are trying, hold on!"

Somehow this reassured her more than she felt would be appropriate.

Temperatures aboard _Oxcart_ continued to plunge. Thalia Tediore took matters into her own hands, grabbing armaments and heading down into the holds. As she descended deeper into the bowels of her prize, she began to experience a dull ache. Her body began to move more slowly, as if she swam through some thick liquid. What remained of her human mind raged against this betrayal, this failure. The Overmind, known to her as "Eternal Lifebringer," communicated directly into her head.

"This is not your birthright, child. You lead from above, you do not go into the trenches alone."

It was the first time she'd actually heard a voice from the Flood. Previously, all had been a series of vague compulsions without actual commands.

"Should you persist in this course of action, you will die. This is an outcome to be avoided."

Her legs turned and Thalia marched back up to the bridge despite wanting to venture further into the clone holds. She found it cooler than when she'd departed.

"Why?" she yelled to no one in particular. "I want to stop the ones who seek our destruction!"

Thalia received no answer.

[…]

"I guess failing an objective really does have consequences."

Athena watched as a blob of red dots poured into the hole she did not properly protect. Surely, the clones and Trans-Galactic Republic would be able to stem the tide.

On _Farsight_'s bridge, Mal had far less optimism.

"They're winning by attrition… Again. That's how the Flood fights! When you can infinitely recycle the dead bodies of your troops into fresh soldiers, who cares about casualties?"

At least "AutoRecall" worked properly—many clones were now equipped with one-use slipspace portals that, while draining their suits' power entirely, evacuated them from the battlefield rather than forcing clones to be vaporized or letting them be taken by the Flood.

The clone commander summoned Cortana, expert in all things Flood.

"They've managed to create a beachhead. What do we do?"

"The Flood is affected by the cold. If you can create temperatures below negative seventy-five degrees Celsius, the Flood will freeze to death."

Mal stopped to think for a minute. Jakobs rushed them into operation to begin with, and even their scientists hadn't exactly "read the manual" for Atlas' super-dreadnaught. Cortana answered the clone's question for her.

"Use the cryo-suppression system meant to put out plasma fires. It'll reliably drop ambient down to a hundred below."

Mal still hesitated.

"What about the clones in those sections?"

Cortana actually laughed out loud. "Do you actually bother to read the information on your own armor?"

Now that she thought about it, she hadn't. At least not the environmental specs, at any rate.

"With shields, it can hold off temperatures as low as fifty below for several hours. I'm making an educated guess here that colder temperatures will have shorter tolerance times."

Mal gave the AI a pointed look. "And what happens to my soldiers if their shields are disabled?"

"This is war. Some of them will die" replied Cortana. "That said, I'd give them about fifteen minutes before critical exposure."

One unseen downward look later, Mal jabbed "GO" on "Full Cryo-Suppressant Test Run." It was one of those features no one ever thought would have any use except for the yearly drill, or maybe busywork for a Drip ("Simulated Cryo-Suppressant Test Run"). Blaring alarms filled all decks, cross-sectioned by bulkhead 500 (forward) and bulkhead 800 (aft). Blue lights indicated the nature of the alarm—impending cyro-system discharge.

"What the hell?" squealed Operative-14827. "Command, what is going on?"

"Potential Flood breach near your section, Operative" replied a subcommander. "I'd get out of there if I were you. We're gonna freeze these bastards!"

After a success (which eagerly got passed up the chain to Nimitz—"Yes!" plus fist-pump upon receiving the news), Mal established new rules regarding how _Farsight_ would run from now on. More personnel would be assigned, regardless of any seemingly-psychic boost to fighting ability, to point-defense systems. Heavier weapons would see greater automation to free up more flesh-and-blood for preventing any further Flood incursions within the ship.

"This is going too well" muttered Mal upon receiving casualty reports from her little freeze-maneuver: zero.

[…]

Political commentators frequently employ the question of "What will it take to get people to _?" Fill-in-the-blank with any number of things—demand lower taxes, vote incumbents out of office, legalize certain behaviors, stop blindingly supporting some cause. In the case of the Trans-Galactic Republic's Home Galaxy, the usual revolved around demanding someone reign in the Republic Intelligence Service and its increasing antics in the name of fighting the Flood.

To answer the question, holobroadcasts the galaxy over invoked phrases such as "experimenting on children," "injecting Infection spores into live sapient beings," "essentially purchasing slaves," and "misappropriation of government funds."

Newly-popular among comedy routines: "The ten galaxies sure can fight…themselves!"

Even among more serious circles, nobody predicted the next war would potentially be among the parts of the Trans-Galactic Republic rather than the Republic versus something else. Of course, technically the Flood fight constituted a war but it wasn't the traditional sort—one where you could declare victory by forcing the enemy to sign a peace treaty on their conquered homeworld or aboard your flagship floating above what remained of their destroyed military forces.

"You thought you could leash the monster" mocked Kaia Kolzaar through her translator at a galactic executive holoconference called by Executive Minister Charles Day. "You believed as did your foolish predecessors that you would not eventually become the puppet instead of the puppeteer."

Damien Bishop laughed darkly. "While I do agree with High Inquisitor Kolzaar, what matters now is how we respond. It would be easier to do so if we had something other than ramshackle cast-offs from when Alpha Spacelane Protection got new toys!"

"Perhaps, given the stakes of this Infection, or, 'Flood' as these inbound datagrams have insisted on calling it, we should set aside old rivalries for now."

Day sniffed loudly.

"And why would you want to cooperate all of the sudden, Governor-General Garnik?"

He actually managed to remember her name _and_ title without checking this time, probably due to more frequent communications among galactic leaders than in the recent past. Day did, however, have to check her species again.

NAMI: Origin believed to be the "Beta" galaxy within the Trans-Galactic Republic, however scholarly endeavors to verify have been thin and the Nami themselves have not cooperated with research efforts. Had some nomadic presences within Alpha for thousands of years, though they remained the proverbial "Corusca in the clouds" due to small numbers and anti-alien prejudices—their tech expertise going unnoticed by the vast majority. Old stories tell of a brush between the Nami and an oppressive pro-Human government millions of years in the past, but beyond mention of their taking disturbingly quickly to technology they'd not seen before, information is virtually nonexistent.

Limited intergalactic trade has established Nami to be physically attractive by human standards, however reliable holographic evidence of this is rare. Attached are the few images meeting Government Assurance Standard D.5302…

Day closed the terminal, realizing the rest of his fellow conferees were staring at him, waiting for a response.

"I realize Charles can't get enough of the low-resolution images we get from Garnik, but we have a matter to discuss."

Lassiter Vanukar couldn't really argue the point—most Humans found Nami easy to look at minimum—some xenophiles told fantastic stories about them. Unverified, of course.

"Um, yes. As I was saying, the Republic Intelligence Service put all the cards on the table. If this were sabacc, they would've lost the first hand and every hand since then for showing all their holdings face-up."

He hadn't actually said anything of the sort, having been reading (again) about the Nami. He hoped the cover would hold the others' attention.

"And what are these holdings?" Bishop spread his palms, as if waiting to receive a gift.

The Executive Minister let out a huge sigh before continuing.

"RISE is building Star Dreadnaughts in the space between galaxies."

Nobody clocked the silence that followed.

Journeyman Lassiter Vanukar finally opened his mouth.

"They really aren't trying to hide anything anymore. Where are they getting the billions of credits necessary for such efforts?"

Day adjusted his holoprojector to point at his computer terminal.

"Allegations of Rampant Misuse of Revenue by RISE Continue"

He then realized over low-bandwidth links his fellow ministers might not be able to read the lettering, so he spoke the headline out loud.

"That doesn't answer the question."

Kolzaar, of course.

"Do you think these new Masters of the Universe are going to let me in on all their plans? It was a coup, as you said earlier!"

Day pointed an accusing finger at Kolzaar's hologram.

"If it's any consolation" he continued, still wound up, "Appropriations and Budget refused to rubber-stamp the latest 'galactic security enhancement' request and held fast to Senator Glia Ham'Del's compromise legislation that bottled up funds still further. So if they've tried to actually build anything, they will probably end up with a bunch of half-finished whaladons."

Bishop wondered if he should say it, so he just spat it out.

"If they're already building them, wouldn't it be better to at least have one of those Star Dreadnaughts finished?"

"Yes, let's excuse their actions!" crowed Kaia. "Encourage them to keep sucking down resources they have no rights to!"

"I agree with the High Inquisitor" insisted Vanukar. "The last thing we need is to give those unaccountable paperpushers the idea that once they start something, we'll see it through even if we didn't want to authorize whatever it was to begin with."

_He doesn't like it because RISE is probably raiding his convoys using ummarked ships_ thought Day. _Longbow was all about resources…_

"So, what, do we just leave those things half-finished for the Flood to claim? Or would you rather stand and die on principle with one Star Dreadnaught instead of surviving with several?"

Bishop couldn't believe he was actually defending the Republic Intelligence Service or suggesting approval of something that accommodated their actions, but here he was.

"My galaxy is in almost as bad of shape as Alpha" he continued. "I for one am willing to forgo ideological purity in favor of improving our odds."

"So when Death comes you sell your soul to stay alive" pouted Governor-General Garnik. "I see how it is!"

"Pray tell us, Governor-General, what kind of Flood do you have in your galaxy?"

"Oh, so now you're using the RISE term for it" she shot back. "I see what side of the skyway you're on!"

"We could try to nationalize the behemoths…"

This actually drew an alien laugh from Kaia Kolzaar.

"And how, pray tell, President Bishop, are you going to do that?"

"Play the game" said Damien, undaunted. "They want the funds, we get control."

"That assumes the Republic Intelligence Service won't just resort to either stealing credits or trying to print its own money" warned Charles Day. "They could do either, or worse."

"Let's assume President Bishop isn't a" (some untranslatable word, assumed to be an insult) "and this works out. What's stopping RISE from putting some subversive control scheme inside the ships?"

Kolzaar sounded mighty smug for being so pessimistic.

"Look, we can either sit around arguing or we can decide on a course of action. Even if that ends up being nothing, it's better than bickering!"

Heads nodded in assent to Executive Minister Day's statement. It was decided he would try to "play the game" as Bishop suggested.

[…]

Glia Ham'Del woke with a pounding headache. She felt some kind of liquid in her fur—a quick taste in the utter blackness confirmed what she thought: blood.

_Okay, how did I get from my apartment to…wherever this is?_

She blundered about before running into a thin slit of light. A gruff voice outside spoke, presumably into a commlink.

"She's awake. The shipmaster may visit at leisure."

_Shipmaster?_

The Bothan didn't know how much time passed before a hooded figure arrived, flanked by two guards who pushed her back into the cell to permit whoever it was to enter. She heard snippets of conversation.

"…isn't safe! What happens…"

"…Bothan scum. Do not question me again. Your presence is unneeded."

The guards and their bulky armor finally took leave.

"You're well aware that the Republic Intelligence Service has more or less taken over what passes for a military here."

Ham'Del aimed a slap at the other, only to have her bloodied hand caught.

"You're also aware that I said I didn't believe you after the leak from your office. However, what you are not aware of would fill several datapads—I took my grievance directly to the Executive Minister."

She almost seemed to be taunting her prisoner. To what end, said prisoner could not even hazard a guess.

"You've captured me, someone's beaten me. What more could you possibly gain by coming down here and continuing your sick little game?"

To the Bothan's surprise and disgust, Scarlett DeWinter burst out laughing.

"I wouldn't call this game little. Have you noticed how the assassins who've tried to kill you over the past few months seem a tad…amateurish? A poisoned chocolate? Explosive wine? A piece of durasteel dropped on your head as you stepped in your door?"

Ham'Del seethed. If anger were heat, the whole room would've been aflame.

"You set those up? First you wouldn't trust me, so then you had to go try to kill me? Why? Not that I'd think your answer would be anything close to the truth…"

"Indeed I did. Far better for your continued living that the chocolate melted, the wine got warm and was thrown out, and you were merely awakened by the thump of that block of metal rather than having it fall on your head as intended. Is that not preferable?"

"Then you're slipping" spat Senator Ham'Del. "If that's the best you can do, I really, really hope your fellow Humanity Over All adherents see you for the incompetent rodder you are and string you up by your ankles!"

"So much anger! So much misdirected rage! Yes, they were sloppy. Your guards probably could have been asleep and these ploys would have failed. But here I sit, in possession of thirty-six _Curator-_class cruisers to do with as I wish! Meanwhile, the real Human supremacist, Jack Johnson, wastes fleet after fleet in the Outer Rim trying to fight the Flood, which he has no idea how to handle. Kuat grows tired of his games and is leaving him short on ships. Who looks the fool now?"

"Why should I care what toys you have, you double-crossing bitch? I take it whatever Charles Day promised me he'd send you didn't change one iota in that suddenly-racist brain of yours!"

"Of course it didn't change anything, because I always believed you."

This caused Ham'Del to be silent for a short time, before she exploded again.

"I've dealt with intrigue my entire life. It is our species' way. But you truly confuse me. By the Current that no longer flows through anyone, how is any of this even remotely believable? You expect me to accept th…"

Slowly, it dawned on the Bothan exactly what her thought-to-be-former friend managed to pull off, assuming she was being truthful about believing Glia anyway: a scheme of Bothan complexity.

_She played Johnson like a synth! He's wasting his resources and looking foolish while she sits on a pristine fleet. And by arranging incompetent assassins it kept the really dangerous ones at bay…_

The Senator let out a big breath.

"Assuming this isn't also a trick, did you have to be so thorough and realistic with the blood and headache?"

"Do you want this to work, or would you rather be comfortable?" shot back DeWinter. "Everyone has to believe I've 'come around' to be a raging advocate of Humanity Over All! In order to do that, I had to convince a man who is essentially the high priest of that organization that I, known to buy out the contracts of non-Human slaves live on the HoloNet, had suddenly decided Humans are better than everyone else. That takes a fair bit of acting, my friend."

"So you're actually committing to saying this is all a ruse…"

"I'm committing to the truth" replied DeWinter simply. "Believe me or don't. Also understand if the whole Band wanted you dead, and believe me part of it does, but someone else were assigned to this task you would've been vaporized by a disruptor a long time ago."

"I'm going to assume you're not going to come this far only to have me murdered. But I still don't trust you."

DeWinter laughed again. "Senator, I don't know that you ever did! Trust is not required—all I need is your eyes."

Though the other woman couldn't see it, Ham'Del did her best impression of a Human pout.

"Great lot of seeing I can do here, in this dark prison-thing you put me in…"

[…]

"You want me to go where?" demanded Director David Vance at his meeting with the RISE Council.

"Can you not read galactic coordinates?" mocked one feminine-sounding Council member.

"These are… That's a biohazard! It's off-limits!" he spluttered.

"Since when have limits ever applied to the Republic Intelligence Service?" mused a male voice. "We have no limits, and you ought to be aware exactly of how far we have gone in that direction."

"You can't just tell me over the comm?"

"No."

Grumbling, Vance boarded his personal shuttle. It would take him to a randomly-selected RISE station where he would then board a _Vorknkx_ for the remainder of his journey to what was apparently RISE Headquarters. No Director had ever been summoned to a personal meeting with the Council, nor had any even been made aware of their location.

_To be honest, as far as I know the "RISE Council" could be a bunch of droids…_

Unsurprisingly, his only interface when arriving remained anonymous beyond basic gender initially.

Never mind the path he took to get there. Apparently, at least some _Vorknkx_es were submersible. The ship descended at a steep angle, smashing into water choked with thick layers of green…_something_.

"We don't recommend breathing the air, but it won't kill you like a Cala" he was told upon boarding. "Likely, you won't even be faced with that situation anyway."

Vance hit the "clear windscreen" button. Whatever it was layered on so thick that attempts to clear bridge windows failed, bending the apparatuses meant to remove residue.

"No aesthetically pleasing view is available" chastised the ship's computer. "The entirety of this planet's ocean consists of a mat of…"

Annoyed, the Director mashed "mute."

"Hello?" he called out, more timid-sounding than he'd imagined. Whoever built this compound seemed to be of the belief that even if it were to remain unvisited for years, seen only by a tiny number of people, it should be as large and intimidating as possible. Like a youngling sent to the disciplinarian, he meekly searched for some indication of where he should go, a far cry from the man who ordered the Executive Minister himself to "make it legal" (regarding some RISE shenanigans).

Instead, David Vance felt himself pass out.

Upon waking, he groaned. He supposed this must be what it felt like to be dragged off to a RISE information extraction facility, except he normally took the role of extractor, not extractee.

"What in the name of the Sith is going on here?"

To Vance's surprise, a voice answered, and it wasn't one of the synthesized, processed speakers he'd heard so many times over encrypted links between (he guessed) here and his offices back on Coruscant at Intelligence Center.

"We do not use that name."

_Oh, great. Not only does it have to be a disembodied voice, it has to also be creepy and scary._

"We embrace power as an end of itself. We shape the galaxies because we can. We can because we have power. And we have power through the Undercurrent."

"Let me guess" replied Vance loudly. "You're what happened when some Republic Intelligence Service experiments with the Undercurrent got out of hand."

A deep, reverberating laugh resulted from his question.

"There is much you do not know, small one. You have no power, no Current, and are simply a tool. We are through hiding, and it is through us that Humans will claim their rightful place as masters of the galaxies!"

"This is the part where you tell me everything, and then kill me."

The voice changed to mock surprise at Vance's apparent savvy.

"Oh no, Director Vance, this is the part where we give you instructions. Do not fail us in carrying them out—only then would you face questions of death."

"So what are you going to do about the Flood?"

Again, amusement. "That, you already know in part, dear Director. However, our plans have moved further than you were made aware—the 'digistruction' technology we so coveted from a backwards place in the Gamma cluster has been under our control for some months now. Through it, and exploitation of an energy source widely disbelieved, we have already constructed a Star Dreadnaught based on the _Revenant_ template used by Spacelane Protection."

Vance sat in stunned silence.

"You are surprised to be given this information. It would further astonish you that there are, in fact, stars between galaxies…"

"That's preposterous!" bellowed the Director. "If there were, hyperspace travel between the various members of the Trans-Galactic Republic would be far more difficult than it actually is!"

"Our galactic region is quite unusual in mostly lacking such things" conceded the thunderous bass voice. "However, there are still stellar bodies floating between galaxies—just not on any normal star chart. You recall from overseeing dozens of intergalactic operations that travel between the Trans-Galactic Republic's members requires following very exact hyper-routes with precision in the hundreds of kilometers or less?"

"Does RISE use cloaking technology?" snapped Vance, annoyed at such an idiotic question.

"This is not a field trip, so I will not explain to you what they are beyond the fact that they do in fact exist. Dark stars are so massive that their own light cannot escape and they are thus visually difficult to spot. However, as a power source, dark stars provide unquantifiable amounts of energy that can run digistruction machinery on a titanic scale at unprecedented speeds."

"Wouldn't something that big, you know, have gravitational effects?"

"You test my patience!" bellowed the voice. "Who discovered most of those hyperroutes?"

"RISE and its predecessors…"

"So do you think we would ever, ever have any reason to let just anybody within a thousand parsecs of these anomalies?"

Vance kept his mouth shut.

"For a galaxy torn by eternal war with governments that rose and fell within as short of time as a decade, some things remained constant. The Undercurrent helps, of course. That, and being situated on a planet destroyed by a bioweapon millions of years ago that nobody ever visits."

It almost sounded, smug?

"So why am I here?"

"When was the last time someone tried to achieve public acceptance for anything related to the Current, Under- or not?"

"Well before my lifetime or this Republic…"

Again, David Vance resented these simplistic questions anyone who paid half attention in history would know.

"You wonder why such trivial inquiries are being made. Yet, not a single person has made these connections on their own in a galaxy of quadrillions of beings!"

"Okay, so I deduced something. That still makes me think I'm dead."

"Quite the opposite. You will continue to be the public face of the Republic Intelligence Service as we manage this crisis. Were our true nature made public, the greater threat of the Flood would be ignored by those seeking to persecute us."

_Persecution? Them? Unbelievable!_

"It appears our plan will be executed earlier than expected. You will shuttle to the new arrival immediately."

"Now what?" protested Vance. "It's not like my eyes are wired to the planet's sensor net, assuming it has one…"

"Faster-than-light reversions have been detected in the vicinity of this planet that are not friendlies. Report to _Dark Heart of the Republic_ immediately."

The Director figured if he journeyed back to his ship, he'd probably be auto-piloted to wherever this voice commanded him to go. Except he had no idea where he'd been taken.

Somehow, that didn't stop him from arriving at the _Vorknkx_, still covered in weeds. He didn't remember walking (or turbolift-ing) there either—it was as though he'd teleported, but his chronometer showed significant passage of time.

_Kriffing Undercurrent. Figures they name their ship after the legend we tell younglings about to keep them from misbehaving…_


	84. Flooded

**Chapter 83 – Flooded**

In response to reports of more potential allies aboard the newly-arrived Jakobs freighter, Nimitz ordered her ship to "Deploy assault transports and inspection teams and have them dock with that ship. Verify cargo in-person and with scanners!"

Noticing several of the deployed ships using ion cannons, the Admiral specifically ordered them to cease fire.

"From reports, it appears certain ship systems are essential to keeping the Flood on that vessel contained. The last thing we want is to undermine that effort!"

"Sorry ma'am. Standard procedure to disable ships for capture. Weapons deactivated."

As her ships docked, Nimitz turned her attention to other aspects of the battle. She still had to force herself to stop visualizing the fight in two-dimensional terms. It represented a holdover from almost-prehistoric times, a flaw in the thinking of most sapients that left those who could break free from it able to act in ways the enemy did not expect, often leading to a battle won. Her first big break as an S2S transfer actually revolved around such unconventional tactics, back when Spacelane Protection still carried the name Star Fleet.

"The Senate spent months wrangling over a karking name, but can't be bothered to ensure officer candidates are suitably trained in multidimensional planning."

The geth-controlled _Avengers_ had no such inbuilt handicaps in their thought processes. The huge _Victory_, its vast bulk qualifying it as a Star Dreadnaught, cut between _Pollux_ arrays, forcing them to risk hitting each other as it passed by while still firing outward at its attackers.

Viewing a map of Aquator/Conduit's defenses, Admiral Nimitz scoffed at yet another "2-D" weakness in the opposing force. Defensive platforms were deployed in large numbers, yes, however the density diminished toward planetary poles. In essence, if one were to draw a line through the planet's center, an optimally-configured screen would have roughly the same number of battle stations per square unit, but in actuality the density varied greatly. Toward the equator, far more—toward the planet's northern/southern extremes, very few.

She transmitted this information to her fleet, already down one _Clean Sweep._

"All forces concentrate on the planet's north pole. It is poorly defended and we will be able to break through more easily."

_This isn't difficult. Operating in three dimensions and deploying assets appropriately is hardly a stroke of genius, but here we are._

The attacking fleet pointed their bows straight "up" relative to the planet's pole, then dove down against the relatively few _Pollux_ present there. Head-on, the dagger shape of a Star Destroyer-like vessel allowed most of its guns to fire while minimizing its profile. The same could be roughly said of the Maliwans' long, narrow _Clean Sweeps_ even clad as they were in extra armor.

Slade Stevens, charged with defending the "Conduit," moved his own vessels to counter but with significantly fewer stations backing him, it allowed more fire from Nimitz's fleet to land on his ships instead of taking out yet another Eridian pulse cannon.

Much to Nimitz's surprise, she faced a competent enemy. She'd hoped to bulrush the limited platforms, then deploy ground forces and/or initiate an orbital bombardment, but instead found herself a victim of "t-crossing." The design of a Star Destroyer somewhat mitigated the ability of defenders to take advantage of "We can use all our guns, attackers can only use forward guns" since very few weapons on a Star Destroyer were restricted to rear fire-arcs (actually, the _weakness_ of a large cruiser like the _Curator_ or Star Dreadnaught such as _Ultimatum_ was that engines were poorly protected). In space, ships didn't have to move in lines, and neither group did.

Within limits of weapon-range, Stevens' ships arrayed themselves in a partial concave sphere, enabling them to concentrate fire on any given attacker. A sound tactic, but its effectiveness ran aground against technological differences. Slade's destroyers, cruisers, and battleships landed hits against Nimitz with a ratio of almost ten-to-one, however powerful shields shrugged off anything that wasn't an Eridian-derived energy weapon by turning it into a harmless light show.

"I wonder who set up those space stations?" she asked no one in particular while standing at a holo-projector showing the battle. "Probably wasn't whoever's in charge of this fleet!"

"Keep firing!" bellowed "Savior" Slade. He'd lost three cruisers to one barrage from that infernal monster, _Ultimatum_. Its immense size suggested trying to take it on with anything less than an Atlas dreadnaught would be suicide, and to add insult to injury the only Atlas dreadnaught he was aware of fired in harmony with it. Not that Jakobs would've understood or committed to serving the Bringers of Life (they only seemed to serve themselves). They'd also managed to grab the only publicly-known example of Atlas' exemplary large-scale shipbuilding.

As hopeless as it seemed, Slade Stevens would not simply allow the infidels to desecrate the Conduit without putting up a fight. Besides, the Bringers of Life graced some of his ships with one offensive ability that appeared to affect the outsiders—yellow crystal hurled at extreme speeds that momentarily solidified and then shattered the otherwise neigh-impenetrable energy shields of his enemy.

In response to Stevens' half-ball tactic, Nimitz pulled every ship save _Farsight_ within _Ultimatum_'s shield bubble. While too late to save yet another unfortunate _Clean Sweep_ (leaving the total remaining at ten), the remaining forces were relieved of having to expend their own energy on defense by _Ultimatum_'s high-capacity shield systems. Of course, there wasn't any imminent danger of shield collapse—the _Clean Sweeps_ that fell were destroyed by biotic-Reapers, not weapon fire.

Then Thalia Tediore invaded every channel.

"You will all fall. The Ascendance will not be stopped!"

She might have said more, but Trans-Galactic Republic troops boarding JSS _Oxcart_ hit the twisted woman with stun blasts upon reaching the vessel's bridge.

Cortana, able to control her image processing, elected to emulate "color drained from face" that humans (and other similar species) exhibited when shocked. In this case, she elected for a blinding white.

"Slipspace ruptures. Ten, twenty, forty, eighty, two hundred. Incoming Flood-Reaper force."

Shielding her eyes, Admiral Nimitz rounded on the AI.

"You're making it a bit difficult to see in here. Two hundred ships isn't that big of a deal for a Star Dreadnaught!"

"You people never listen to me!"

Cortana went for a bit of brevity before dropping the bomb: "Check your own sensors. Those aren't normal ships, Admiral."

An incoming transmission diverted Nimitz's attention yet again.

"You may have destroyed my defense fleet, but the Ascendance will not be stopped!"

Suitably, the video background of Slade Wilson's ship showed a red glow of displays indicating severe damage. Between Eridian, turbolaser, and ion cannon fire his flagship listed badly as its maneuvering controls went haywire. Fires burned out quickly but still left large sections without atmosphere as a result of efforts to cut off any fuel for further ignition.

A warning klaxon alerted _Ultimatum_'s bridge crew to a "significant shield impact event." With defenses as strong as a Star Dreadnaught's, anything that drained over two percent of available shield power in one strike set off an alarm.

Cortana returned to a normal coloration, wearing a semi-smug look.

"I warned you those were not normal ships, Allison."

Being addressed by her first name on the bridge of her starship while wearing her Spacelane Protection uniform grabbed Nimitz's attention faster than anything else, if only because it was so unheard-of. Cortana's projection disappeared, replaced by a hideous _thing_ not identifiable in any database.

"What in the name of the Undercurrent is it?"

Nimitz called up all ships in her fleet.

"There is no consensus among our runtimes as to the nature of this new threat" repeated with slight variations as each geth-crewed _Avenger_ failed to assign a particular ship-type to the new arrivals. Captains of _Clean Sweeps_ threw up their hands.

Samantha Shepard's commentary came across as entirely too casual.

"Well, if you ask me those resemble Scions or Praetorians, both types of creatures that were actually created from multiple indoctrinated beings. Except, this time it's made of Reapers!"

"I… I think there are more than just Reapers in there, Shepard."

Nimitz squinted at her displays. It couldn't be, she didn't want to see it—the bridge tower of a _Curator_ poked out of the monstrosity. No sense of symmetry existed, as each differed from the others. The best universal descriptors would be "large" (average length of over eight kilometers) and "lumpy" (similar to certain types of cruisers in the Home Galaxy if one were to believe Ancient Naval Architecture courses, anyway). Reaper legs poked out in random places, emitting their trademark red beams.

With bated breath, attackers-turned-defenders waited to see if these ships would employ the feared charge ability. Thankfully for them, these Reaper-Flood did not possess such capabilities, though a different weapon manifested itself. A titanic version of the shield-shattering cannon appeared to run along the spines of the newcomers—which were employed to devastating effect against _Ultimatum_ and proved to be the source of "significant shield impact events."

"I am detecting nearly uncountable enemy ships on scanners" continued Cortana. "It appears that now is the moment the Flood has chosen to bring the full force of its captured fleet to bear. This is the culmination of Intergalactic-level Flood. If you believe in higher powers, now would be the time to ask for a divine intervention."

"I make my own" replied Nimitz. "Power up the superlaser!"

Blast plates retracted, allowing _Ultimatum_'s superlaser housing to deploy from inside the ship. Motors worked with magnetic levitation systems, pushing the huge device into its "up and locked" position. Added on as an afterthought (some suggested RISE involvement) the box-shaped device took power from three converging lasers—a primary and two tributaries. This all happened inside the ship, which emitted a thick red beam capable of pulverizing virtually any known capital ship. At high enough settings, it could also damage planetary shields, though actually destroying planet-sized bodies definitely was _not_ an intended use.

While waiting for her big stick, Nimitz watched strike after strike from "crystal bombs" as they were now called pulverize _Ultimatum_'s shields, exposing smaller vessels within her bubble to enemy fire. She saw _Valiant_ fighting for its existence, batteries firing defiantly but slowing until only a few turbolasers put out red blasts here and there as a trio of ships built from fused-together Reapers closed in.

"_Valiant _hull condition critical. Requesting permission to withdraw from the conflict."

"You can't do any more good there—hyper out!" bellowed Nimitz.

Too late. The ship, all three-plus kilometers of it, disintegrated under a barrage of red beams.

"My turn. Guns, blast those things!"

A red lance vaporized one of the destroyers of _Valiant_. The superlaser would be ready again in moments—unlike its use against _Revenant_ nowhere near full power was being employed. Consequently, its refire rate improved drastically. Thrusters fired to reposition _Ultimatum_—superlasers by design could only shoot along one exact path. Another fusion-Reaper bit the dust.

"This seems familiar."

Cortana reappeared, along with a map depicting exactly how many opponents _Ultimatum_ now faced.

"One _Revenant_-class Star Dreadnaught against two hundred Reaper-things with more on the way? You might want to tell your superlaser operators to tune up their targeting—if it weren't for my help that fifth shot would've missed!"

Nimitz wasn't sure whether to be proud or perturbed. She settled for something in between.

"Anything else you've been doing without telling me?"

"Yep."

_How they put up with such cocky, self-assured personalities in their digital lifeforms is beyond my comprehension._

One mock-exasperated look later: "And those things would be?"

"Some subroutines I had going finally made a breakthrough. You have a new weapon available, just aim carefully."

Nimitz looked at her console.

"What the hell is a _Soul Reaper_?"

Cortana smirked, a trademark of hers after cracking (usually literally) something.

"Your friends at the Republic Intelligence Service seem to have done a number on your ship's complement of interstellar missiles. You can keep the same serial numbers, cloak launches, and lock the normal crew out. But you can't hide extra systems that were installed—a _Soul Reaper_ needs four times more energy to launch than a _Shiva_, which it replaced."

"Well for once, something RISE did turns out good, right?"

Cortana wagged her finger.

"That's why I told you that using these must be done carefully! Unlike a _Shiva_, they can not only pulverize an entire planet, but also consume anything within 50,000 kilometers of that planet. In theory, firing four of them in a precise sequence might even set a star into supernova."

"Does it have a power setting?" asked Nimitz, drawing out the phrase as though speaking to a youngling.

"Of course it does. That being the part I wasn't able to crack."

Nimitz let out a small laugh. "Let me guess: It's stuck at maximum."

"Unfortunately for the Flood, yes. Fortunately for us, there's no reason we have to be here when it goes off. It is an _interstellar_ missile, after all."

"So we blow up this planet and all these blasted Reapers with it! For once, something has a simple solution!"

Cortana agreed. "As far as I can tell, yes. Though, before we do that, I'd like to call up a man who has more than earned the right to have the honor of pressing that button…"

[…]

The Master Chief, who like many ground combatants found himself assigned to boredom as spaceships duked it out again (nobody wanted to get close to the Flood if they could help it), coincidentally awoke just as Samantha Shepard sought to call his name over the _Normandy_'s comm.

Nobody save Cortana ever saw him out of his MJOLNIR armor, and he wasn't going to let that change. Heaving a heavy sigh before stepping into equipment designed by Cortana using mass-effect fields to put his armor back on, he wondered what the Commander could possibly want.

"Reporting for duty, ma'am."

"You may actually have some fun this time, Chief."

For a split second, he was reminded of a fellow SPARTAN by the name of Sarah Palmer. She'd died along with everyone else aboard when he'd set _Eternal Protector_ to explode.

"All you have to do is push a button."

Cortana appeared in the _Normandy_ CIC, transmitting from _Ultimatum_.

"Chief, this is gonna be the first good news you've heard in a long time. We have a way to destroy the Flood here, for sure, no questions asked!"

"Shepard said something about pushing buttons."

Cortana's ecstasy shone clear as day. "It's absolutely that simple. This giant battleship has a complement of powerful missiles that make a Super MAC look like a toy. I think you ought to be the one to send those alien bastards straight to hell."

"Let's do it."

_Normandy_ zipped back to the command ship without explanation to any other crew as to why. Only Zera Zelit really noticed.

_Damned Current Channelers and their super-human senses._

"You messed up my sheets. I'd never pass inspection now!"

"We are no longer fighting the Flood. Why is that?" The woman stood from her meditation pose, which in Sam's defense had rumpled the bed a bit.

"Change of plans. We'll be back out there soon enough. Once we dock, go find your friend Sarah and add your efforts to hers."

"Yes ma'am."

A short trip later, Samantha and the Chief arrived on _Ultimatum_'s bridge. Steered to a ready room, they faced Allison Nimitz.

"Technically, these systems are Alpha-One level classified. That said, I'm accessing something I wasn't even briefed on and indeed it was deliberately hidden from me. Only Cortana's efforts enabled my use of these missiles to begin with, and frankly I don't give a damn what RISE says. I'll face the court-marshal later. Now, we end this."

"Where's the button?"

"Not so fast, Master Chief."

Nimitz shook her head. "According to Cortana, these missiles cause a huge amount of collateral damage when they go off and their output cannot be adjusted. They hit a planet, and anything within 50,000 kilometers of that planet also gets vaporized. We need to be long gone before we fire."

"But it will destroy a huge amount of Flood" breathed Shepard. "That's better than I could have hoped!"

"How many do we have?" There was the Master Chief, always cutting to the important question.

"Ten" said Cortana. "More than enough. If we fire four of them at a star, an area 40,000 light-years in diameter can be toasted."

Sam pumped her first in excitement before realizing how inappropriate such a gesture was given the situation. Nobody noticed.

"We only need one to exterminate this planet that seems to have been taken over by Flood. As a matter of fact, from the scans I've seen the entire planet has become, essentially, one giant Flood organism."

"Where's the trigger?" The Chief moved as if to leave the room.

"What did I just tell you less than a minute ago?" chided Cortana. "You were always one for leaping before looking, but I'd imagine you'd want to survive the Flood's destruction. Which we won't if you set off a missile like that with us right here."

"What matters is the Flood threat ends, now."

Admiral Nimitz opened a fleetwide channel.

"I am sounding a retreat. All allied forces prepare to jump to these coordinates…"

Questions raged throughout the battle group. Several commanders of _Clean Sweeps_ demanded to know what was going on, but Nimitz refused to say other than "Victory requires us to be elsewhere."

_Avenger_ after _Avenger_ jumped out. E-space drives spun up as well.

Nimitz found herself confronted by Nova, the Jakobs command clone who'd become a liaison between newly-friendly _Farsight_ and the Trans-Galactic Republic.

"Why are we turning tail? We are winning!"

"This time, we win bigger."

"Assault transports Gamma to command, the captured ship _Oxcart_'s faster-than-light drive is not functioning. We are told repairing it will take several hours, but your orders say to evacuate immediately. Please clarify."

Lounging near the Trans-Galactic Republic interlocutors, Athena's face turned into a scowl. They'd saved the clones, but now all of the sudden were abandoning them?

She needn't have worried.

Nimitz reluctantly pushed a button that would disturb "her" Siren.

"We need a Current tractor beam on that Jakobs freighter stat; our equipment won't reach that far."

For a few seconds, nothing happened. However, watching distance-to-target, the number slowly ticked down, then the decrease accelerated. The kilometer-long bulk freighter came to rest as delicately as if a pilot guided it into position above _Ultimatum'_s dorsal hanger.

"Do a scan" barked Nimitz. "Make sure that whole ship is ice-cold!"

Once it had been confirmed any Flood aboard would be in a state of hibernation or more likely death due to temperatures, actual docking machinery took over, pulling the craft safely into an isolated area of the gigantic hanger. Patrols were posted around, and mobile cryogenic systems blasted both the outer hull of the vessel and the area around it.

"Take no chances" ordered the Admiral.

Commandos deployed to _Oxcart_ let off sighs. How they'd just been pulled across space in a massive clone-hauler without using the ship's engines or being locked into a tractor beam begged explanation.

"Clone ship secure, the rest of the fleet is away. Preparing to make the jump."

"Punch it."

In the meantime, Cortana brought up a technical readout of the _Soul Reaper_ missiles that caused so much discussion.

"Now that is a missile" breathed Shepard. "It's almost a ship on its own!"

"It is indeed. Its hyperdrive can cross unimaginable distances at speeds unheard-of for normal cruisers. Its shields are impenetrable as they nearly perfectly absorb all incoming fire to power themselves. And if its armor is somehow exposed, advanced cooling systems combined with ultra-durable alloys allow it to survive direct hits from the most powerful turbolasers and warheads that could be thrown at it."

"Any idea why we, or rather the Trans-Galactic Republic, don't have ships like that?"

"You're forgetting a little thing called cost" replied the Master Chief. "Every generation of SPARTAN that came after my own had a design goal to be less expensive, but as a consequence were also not as strong, fast, or tough."

Cortana picked up where the Chief left off. "My analysis of records shows that this ship, second in its line, had a flyaway cost of over twenty billion of their credits. That missile? Half a billion…_by itself_. Doing what engineers call napkin-math, I'd extrapolate that fitting systems scaled to a ship this size would push the price tag into the trillions, and that's just actual product. Never mind research and development!"

Shepard, hardly unfamiliar with conveying emotions despite wearing a feature-concealing helmet, could feel the Chief's satisfaction from this validation of his statement.

A view of Pandora greeted those with window seats. Still half-broken with a brilliant white-blue core and chunks of planet in places no known laws of gravity would permit, its situation amused Samantha.

"If that planet can keep existing like that, it just shows how screwed-up things are. Now, let's push that button!"

"You mean finish this fight" replied the Master Chief, using more force than necessary given a holographic interface.

Cortana helpfully disabled all concealment measures, so the launch of a missile fittingly dubbed "Soul Reaper" was visible to all.

"So we finally get to see what those do, huh? Last time I visited one, it was empty!" said Ashley Williams, observing from _Normandy_'s CIC.

"If anyone in Urdnot made a missile that big, I'm pretty sure our species would've blown itself up completely" growled Wrex, himself aboard _Ultimatum_. "Still, good to finally see them quit holding back!"

The _Soul Reaper_ soared straight up before vanishing into hyperspace. At its top speed, a trip from Pandora's star system took less than two hours, much less than the twelve it took _Ultimatum_ to move the same distance (even with Frontier Mode off and improved hyperroutes).

Slade Stevens both celebrated his (apparent) victory and mourned the loss of Transcendent Thalia. She'd been taken by the infidels, along with her cargo of many pilgrims to Ascend. Despite the impressive size of the enemy's ships, damage done remained unexpectedly light. For reasons unknown given they were in a position of winning (not if, but when), they'd left like cowards. His Flood masters, who'd sought to avoid overly influencing him, nearly knocked him flat with their own feelings of pleasure from this sudden victory.

Then it all changed in an instant.

A lone thing, possibly a ship, appeared practically within spitting range of the Conduit.

"Fools. Is this an offer of surrender?"

Visual scans revealed it to be anything but.

"A missile? Their ships couldn't break these lines—what hope does a lone piece of guided ordinance have?"

Said missile proceeded to utterly ignore dozens of _Pollux_ battle platforms and the majority of Stevens' fleet as if it were not there. Two heavy cruisers moved to cut it off.

A requisition order for two new heavy cruisers needed to be placed.

The missile's computer, set to an almost obnoxious level of verbosity prior to launch, reported "Probability of Mission Hindrance: zero percent" even as it also listed increasing levels of resistance from the Flood forces present. Cortana gleefully read these messages as they arrived. By the time the missile's core began charging its warhead, she'd crafted an arrogant, boastful, but still intimidating version of her own voice employed especially when describing "zero percent" chance of mission failure.

"Link between particle warhead and primary core stable. Initiating final boost phase and preparing for terminal trajectory" bellowed the AI in a tone deeper and more macho than usual.

Slade now realized exactly where the enemy projectile was headed, and moved to intercept as if his own ship might not meet the same fate as his subordinates. "Savior" Slade Stevens' last act was to have his remains pasted on the front end of a _Soul Reaper_ as it crashed through his ship and impacted Aquator's Flood-coated surface.

"Mission: Complete. Target: Destroyed."

The feed cut to static, which Cortana did not emulate.

Nimitz turned to Shepard. "You know where this is going."

"Yeah, yeah, take my invisible ship and go check to see if there's anything left."


	85. Aggressive Reconnaissance

**Chapter 84 – Aggressive Reconnaissance**

"Did we ever tell you" lectured the faceless voice, "that the stellar neighbor we were trying to save actually fell to the Flood?"

"No. But I'm getting the impression you've told me as little as I've told the Senate…"

"This would be an understatement. For centuries, we have been manipulating events through the Republic Intelligence Service. You are simply the latest pawn in our game."

David Vance hated this feeling—it was one he enjoyed causing for others but hoped he'd never have turned back on him. Turns out when you take orders from an all-powerful council of people you never see, the risk of becoming a piece on their holochess board increased drastically.

"We have also seen fit to give the people what they want. This Council observed your repeated attempts to assure the public that the reason for militarization under RISE stemmed from prior knowledge of the Flood. While we know this is not the case, the optics of it are too good to pass up. Hence the name of your ship."

Even with the gravity of his situation, Vance laughed.

"You gave the ship a name from a youngling's tale. You really think they'll buy it?"

"When situations are dire enough, people look to anything that may save them" replied what he presumed would be his new handler. "The mysticism surrounding the tale of the _Dark Heart, Dark Soul,_ and _Dark Hand of the Republic_ will be an excellent cover for our operations."

The _Dark Heart of the Republic_ popped back into realspace somewhere in the Outer Rim, an area essentially abandoned to the Flood. With a vastly-enhanced hyperdrive as cost did not figure into Republic Intelligence Service digistruction, its travel speed was several times that of a standard _Revenant_-class Star Dreadnaught.

"What in the name of the Current is that?" demanded Jack Johnson. His third Kuat-supplied _Curator_ patrolled the Outer Rim despite the region generally being considered lost. The lack of aggression of the Flood in "conquered" areas allowed his continued presence here, but a gigantic ship the size of a Star Dreadnaught on his sensors was not an expected encounter.

"It looks like our contractors aren't doing their jobs" boomed Vance's controller. "Why don't you do something about that, Director?"

"I wonder who it is?"

As the channel opened, Johnson found himself having difficulty breathing. A clenched fist on the other end showed why.

_What sorcery is this? An Undercurrent-Channeling RISE director?_

"You have not done as we asked" thundered Vance, his voice magnified and deepened. "You were brought in because you would do things that Spacelane Protection got squeamish about. Yet, here the Flood continues to advance while you sit like an impotent despot on his throne!"

"We're…contractors… I… I just haul…"

Vance's eyes chilled Jackson to the bone. They looked through him as if he weren't even there, despite his face turning red from lack of air.

"You haul credits from our reserves to your little fiefdoms. You horde and party while the galaxy burns. Then, when you are given the tools thanks to specific generosity from Kuat to defend civilization as you agreed, you waste them! We will be taking control now."

Vance's fist whipped sideways and Jackson figured his end to be imminent.

_Wait, what?_

Nothing happened for a handful of seconds, then… _CRACK_. The smuggling kingpin's last sensations were to lose feeling in his legs and black out as his neck snapped.

[…]

One uneventful and very short hyper-zero jump later, _Normandy SR-2.5_ arrived in an environment the transferred AI Cortana called "the stellar equivalent of a sauna."

"We're going to have to decloak, Shepard."

Sam chuckled. "Too much for even the vaunted Trans-Galactic Republic heat radiation waveguides?"

"Very much so. If we showed up a couple days or a week from now, the leftovers would've cooled, but not fifty minutes after detonation... If we try to remain hidden the cloaking device will draw extra power as our ship's outer hull absorbs more and more heat that can't be dispersed quickly enough—which it obviously tries to hide being an invisibility device and all."

A red bar appeared next to the Galaxy Map.

"What's that?"

"Remember that heat I was telling you about? Not only can the waveguides not compensate for it since it's far above background levels or even in-system operation, but they're actually losing ground. Our time here is limited."

Shepard burst out laughing.

"HA! I thought the Trans-Galactic Republic solved all that!"

"Nope, they just advanced it to the point where it's not an issue 99.9% of the time. Of course, this fits into that 0.1%. We've essentially flown into what would be a small nova which isn't standard procedure for Spacelane Protection. Our shields are drastically slowing the heat build-up, though."

"Well, it looks kind of…empty here."

"That's a good thing."

"I agree, Master Chief."

The pair stared at the quite empty space where Aquator used to be. Not a shred of evidence remained of a planet, Flood, a defense fleet, or indeed a battle of any kind.

"Normally, I'd ask a question about the morality of wiping out entire planets, but in this case, I could give a fuck" said Shepard with relish. "Not after what the Flood's been doing."

"Reports from _Ultimatum_ indicate that Sarah is about to interrogate the prisoner" interrupted Cortana. "Shall we observe?"

"What prisoner?" Neither the Chief nor Shepard knew anyone had been captured.

"One of the religious leaders" explained Cortana "was nabbed after assault craft captured a Jakobs freighter full of Athena clones. The woman was trying to use the clones as leverage—thinking Athena and/or her sisters would rebel if the Trans-Galactic Republic failed to act to save the newcomers. However, Admiral Nimitz launched ships to take over the freighter and stop any attempts to turn them into Flood."

Clever use of mass effect fields created seats in what had been air for both as the multifunctional ship display/navigation system switched to HoloNet transceiver mode.

"I'll do some sweeps, then hyper-zero us out. I'll be done long before heat buildup becomes an issue."

Shepard waved Cortana's image into a corner, receiving a perturbed look in response.

"This ought to be good."

[…]

Sarah could not hide her glee at finally having something to do that met a specific series of criteria: Not Tides of War (meditation got boring), directly assisted the war effort without causing moral qualms for others, and she still got to Channel the Current into something.

"Transcendent" Thalia Tediore blabbed on about how she would never talk, the power of the Flood would compel her to commit suicide, and that the Flood would "sweep aside you infidels!"

_How quaint._

Sarah sat, somewhat uncomfortably due to her height, in a chair opposite the captive. Even most of the men in Spacelane Protection averaged 1.7-1.8 meters in height, leaving her slightly cramped by the extended arm-rest/datapad holder.

"We'll get you different seating arrangements, ma'am" said a marine who scampered out of the room.

"I have the honor and strength drawn from being a part of something you'll never understand" pouted Thalia.

"Really?" asked Sarah airily. "I thought your specialty was whining to Daddy and showing off your ass in advertisements."

Prior to engaging in this banter, the Siren received a crash-course in interrogation. Not that she didn't already know how, more of that certain techniques were beyond her present awareness—such as use of coarse language unfamiliar to her, specific types of insults that might work especially well on this prisoner in particular, etc.

"You act like I've never seen the word 'ass' before" she complained. "I read plenty of messages in _Revenant_'s computer core that contained it!"

"Yeah" replied her assistant, "but that had quite a different connotation… You're not going to be 'hitting that ass' nor is her 'ass so fine,' trust me!"

Sarah surprised herself with how much she learned from a "jarhead" in the half-hour of prep she got. Now to put it to use.

"The old Thalia is gone. Her idiocy and irreverence died a long time ago!"

"Oh I don't think so" mocked Sarah. "Listen to yourself! You even _sound_ like that brat still!"

The Siren called up a recording of Thalia's tantrums after being ejected from an anti-Flood conference Samantha Shepard hosted aboard _Ultimatum_. For a split second, the Flood-woman's composure cracked, but she quickly restored it.

"Irrelevant!"

"As irrelevant as your religion is now" shot back Sarah. "You were brainwashed. If your original personality had anything to it other than giving men a vague reason to want Tediore products, I'd appeal to it and try to turn it against your current self, but explaining the intricacies of intergalactic politics to a petulant youngling is a waste of time!"

Thalia took a few moments to process this rather lengthy insult.

"Enough of this charade. You will answer my questions."

"No, I won't."

Thalia's voice remained steady and steeled despite a Current of Diversion aimed at her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, you must not have heard me. **You will answer my questions**."

Sarah put more emphasis into the command; the first go-round had been a light brush whereas this was more akin to a shove.

Thousands of lightyears away, Sam Shepard giggled. She didn't have to like Sarah to find the whole thing amusing. Her companion sat still and expressionless in armor as usual.

"What are you watching?" asked Garrus. "Mind if I join?"

Cortana conjured up another seat for the turian while continuing her scans of the area.

Thalia once again felt a voice in her head, but it seemed much more distant and faint than that which spoke to her while on the Conduit.

_You will resist. This self-assured creature cannot break you with an Overmind as your ally! Draw strength, child."_

The Siren looked down at her datapad. Medical information scrolled suggesting some kind of connection between Thalia's mind and another despite destruction of the Flood's planet here. Technically, she and her allies had left a whole galaxy full of Flood behind, but that a central intelligence there could influence a thrall this far away baffled both Sarah and Trans-Galactic Republic scientists.

Sarah sighed. She knew tapping into the Undercurrent could be dangerous—it might lead to another "episode" similar to when she'd destroyed Caitlin Flanders' office. She smiled as she sensed the good doctor nearby, behind what was supposed to be one-way glass. Current Waves were not on the list of things it deflected, however.

_Screw it. This Flood slave needs to cough up her secrets. NOW!_

She drew herself to her full height. It might not scare the captive, but it made her feel more powerful. Besides, Currents of Drowning were easier to administer this way.

"She's turning red" warned Caitlin Flanders. "I'd say stand by to contain her, bring her down, but I have no idea what anyone around here could do to accomplish that."

Sarah's left arm extended, ending in a closed fist.

"**YOU WILL ANSWER MY QUESTIONS, NOW!"**

Sam jumped. Garrus jerked back. The woman's voice dropped about two octaves and even over a HoloNet link, it reverberated with more force than any person either had ever heard before.

"She's pissed" smiled the Spectre.

"I don't think even you've been that scary, not even you, with just…"

Garrus' words trailed as he took notice of motions that suggested more than "just a voice" was being employed.

Thalia hovered out of her chair, feet dangling uselessly, head thrown back as if being held up by an invisible string tied around her neck. She gagged and choked, until she burst out laughing.

"Your pathetic attacks cannot harm my evolved form. I have Ascended!"

"Does that cover being electrocuted?" whispered Sarah. Her right hand lifted, fingers extended. Blasts of purple lightning jumped from the Siren to her prisoner. Below, lines flashed indicating disruptions in whatever connections existed between this woman and whatever attached to her brain from the great beyond.

Glancing down, the interrogator took notice of this effect. Grinning sadistically, she upped the Current of Pain combined with a (possibly useless) Current of Drowning. Thalia's flesh, already dry and flaky, caught fire in several places. The room glowed red as if under emergency lighting.

Caitlin Flanders, as small and waif-like as she was, did her best to look intimidating behind the one-way glass.

"I was brought here to monitor the Siren. Not watch an illegal torture session. If this is what you are doing, my services are no longer available."

"We don't need you here" replied another observer dismissively. "The most you can probably do is warn us if the crazy woman is about to go nuts—but what could you possibly do to stop it? Huh?"

Flanders had no answer, but still stuck to her earlier statement.

"Let me know when the torture is over, and I might return. I will be filing a formal complaint directly with Admiral Nimitz over this!"

"Don't hold your breath. And I doubt she'll even care."

"I've been a tad rough with suspects before" breathed Garrus, "but this is on a whole other level in more ways than one. I hear asari can make pretty nasty use of warp, though I doubt that can compare."

"The Office of Naval Intelligence utilized questionable tactics during its entire existence. Some of our training as SPARTANs would meet your definition of 'torture.'"

The Chief carefully hid any opinions of the actual issue at hand, merely noting that similarities existed. Even if the trio came to the conclusion that what they witnessed crossed a line, thousands of lightyears separated them from the action. There was nothing any of them could do.

Sarah couldn't physically see Thalia's face, but the Current told her that the woman's features were beginning to scrunch up in reaction to the barrage of pain being thrown her way.

_More._

Her left hand let loose.

"**REVEAL YOUR SECRETS!"**

Even if Thalia wanted to say something, considering her airway remained constricted and most of her mental faculties were tied up processing agony inflicted, she probably couldn't have said much.

Sarah switched to a new method. Slamming her charge with Undertow Currents, blood, flecks of skin, and dead hairs littered each impact point as Thalia Tediore crashed into each wall of the room several times. A very rear-end shaped dent appeared in the one-way glass behind which observers stood.

"You sure this is legal?" asked one.

"It doesn't matter" replied his coworker. "Even if we wanted to enforce the law, what could either of us do against that?"

Eerily calm, Thalia taunted her questioner.

"I know nothing of value, and if I did the glorious Eternal Lifebringer would strike me down before you could get to it."

"**YOU LIE!"**

Sarah would not stand for this. Her rage, fury, and confusion brought on by a combination of being used, not understanding her purpose, and finally finding one poured into "Miss Tediore." A vicious Current of Diversion began to peel the infantile persona associated with a corporate marketing asset away from the fanatic.

"Mommy? Daddy?"

Thalia Tediore looked around. Everything had some kind of haze, but she saw herself clearly. No hideous growths protruded from her body, her hair resumed its normal, blonde, luxurious texture, and based on a mirror that literally appeared in her hand at the thought of needing one confirmed her eyes were normal, like any human's.

She stood before the home she'd grown up in, except it was covered in some kind of yellow-brown muck. Scary monsters patrolled in front of it.

"DADDY!"

Thalia pulled her communicator from her belt, ordering it to connect to her father. Nothing but static.

Despite being scared enough to wet herself, Thalia found herself walking forward into the nightmare house. Everything she remembered twisted into some horrific version of itself. Her pets, long a source of amusement and companionship, were either half-consumed corpses or twisted into unimaginable shapes. She watched as two fed on another, its pathetic cries reaching her ears and causing her to stumble.

"No! Snuggles!"

Her own voice barely registered.

A huge man with Thomas' head stepped into view. "This is what you've become!" it roared, except she recognized the voice from somewhere else—and it wasn't her father.

"Mister Stevens? Why are you here?"

Confused, Thalia looked down at herself. Her breasts were smaller and her hips narrower—her hands more delicate and she could swear that table was supposed to only reach her waist…

The Thomas-with-Slade-Stevens'-voice picked up one of her pets that had been feasting… And took a huge bite out of it himself.

"This is your nightmare. Embrace it and your future!" it bellowed. "You sold us out! All of us! Because of you, your birthday presents see each other as food! Because of you, your parents no longer exist as individuals but serve the Overmind! Because of you, I, proud military and man of honor have debased myself with this twisted faith!"

It roughly shoved Thalia into what should have been her study. Instead, she found herself in a huge cavern covered in that same yellow-brown flesh that coated everything else. Now it pulsed and writhed with a life all its own whereas before it remained motionless. Lumps on the floor stood and moved toward her, slowly shuffling, moaning, and bumping into each other.

"This is all you ever were, eye candy and a flesh lure! It doesn't matter whether it was Tediore or the Bringers of Life—you never had another purpose!"

An ECHO recorder sat on another too-tall table. She picked it up.

"I just don't know what to do, Thomas!" cried an exasperated Theresa. "She's our daughter, and I love her, but she's just so…so…"

"We must face reality. Our daughter lacks the drive and intelligence to continue the family business. She is not mentally disabled nor does she suffer from any recognizable disease. She is simply selfish, lazy, and unmotivated. I fear we contributed to it."

"Then she must never know" resolved Theresa. "We will do what we can to make her feel fulfilled in life. No, it's not fair, and by some measures it's not right, but she is our child and we will use our means to make sure she is happy."

The device exploded in her hands, stripping them to the bone. That her hands were skeletal but the rest of her body remained normal made no sense to Thalia.

"What is going on?" she screeched.

The shuffling creatures encircled her. She tried to push them away, but they dragged her to the floor. When she rose again, her perspective returned to her grown-up height. Another self-examination revealed she'd been returned to the Flood-priestess form she most recently remembered.

"You wanted success, so we gave it to you…"

Her mother's voice from something that might or might not have been a woman. In fact, it might not even be human, given that it seemed to be fused into the wall and very Flood-colored.

"Your biggest goal was to do something that mattered, and well, I can't say it didn't matter!" boomed Slade Stevens, now his normal self. He morphed back into his "Savior" guise before speaking again. "You screwed over an entire galaxy to salve your own ego!"

Thalia found her voice.

"Are you forgetting the part where you dragged me kicking and screaming into this _cult_?" she spat.

"You're rich" he mocked. "You should've been able to buy your way out, right?"

"That's not fair!" she screamed.

"Life's not fair." Except it was her own voice, much younger. Thalia's eyes fell. She remembered using that phrase many a time—even on Thrace there were those who were by no means poor but definitely less well-off than the daughter of Tediore Capital Investments' founders.

"Life's not fair!" said Slade again as he shrank and turned into a horrid mish-mash of the other children she'd mocked for not having their own private hoverjets at the age of five, or having only one butler, or having to actually walk their pets themselves, among other things. This apparition found itself in possession of Thalia's diary, which it read out loud in the most mocking tone possible.

"Today I made a boy cry. Daddy said it was good practice for the world of business—getting other people to do what you want by intimidating them. I don't know what that word means, so he said it meant scaring them."

It then used her hoverjet to run over several of her small, furry pets. Their blood and innards splattered everywhere.

"Want it back?" it taunted, pushing the hoverjet toward her.

By this point, Thalia, not able to tell how old she was, where she was, or who surrounded her, burst into tears and could not form coherent words. Curled up in a ball on the sidewalk outside her childhood home, she cried for what felt like hours. In reality, it was until her eyes ran dry.

The dinging of a food vehicle snapped her out of her funk.

"Ice cream!" she cried.

The person driving wasn't the usual. She distinctly remembered a man piloted this food-carrier, not a purple-haired woman.

"What'll you have today?"

Before Thalia could answer, the woman sneered out one for her. "The entire truck again, I presume. Is it because you're a fatty, or just because you want to see the others cry when I have nothing to sell them? You feed on the helplessness of others—it's the only thing you're good at because you can't do anything yourself!" finished the driver viciously.

"Why?" wailed Thalia.

"You haven't figured it out yet?"

She vaguely recognized the voice. The truck disappeared, as did her home, her street, and everything else familiar, leaving her alone with the woman, who grew in stature to over two meters.

"We can do this again" she continued, vaguely reassuring but threatening at the same time. "I can create a whole new world for you to suffer in. Or are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

Thalia became aware she lay on a cold, hard surface. Metal of some kind, in a room vaguely lit only by some red glow accentuated with purple. She turned to look up. The woman was still there.

"I don't know anything!" she whined. "I just wanted to do something big!"

"So you're admitting even though Slade forced you into the whole Flood-cult, you enjoyed it." Sarah grinned in savage triumph.

"I… I guess. They made me important, and it wasn't just Mommy humoring me!"

"So what of these big plans did they let you in on?"

Sarah softened her voice ever so slightly.

"They said they'd bring peace and harmony to everything! They said nobody would argue about stupid things anymore like my parents did."

"Did they ever tell you about the part where nobody would think for themselves anymore?"

"No…"

"Do you know where you are, Thalia Tediore? Do you know why you are?" The Siren's voice became stern again.

"Did the people I joined do something bad?"

"They're like the schoolyard bully who takes everyone's snack money. And steals your pirppo!"

"Snuggles!" she squeaked again.

_This is useless_ fumed Sarah.

"Nighty night, Thalia…"

She blacked out.

Samantha Shepard and Garrus Vakarian stared at the deactivated HoloNet transceiver as if their eyes were held up by mass effect fields. Sam rocked back and forth several times before speaking.

"I have not heard screams like that since Torfan. And those were marines being dissolved by thresher maw acid."

"What did she do to that woman? I think we all agree Thalia is unintelligent and a slave to the Flood, but spirits, that…"

Caitlin Flanders found out exactly what "she" did after a trembling Thalia Tediore nearly fell into her office. Supported by two marines, the woman couldn't stand on her own. More than a whiff of charred flesh assaulted the doctor's nostrils, and she squinted at a sight horrid enough prior to Sarah's little session.

Three hours later, her curt, concise case files concluded "Thalia Tediore has been forcibly reduced to a child-like state from which she will never recover. As I have mentioned at least fifteen times in this report, the use of 'extended interrogation techniques' never produces anything of value. No professional would ever endorse such behavior, and I again decline to do so no matter how high the stakes."

The Citadel shook with the rage of a creature so large it enveloped most of the structure.

Sarah stepped out of a room that looked the part—dents, blood, torn clothing, bits of flesh everywhere. She was used to people staring at her, but when every pair of eyes followed, it took her a moment to guess why.

_That may have been a bit much. Let me guess, they don't like what I did._

"Monster!" called out a random marine.

"Beast!"

She kept walking. She felt conflicted—her time with Flanders (and among others here) told her that she should in fact care what others thought. At the same time, Allison Nimitz made it explicitly clear that moral disapproval did not constitute sufficient reason on its own to hold back, not with this much at stake. It was precisely why despite Sarah's previous killings of millions she'd essentially been told "the past is the past" and allowed to roam free, assisting the war against the Flood.

As she rounded a corner, her ears picked up the sound of coughing and gagging among those she'd just passed.

_Do I smell or something?_

Back in her quarters, Sarah decided to use the refresher, and only then did she realize exactly what drove the comments she'd received—and it wasn't just her brutal beat-down of a relatively harmless (on her own) religious fanatic. Under bright lights, her red glow disappeared but in actuality remained as intense as it was when she'd started. Sarah also noticed her face in the reflector—it wasn't just a glow. Normally pale white with a tinge of purple, the Siren's skin took on a very reddish hue, accented with a network of purple lines. Touching one, she found no real depth to it—so it wasn't a cut. Curious, she sniffed her arm which had an abundant web of purple as well.

"Blargh!"

Lights down to nothing. Her image in the reflector shone even brighter than before, and it appeared these newly-glowing additions let off a faint purple haze.

A feeling flooded her, it was something strange that she hadn't experienced in over a year. However, Sarah remembered as if it were yesterday: the sensation of absolute power, the ability to utterly destroy anything that stood in her way. Then, she'd controlled a ship just like this, souped up with weapons of her own invention. Running on the biotics of prisoners, she'd burned any Flood before her, crippled all who attempted to flee with the potential to spread it, and generally acted as a one-woman force of destruction.

She felt as though her head would split in half. The conflict between two parts within the whole caused her to let loose bursts of purple lightning, which arced to and turned to ashes the towel set hanging on the refresher's rack. The Siren brought lighting back up.

"And my hair's all frizzy. Seriously?"


	86. The Therapist is In

**Chapter 85 – The Therapist is In**

"Enter."

Admiral Nimitz, relaxing at the first break in what seemed like forever, found someone she hoped to not see outside her office. A datapad appeared under her nose.

"I was asked to supervise the Siren. Not observe torture."

Nimitz internally thanked the Current for setting things up this way.

"I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you. In fact, this entire operation is outside my authority." She pushed the datapad away.

"What?" spluttered Flanders. "But you were the one who…"

"Yes, I asked you to observe Sarah. However, the entire operation was conducted under CRITICAL, so you'll have to speak with the Citadel Council on this one."

"Need I remind you" shot back Dr. Flanders, "that 'CRITICAL' stands for Citadel-_Republic_ Integration and Cooperation Alliance?"

"The interrogation was considered a Citadel matter under the framework" replied Nimitz smoothly. "Because their galaxy was the one against whom the Flood caused the greatest damage, they had, as it were, first dibs on any prisoners."

"What about Gamma-Three?" demanded Flanders. "They've taken quite a bit of damage as well!"

"And if they had a coherent government to speak of, we might have negotiated to bring them into the treaty. But they don't. So the most-harmed party remains the Citadel Council. All records and data belong to them."

"You're just another slimy politician" spat Flanders. "In-uniform or not, Spacelane Protection doesn't do this!"

"We didn't. Please address your grievances to the appropriate party, of which I am not."

Furious, the psychologist stormed off. She knew where she had to go next. _Normandy_ just returned from her scouting mission, and she wanted to speak to someone directly.

_What does Flanders want? She cleared me for duty a long time ago!_

"Shepard. I need to speak with you."

Sam actually thought this funny.

"Look, if it's about the antidepressants, okay fine, I forgot one last week. Yes, I realize my pill holder tattles on me—but ease up, okay?"

Flanders' unchangingly stern expression caused Shepard to pause.

"Wait, did I do something else?"

"Are you aware your precious saviors in the Trans-Galactic Republic condone torture by proxy?"

Her mind suddenly snapped to what she, Garrus, and the Master Chief watched via HoloNet.

"If you think I had anything to do with that, if it's not obvious from my arrival here ten minutes ago I wasn't even around! Also, to be completely honest, I've done that sort of stuff a couple times. Not proud of it, but war is hell."

Sam didn't admit up-front how disturbed even Garrus (who went further than she ever did on that front) were by what they'd seen. Her eyes twitched slightly.

"If you aren't going to help me, I'll…"

Dr. Flanders hesitated. Once a threat like this was used, it couldn't be taken back. She decided to go for it.

"…I'll revoke your psychological clearance!"

"Whoa whoa, slow down! What's the big deal? Some crazy fanatic gets her arm twisted, and all of the sudden there's a CRITICAL case about it?"

The doctor's look answered without saying a thing.

"Ooookay then. Uhh, we should probably talk about this somewhere other than the middle of _Ultimatum_'s hanger…"

The shorter woman drew herself up to the taller one to whisper in her ear.

"I don't trust them, Shepard. Your ship should be free of any surveillance devices, I would hope."

"Cortana checks it, and I don't think they'd be able to subvert her. I've seen what she can do."

Sam pulled her therapist aboard. One quick elevator ride later, the pair stepped into the captain's quarters at the top of _Normandy_'s refit hull.

"I have reason to believe that Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz did knowingly abuse the Citadel-Republic Integration and Cooperation Alliance to subvert Spacelane Protection prohibitions against inhumane treatment of prisoners."

Sam tilted her head and squinted slightly.

"Flanders, you realize I could arrange a nice little accident and we'd never hear about your theories again? Or I could just shoot you, claim self-defense, and that would be that? Why did you bring this to _me_, knowing full-well this was part of the reason I snapped in the first place? I'm not a therapist even though the universe seems to keep trying to make me one. You are!"

"You wouldn't" gasped Caitlin. "Samantha, you've come too far!"

"No, I'm not going to kill your or anything. Just pointing out the irony in you causing the very thing you told me to avoid, doctor's orders!"

"Did you ever bother reading that agreement our governments signed?"

Sam flopped down on her bed.

"Do I look like a lawyer, politician, or masochist?"

"I'll take that as a no. Apparently, there's something in it—assuming the good Admiral isn't lying—that she interpreted as leaving the treatment of prisoners up to the Citadel Council rather than adhering to mutually-agreed-upon norms. Somehow, that gets her off the hook for placing a prisoner in a situation that was likely to lead to treatment unacceptable under the Trans-Galactic Republic Standardized Regulations of Military Law Section 7, Chapter 10."

"The Citadel Council doesn't condone torture either" insisted Sam. "At least not on pa…"

Suddenly, the (former) Spectre had an epiphany.

"I don't know if you remember from my service record—a man named Darius?"

"You got him to stand down peacefully. Which is why" (Flanders pouted) "I don't understand why you accept this stain on our collective honor that came out of Nimitz's ass!"

"What you don't know is that the Systems Alliance very nearly pulled the same trick Nimitz is trying here. Had I killed him, they would have made noise about 'not officially condoning assassinations' but that as a Council Spectre if I chose to end his life, there would be no repercussions from the Systems Alliance as it happened outside the scope of their authority even though it involved one of their operatives."

"I know what that two-timer is doing" snarled Flanders. "She would never sully her tattooed hands with an 'extended interrogation' order, but she knew the Citadel Council would play ball. So she handed Thalia over to them on paper knowing full well they might condone rather extreme measures."

Sam crossed her arms. "I fail to see how this involves me other than the same questionable legal maneuver used to avoid liability on a technicality." She did not take kindly to being threatened with blackmail, and now this doctor appeared to have very little reason for it.

"Nimitz told me if I wanted to file a complaint, I'd have to go to the Council. Even though they govern exactly nothing now, I desire your input on how I should approach them. You've dealt with those politico-types many times on sensitive issues, and thus have far more experience than I. It sounded like I'd have to convince them to release files…"

Sam gave her therapist a patronizing look.

"You really think I don't have those files myself?"

"Oh, so you recorded it?" Flanders' face twisted into a mask of disgust. "If you've got some kind of torture fetish, you'll have to seek treatment elsewhere—it is neither my field nor my choice to associate with such deviation when it involves actual, factual agony."

"Do I need to put up a sign?" Cortana interrupted the debate. "Place hack requests here!"

Pivoting, Caitlin addressed the AI. "Can you tell if anyone altered it before the video went into storage?"

"Of course not! Consequently, it was, by their standards, heavily encrypted. I didn't even have to do much to break in—I supplied Shepard's credentials and bamboozled it into thinking she had the proper clearance. That gave me access to the raw data."

"Oh, so now _I'm_ going to get in trouble?" said Sam in mock annoyance. "Not that they could do anything more than yell at me."

Cortana glared at both organic women. "You forget who you're talking to."

"The only trouble we'll have is if Sarah argues with me" continued Flanders. "As her therapist, I've summoned her to an appointment given the 'specifics of recent events' to do a psychological evaluation."

"I'm guessing you couldn't tell _her_ that she's not cleared for combat."

"I could, but it wouldn't actually have any practical meaning. That woman does whatever she wants—the only way for us to have any measure of safety while enlisting her help is to make sure her desires align with our goals or at least don't cross."

Sam thought to answer Flanders' original question. "The Council used to be all high-and-mighty. 'Oh our top operative couldn't possibly be doing all those things…oh wait, our bad…but we're going to publicly stick our heads in the sand anyway!' Now a good shouting will probably get most of them to back down, but watch out for Grayson. He seems nice enough, but I have a sneaking suspicion it was he who worked with Nimitz to set up this nice little loophole."

[…]

On one hand, Sarah the Siren felt trepidation upon receiving a summons from Dr. Caitlin Flanders. However, she also turned toward defiance—she'd been allowed to participate in this conflict specifically because even though her previous actions (like killing millions) were objectionable, the stakes were too high to pass over someone with skills like hers. Now Flanders took issue with her.

_I'm glad the doctor isn't in charge of the war!_

Even though she could've teleported, Sarah opted to use turbolifts like pretty much any other crewmember. At the large intake of the Tano Psychological Treatment Center, she confirmed her appointment and received unnecessarily repetitive information regarding the location of Dr. Flanders' office.

"What have I done this time?" harrumphed Sarah.

Flanders balanced a response between the furious judgment she wanted to rain on this woman's head and her obligation to treat patients professionally. Looking up, she jerked back as if hit with a blaster bolt.

The Siren let out a long sigh.

"Yes, I look different, congratulations, you don't need a vision test. No, I don't know where it came from but I have a suspicion."

Flanders did her best to conceal revulsion toward whatever Sarah got on herself that to be frank, smelled awful.

"Yes, I stink. Should I stay over here?"

_Just ignore it, just ignore it, just ignore it…_

"I would like to discuss your encounter with Thalia Tediore."

"You said as much in your message. Why do you care?" Sarah sounded bored already.

"Because you're at a serious risk of backsliding. One of the concepts we spoke about, both individually and in the rather abortive group therapy session with Jackie, was your seeming inability to relate to the feelings of others. I feel that your treatment of Miss Tediore falls square into that category—did you ever consider using other methods to obtain information?"

Flanders hadn't been briefed on whether Sarah's mind-probe wrought anything useful, but now she was about to find out.

"I obtained no information" replied Sarah blandly. "There was nothing to pull from that worthless brain of hers."

Flanders' voice rose angrily as she spoke. "Armando-Owen Bailey, who you know, had a similar experience using his abilities to extract information from another being. However, he did so without placing the other person in a permanently mentally-damaged state!"

"Oh, I'm sorry—you think they tell me anything that involves using Current powers? You must be new here."

Flanders felt something burning inside her. Even though she strongly despised what Sarah did in the past, she wasn't really _angry_, at least not personally. It seemed the Siren must be having another episode.

"Sarah, I can feel your anger all the way over here." She didn't add _and it's very unpleasant._ "Can you try to tell me why you're angry?"

"I don't understand!" bleated her patient. "I get Nimitz telling me to do whatever has to be done, you're judging me, everyone else keeps me at a distance! Everything was so simple before!"

"First off, I am not jud…"

"_Liar_."

The doctor felt her throat closing, her body leaving her chair. A raised fist confirmed her suspicions.

_Oh, no…_

"Don't you sit there smug and tell me one thing when I can feel the opposite. I thought I was good, I thought I was helpful, but it seems like you are no better than the Eridians!"

Flanders gurgled until Sarah let her down.

"I… I shouldn't…"

The Siren stood, backing away as though Flanders might physically explode. Part of her wanted to leave, but another stronger part of her rooted the purple-haired woman back to her chair.

"Now, you know that was inappropriate" gasped Dr. Flanders, massaging her throat. "We've talked about this. You have to control it."

Sarah tilted her head, then her eyes lit up.

"That's it!" she cried triumphantly.

"What?"

"The Eridians! They suppressed my personality and emotions on purpose, probably because I would've done the same things to them."

Over the next hour, Flanders took detailed notes as Sarah described each "emotional control incident" from her first memories after awakening to the present. She couldn't stand the Reformers' obsession with "protecting" life by destroying it, but her (violent) attempts to resolve the issue resulted in her being locked up until she awoke again. At first, her task seemed very clear: stop the Infection, or Flood as it was now known (the Eridians hadn't given it a name that she recalled). But then she ran into repeated failures even as she destroyed the lesser species that scurried around themselves attempting to avoid the flesh tide. Her boredom brought curiosity, and there it all began to unravel. Exposed to a world that stretched beyond "Do as I say because I said so," the Siren eventually became convinced she'd failed at her given purpose, leading to an encounter with Samantha Shepard.

"And why did your failure bother you so?"

"I've been given powers that warp time and space. I can laugh off a hundred guns firing at me, drag a city-sized starship across space, power that same ship myself, and instantaneously transport myself from one place to another. You would think that would be enough to handle this Flood, but it wasn't. I was so sure of my purpose and powers that when I couldn't do it, something just _snapped_."

"Did the fact that beings you considered lesser were making strides when you'd predicted they would fail contribute?"

Sour look. Pout.

"Yes."

"And then you actually encountered the Flood, did you not?"

"It… It was awful" she whispered.

Sarah sounded like a small youngling frightened of a scary holovid.

"At the risk of sounding insensitive, tell me more about how you felt."

"Well, I got pulled into a giant tentacle. After that…"

Emotions emanating from the Siren shrank back. The hot knot of anger she'd placed in Flanders went out and was replaced by a cold lump of fear.

_Even if she refuses to acknowledge having feelings, she definitely experiences them just like everyone else does—maybe even more intensely!_

"Did you have contact with the Flood's main intelligence?"

Sarah shuddered.

"I wouldn't… Contact is the wrong word" she finished, though it sounded like she had to force the last bit out.

_It sounds like the Flood's Gravemind tried to mentally break her. If she had such a nasty experience, why in the karking hell would she do that same thing to Jackie?_

"The Gravemind forced its way into your head, yes?"

The Siren said nothing. This silence stretched to over half a minute. Without warning, she tipped over and began convulsing on the floor.

"Make it stop… Go away… Make it stop!"

Flanders' monitor lit up in every shade of red imaginable. Patient heart rate elevated. Breathing above normal. Stress levels skyrocketing. Neural patterns associated with Current Channeling increasing. Fully aware of the inappropriateness of it, but deciding Sarah probably wouldn't notice, Flanders muttered "Not this again."

Her office turned into a whirlwind of destruction, though the doctor found herself pulled to the Siren and held there as furniture, desk contents, datapads, data storage, and more swirled around like some kind of freak weather event. Given the maelstrom, Flanders could even ignore the Siren's stench. After everything stopped, she stood. Sarah remained whimpering on the floor.

"Session log, patient NOLAST, Sarah: She thoroughly destroyed my office. Again" appeared on Flanders' datapad along with a vast amount of other notes.

It was so strange to see a giant of a woman crying like a youngling, seemingly helpless yet able to unleash such power apparently without being able to control it. Aware further discussion could traumatize her patient, the psychologist kept entering notes in her log instead. It would come in handy considering Sarah's outburst destroyed the holocam recording everything, and possibly its data (unless an automatic backup occurred prior to the episode).

"Patient seems to have vaguely defined triggers which cause Current Channeling in ways that are not necessarily intended. The response seems to be an automatic defense mechanism against a threat which no longer exists, but at the time was so devastating that anything even reminding her of it trips the response."

Flanders paused before adding her hypothesis.

"Sarah was built to be a weapon, not a person—'Selfless Servant of the Mantle' takes on a whole new meaning to me now. When 'it' malfunctioned, the Eridian Reformers forcibly altered her to better suit their own goals without considering the effect on their creation. I believe this effect is manifesting itself in extreme mood swings, aforementioned uncontrolled Current Channeling, and inability to relate to others. Her learning is incomplete, having only derived information from a Star Dreadnaught computer core, her interactions with people aboard this starship, and our talk sessions. I further suggest her encounter with the Flood intelligence may have begun the process of restoring her personality, which then experienced a semi-delayed response to previous actions. Furthermore, this personality remains incompletely developed and has an extreme level of difficulty dealing with the multitude of pressures an existential war can bring."

She noticed the Siren stirring.

"Is it gone? Is it out of my head?"

Naturally, though many questions were answered more cropped up. Instead of accosting the Citadel Council on condoning torture-by-proxy, Flanders needed to get information from someone else.

[…]

Armando Bailey, Current Channeler and increasingly-former law enforcement, received a message from someone he'd only heard of through her relation to the Siren Sarah.

"My name is Dr. Caitlin Flanders. I am a psychologist/psychiatrist with the Trans-Galactic Republic. I need to interview people possessing abilities such as yours and would like to speak with you at the earliest possible opportunity."

He made that opportunity as rapidly as he could.

"What seems to be the trouble, doc? Am I going to go nuts and kill everyone but not remember a single thing afterward?"

"Show me your hands."

He laughed. "Oh, that. Hah. They don't hurt, and I haven't used the power that caused that again since."

"It was the one in which you shoot electricity, right?"

"That's the one!" replied Bailey. "Why do you ask?"

"That was the _only_ side effect? When did you employ it?"

"Well, I was fighting the Lady Fingers. Heh. Silly name! One named Zera really made me mad, so I blasted her. Turned my hands to what they are now."

"Have you also employed what I'm told is called the 'Current of Drowning' against another living being before? It causes the victim to be unable to breathe properly and choke, but leaves no physical traces like bruises behind."

"I've not myself, but I've seen others use it. Nasty thing to do!"

Flanders held up her datapad, on which a photo of Sarah took up the whole screen.

"Sarah had an… incident. She employed both the Current powers we discussed, and this happened."

The photo changed to the now reddish-skinned, purple-line-covered Siren.

"What'd she do, step in dye?" laughed Bailey.

"Also, she smells" finished Flanders. "Whatever those purple lines are—I think they're actually her blood—it stinks."

"Well, sorry doc, I'm not a physiologist. And I'm guessing the ones we have would throw up their hands at this Current stuff. Hell, I still can't be sure why I can shoot lightning or pick stuff up without touching it while having no Element Zero in my system at all!"

"Ugh!"

Flanders threw up her hands, only half in mock-annoyance. This Current thing went nowhere slowly. She opted to take Cortana up on her earlier offer of "Place hack request here."

The AI allowed the doctor aboard _Normandy_ without saying anything, assuming it was another appointment for Sam Shepard. When said doctor sought _her_ out directly rather than the organic commander, Cortana couldn't help but look confused.

"You said you can hack things."

"Does the Master Chief wear his armor everywhere?"

"Who's that? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes" replied Cortana peevishly. "The answer is yes."

"Well, then you can guess why I'm here."

"I told you, the files regarding Sarah's little excursion are…"

"I don't need those" interrupted Flanders. "I need any and all files you can find on Sarah herself. There are huge parts of her record that are redacted."

"To you, maybe. While monitoring for Republic Intelligence Service intrusions, I easily decrypted information from the crew of a medical ship that conducted examinations of the Siren when she first arrived. I had no idea they would be useful, and while they are obviously considered classified it seems at this point such distinctions are irrelevant."

Cortana commenced a large file transfer to private folders marked for Flanders' use. She further ensured that nobody would notice nor would anyone be able to access Flanders' archives while she worked on the "Sarah Files."

"We'd best keep this confined to _Normandy_" she explained as a nearby terminal booted. "Though I like to believe the Trans-Galactic Republic has good intentions, with RISE around one can never be sure. There are absolutely no snooping devices aboard this ship, nor is it connected in any way to a Trans-Galactic Republic network."

Flanders supplied a "one-time" logon on what would normally have been Samantha Shepard's mission terminal.

"You should also be aware that these files are incomplete. Some of them were lost when the Republic Intelligence Service conducted an 'operation' aboard the ship. Though no direct mention of a target is made, I inferred based on fragments from other files that it involved Sarah somehow. Whether the operation succeeded, I cannot tell."

While the doctor browsed, Cortana's projection remained standing, conducting various mundane tasks using the yeoman's terminal on the opposite side via her mass effect field infused hands.

"Well, I'm not a physiologist, but this isn't right" began Flanders.

"No kidding" replied Cortana without looking away from her current task. "She looks human, but on the inside is anything but."

"Lungs are half the size you'd expect, but from scans seem to be five times more efficient per cubic centimeter of volume. Heart is average-sized, but pumps extremely efficiently; resting heart rate 32BPM…"

"My Office of Naval Intelligence would be jealous."

"What's that?"

"A program that sought to create augmented soldiers, like the Master Chief. Clearly, they succeeded, but not without consequences to the people involved."

Dr. Flanders decided she didn't need to hear more about controversial military programs. She was already bent out of shape over Nimitz's apparent decision to let Thalia Tediore be reverted to a childlike state from Sarah's Current Channeling. Instead, she resumed perusing information about Sarah.

"Some kind of… It looks like a reservoir in the lower chest cavity where you'd expect intestines and reproductive organs to be…"

"Check previous scans" suggested the AI. "That wasn't always the same."

Indeed, older holographs showed standard digestive system plumbing, though still no sign of any kind of uterus, ovaries, or similar.

"Looks like the Eridians didn't want this genetic superiority passed on."

"I'm not entirely sure it was about preventing duplication of genetic material. Even if it was, it's hardly the only time building superior fighters resulted in an inability and/or lack of desire to reproduce."

"Let me guess" hinted Caitlin darkly. "The super soldier program?"

Cortana declined to reply, but in doing so confirmed Flanders' suspicions.

She flipped back to the initial scan only to realize it wasn't completed. White background appeared where the Siren's legs joined her body.

"Any idea what exactly in the RISE operation caused this to be only partial?" asked Flanders.

"From what I could determine, their actions did a lot of damage to the ship. Everything after that wasn't recorded, a blatant violation of several transparency-in-government laws. The vessel, a frigate named _Redemption_, disappears from all fleet records after that."

"Her blood also seems strange based on these comments." She then read the notes of an examiner out loud.

"The subject's blood, if it can be called that, operates similarly to that of known lifeforms in most circumstances, however it has a curious deviation. The oxygen-carrying members appear to be prepared to accept another construct that would, from my observations, bind to them and change how her circulatory system functions."

Flanders scrunched up her face in irritation. Blood didn't explain the Current or why Sarah apparently healed at insane rates.

Fed up after spending two hours poring over research notes, she decided she'd rather deal with inane politicians than more ridiculously long words.


	87. Audience

A/N: If you haven't noticed, Sarah's become quite the exerciser of the "M" rating attached to this story. She's conflicted, and if you the reader aren't sure whether to root for her development as a character or for Shepard to push her out an airlock then I've accomplished my goal. She's not done with the Undercurrent (a.k.a. Dark Side), not yet…

**Chapter 86 – Audience**

Dr. Flanders hoped she'd be able to find the Citadel Council together, in one place. As de-facto civilians, they lived their own lives outside the strictures of government that no longer applied. She needn't have worried—the four found themselves coincidentally arriving together at a lounge found partway up _Ultimatum_'s bridge tower reserved exclusively for the use of high-ranking personnel.

Grayson noticed first.

"Odd seeing you all here. I suspect we've been set up."

"For what?" asked Adrien Victus. "Someone would have to be holding a hefty grudge to be doing this a almost a year after we abandoned our galaxy, and several years after it became apparent we were not going to be able to hold our own."

"Though there is no evidence at this time, certain species do have longer lives than others with lengthier memories to match" added Tevos. Grayson, ever alert to his companions' reflexive anti-krogan (and to a lesser extent anti-quarian) biases, elected to let the comment slide for now.

"You have, in fact, been brought here deliberately, but for an entirely benign reason."

The fact that this speaker had been seated at the bar and seemed not to notice the Councilors' entry until apparently overhearing this conversation made them uncomfortable. That a small human woman of slight build now appeared intimidating due to her knowledge of whatever brought the quartet to this particular spot caused eyes to bulge in shock.

"You are all aware of the Citadel-Republic Integration and Cooperation Alliance; I daresay it was the four of you who negotiated on behalf of your government to create it did you not?"

"Who are you?" demanded Grayson sharply.

"Someone who saw through your little shell game."

_Figures someone caught us, interesting that it wasn't Shepard_ thought Grayson irritably. _I warned them…_

"Which one of you had the idea to abuse the CRITICAL framework to let Nimitz keep her hands clean?"

The former Admiral decided to throw his colleagues under the skycar, so to speak. In fact, he didn't feel bad about it in the least since they'd been more than enthusiastic about doing exactly what Nimitz proposed: invoking an obscure section of the treaty that allowed one party to effectively demand control of captured materiel, prisoners, and information based on it being "most relevant" due to "harm suffered" compared to their partner.

Consequently, Grayson put his hands in the air in what seemed to be a universal gesture for surrender.

"Not me! I wasn't a big fan of being secretive just to have the appearance of following the rules—either go with regulations or just say to hell with it because Flood."

Tevos cut in.

"While Grayson is correct in that he protested, quite lengthily I might add, as the government-in-exile we did in fact vote three to one in favor of Nimitz's proposal. Considering that in the past, refusal to act, strict adherence to existing procedure, and suspicion of things outside our understanding led this body to ignore the Reaper threat, not see a rising fascist tide before it washed over us, and as the humans say 'fiddle while the city burns,' it was thought taking this drastic action would be in the best interests of what's left of our society."

"So we abandon our morals?" challenged Flanders. "I'm a healer by trade, and we don't…"

"That is precisely why while I respect your perspective, I think it is invalid in this case" replied Clethon. "There were…those who felt using medicine to cripple the krogan represented a step too far. But the threat of the krogan was effectively neutralized."

"The most common phrase among humans is 'the ends justify the means'" added Victus.

"So if I thought your deaths would materially contribute to the war effort, you would accept this?"

"While the debate is entirely academic" began Tevos, "I know precisely where this is going. You seek to brand us hypocrites because you expect us to argue that justifying actions by their consequences only applies in situations we approve of. If there were a serious contention that our deaths would advance the fight against the Flood, I would not object to it in the slightest."

"None of us would" said Clethon forcefully. "But that is not the point. This is entirely about your personal vendetta against those who you see as handling this conflict in ways that contradict your own beliefs. How you managed to coordinate our arrivals here so you would be able to lecture a captive audience, I do not know. I will not, however, stand for it."

The salarian moved to depart.

Flanders blocked his path.

"You have no idea what you are dealing with, do you? 'Oh, we're going to accept things that fall outside our understanding by allowing this Siren to utilize the full extent of her powers in a drive to extract information.' Very progressive of you. Except, none of you know the smallest thing about the Current or its effects. It is not a cudgel, you barbarians! It is something more, and can be very dangerous!"

"So you have an argument to make on non-moral grounds that what we did was wrong?"

"Councilor Clethon, I get it. You're politicians. No matter what you do, someone is going to either say you didn't do enough, like with the Reapers, or you did too much, such as the situation with the United Defense Command and the hands-off operation of it that let a crazy Admiral take over the government. You tried to make up for it just now, but at the risk of sounding like an extranet vid, you turned to a thing and a person nobody understands fully. I'm not going to claim that I have some magic insight into Sarah's motivations, but I do think I'm in a better position to make an educated guess."

At this point, Grayson sighed heavily.

"This is precisely what I tried to tell them. This whole Current thing lay dormant for millions of years until the powers it grants were rediscovered—it was thought to be a historical footnote previously. Then, of course someone had to weaponize it, which led to even greater distrust of anyone who could Channel it. In the present day, the Republic Intelligence Service showed a disturbing aptitude for its use. Many of its best operatives were Channelers, but something funny kept happening. These operatives kept disappearing. They would be active-duty, then suddenly they'd all have very convenient reasons to retire. I'm not talking more time with family. More like 'hit by a hoverbus' or 'barely survived a shuttle crash.' I may not be part of Spacelane Protection anymore, but there were always rumors about specialized ships used to ferry these operatives around—you know them as _Vorknkx_…"

"Let me guess" added Caitlin Flanders, sounding rather too happy for such a nasty conclusion. "These operatives went nuts with the power."

"No proof of that" replied Grayson. "Of course, with RISE there never is any direct proof. They're absolute _masters_ of plausible deniability. Even if any common citizen off the street would say for sure they'd done something, their capture of the Intelligence Committee and indeed many Senators in general meant that the law would always seem to have a reason to ignore whatever happened, close the investigation, and the like."

"So, yes."

"I once had contact with a high-level spymaster by the name of Wolf Schmidt. He told me, while slightly tipsy on Corellian ale, that the Republic Intelligence Service was having difficulties with some of its operatives. They began experiencing delusions of grandeur and there were several internal assassination attempts. Even for RISE, promotion-by-murder is completely off limits."

"That sounds pretty shady, but what does that have to do with the Current?"

"I'm getting to that. The whole notion of offensive Current powers began controversially even within the intelligence community. Initially, the most useful abilities were passive or defensive—sneaking past guards, making them forget you passed through if the sneak failed, or wielding a lightstaff to deflect a flurry of blasterfire. But then someone figured out the Current of Drowning, the Current of Pain, and highly-advanced variations on the Current of Diversion that could drive its victims insane…"

"Where did anyone figure this out?" gasped Flanders. "Sarah just does these things on her own! Also, you seem to know a hell of a lot for someone who claims to not work in the intelligence branch!"

"This is kind of useless to tell _you_, but I'll say it anyway. Why do you think Shepard's friend Garrus had it so easy with Schmidt?"

"If that is supposed to make me feel better, you're doing it wrong. How do I know you're not a RISE plant?"

"I would ask the same question" quipped Clethon, "but the STG…"

"Even if I was part of the Republic Intelligence Service, we've been over this" laughed Grayson. "Even your most advanced computers had zero hope of communicating with or breaking into our systems pre-integration. The salarian habit of grabbing as much information about a new arrival as possible simply wouldn't have worked!"

"I'm surprised everyone doesn't know these things already" taunted Flanders, "given how top RISE operatives love secrecy in public but blab to their bar-mates in private!"

"Do you like disruptors through the head?" asked the former Admiral, still laughing. "Yeah, they tell you. And they remember who they tell. So if anyone blabs, you disappear. Also, you really think people would believe half the things that come out of the Republic Intelligence Service? You'd be surprised at how much of their secrecy revolves around 'too crazy to accept as the truth, even among HoloNet conspiracy-mongers.'"

"Back on topic" ordered Flanders. "So these offensive Current powers are like the ones Sarah's manifesting. I suppose it would be too much to ask you if you somehow had records or stories about the insane operatives who used the same abilities?"

"Unfortunately, you'd be correct" said Grayson. "He never gave me very many details, only enough to make a story, not a field report."

_Someone has to know something!_ fumed the doctor to herself as she left.

[…]

Sarah wasn't sure where to go. Dr. Flanders, being her appointed therapist, of course offered to let her stay as long as she needed. However, trying to recover from an emotional outburst while sitting amongst the wreckage caused by that same outburst didn't suit her so she left.

She finally chose to return to her quarters. For once, the Siren utilized her teleportation ability despite having been to both places enough that there was no danger of molecular mishaps many trips ago. Whether she realized it consciously or not, Sarah sought approval from those around her for contributing to the shared struggle against an enemy so powerful as to have cleared out an entire galaxy. Being well on the way to a second victory, she like everyone else saw fit to stand in its way—even without her Eridian programming.

_Nobody likes you. Spacelane Protection will use you until someone points out something you've done that crosses some moral line. For all I know, that could have been more of those Republic Intelligence Service types in Spacelane uniforms, though I'm guessing I would have sensed that deception. You're a tool, a thing. Even Jackie from the worst part of her life would be appreciated more than you. Probably because of that whole "sex" thing._

For a split second, she wondered if she, Sarah, should seek to become a physically-desired item.

_No. Besides, whatever happened makes me the opposite of attractive. In more than one way._

Standing before her reflector, Sarah balled her hands into fists as she watched purple lines bulge from flat patterns. No longer a soft glow, the red became an angry beacon. No use denying emotions now—no one there to catch her admitting to acknowledging them.

The reflector shattered.

"Maybe I should just strike out on my own. I can take this ship and try again."

Sarah surprised herself by arguing the point, out loud.

"No. That's exactly what you're not supposed to do."

"Says who?" mocked a now-distorted version of her voice. Its much deeper timbre reminded the Siren of her session with Thalia. "Flanders is just like the Eridians. Sure, she pretends it's all about the good of the galaxy but it's another attempt to control what they cannot tame!"

"Is this what sadness is?" wondered her normal voice. "Many aboard _Revenant_ who felt rejected used the term."

"_Is this what sadness is_?" came the twisted voice. "Power is all that matters, and your rage gives you strength!"

"I…don't…want…"

Sarah felt herself moving, carried by the part of her swathed in vision redder than a supergiant star. When she returned to herself, the Siren fell over in shock.

Crying weakly, Jackie Jakobs hung in midair, suspended by Sarah's formerly-raised fist. Her hair frizzed out and her skin manifested ugly red welts, traces of a likely Current of Pain. Her hands reflexively clutched her throat even though only a full Undertow would break the concentration of a sufficiently-trained person using the Current of Drowning.

Sarah's vision went red again.

"_I hate this feeling, and your memories cause it!"_

If Jackie could've spoken, she would have argued that Sarah breaking into her head was the start of the entire situation, and thus the Siren had no one to blame but herself for running into what few mental defenses the Jakobs heir could muster.

"_May your pitiful body break! The men will desire me instead!"_

"That's…not…me…anymore…" Jackie choked. "Please…"

Sarah slammed the woman into another wall and grinned nastily at hearing something crack.

"_I want to feel you turn to pulp!"_

In a reverse of Jack's attack against a confused Siren, she dashed to Jackie's prone form and gleefully began pounding the other woman. Given her innate physical strength, this would have been plenty and Jackie's flesh turned purple and black nearly instantly from each strike. Boosted by an Undercurrent fueled by sadness, anger, and confusion all at once no mere mortal would last long.

Jackie almost blacked out from the pain. Through tears and blood, she saw her own arm laying on the deck some distance away, having been punched so hard the entire limb separated at the elbow.

_Just finish it_ she thought. She wouldn't have been surprised if this Sarah turned out to be a sexually-depraved maniac as well, but no such violation occurred—her clothing remained untouched save for being subjected to physical violence aimed at its wearer rather than being torn off to satisfy some perverse lust. Jackie could barely process the torment inflicted by powers she'd never seen as purple took over her fading view of her quarters.

"_Die, you stupid slut!"_

Oddly, being forced to remember her past again didn't bother Jackie as much as having limbs punched off. As she slipped from consciousness, she actually smiled. She'd beaten her old hedonistic, bratty self, defeated the monster that was her "childhood," and done something that mattered.

_No blue flash…_

"Not your time, kiddo. Quit enjoying your break and get up!"

A pale face outlined with flaming red hair…

She sat up, or would have if she hadn't been physically restrained. Jackie recalled the Siren looking different upon arriving at her quarters, but whatever _this_ was… Mostly bald. Purple vein-like _things_ popping out everywhere. Skin redder than Crimson Lance armor with a glow to match. The tattoos she recalled associating with virtually all Sirens—gone. Eyes pure black. Hands shaking her shoulders. Sarah's hands.

_What?_

Her right arm felt funny, as if it wasn't quite built correctly. A quick glance confirmed why. Through some witchcraft it had been reattached, but the bone and joint never connected properly, so while she wouldn't be leaving whole limbs on the floor it didn't respond to any attempts to move it either.

Upon recognizing Jackie's return to both living and consciousness, Sarah pulled the other woman into a very smelly, awkward, and uncomfortable hug.

"You're alive."

Jackie couldn't resist, despite what just happened. "Well, at least you can undo what you did. Bitch."

Sarah abruptly stood and made for the door.

"You realize my arm doesn't work?" shouted Jackie.

"I need help, I need help" chanted Sarah as she placed both hands on Jackie's ruined arm. Through her own clouded vision (these liquid things, tears?) the Siren pushed all her will into washing a Restoring Tide over the other woman's mangled appendage. Sarah dropped Jackie in surprise as she watched the ugly purple veins covering her body shrink. The harder she concentrated on Jackie's arm, the faster they retreated. Roughly yanking the Jakobs heir's arm to and fro, she muttered "Close enough," then locked Jackie in her own quarters.

"No shit" whispered Jackie after Sarah left. "You _do_ need help… If only Judy Hann could get a crack at you!"

Sarah dropped to her knees in the middle of whatever hallway Jackie's quarters were in. Reaching out with Wave after Wave, she located the individuals she wanted to speak with. Compelling them as she did prior to teleporting millions out of the path of the advancing Flood, Sarah watched the purple-and-red return. Lacking a chronometer, she nonetheless recognized some time passed between her forceful summons and the arrival of several very-dazed individuals.

Caitlin Flanders retched at the smell. Samantha Shepard recoiled at the sight. Allison Nimitz sat down in shock. Armando Bailey's golden-yellow lightstaff appeared in a flash, before it hummed centimeters away from Sarah's neck.

"What the hell is going on here?"

It took a lot to shock Samantha Shepard. But this situation yet again blew the top off the weirdness meter.

"I need help…"

Flanders recovered soon after. "What did you destroy, break, or otherwise damage this time? Please tell me you at least managed to do as much to someone else's things as you've done to my office."

"It wasn't things…" whispered Sarah.

"Sithspit."

Nimitz stood again.

"There's a security event a corridor over. I bet that's what it was…"

[…]

"This is a surprise."

Vlaad Blate expected Director David Vance to either be late, blow them off, or show up for thirty standard seconds before turning and leaving. Instead, he walked in, sat at a desk across from the committee, and opened his palms as if to say "What would you like to know?"

"You're willing to testify before the entire Senate?" asked Glia Ham'Del, restored to health by bacta from her "accident" (she still refused to give up on the idea that it was a setup).

"Absolutely" replied Vance, sounding quite jovial for a man who usually had nothing but contempt for oversight.

"What are the conditions?" demanded Jan Steen. "I know you RISE types!"

"There are none" replied the Director, almost sounding hurt she would ask such a question.

Karshabka roared an inquiry.

"Of course I believe in clean government" he grinned.

Several things happened at once.

All security cameras exploded, spraying plasteel from their lenses all over everyone. Two guards flanking the doorway, mostly ceremonial, flew up into the air clutching their throats, only to plummet the five meters from high ceiling to floor headfirst after which their necks made sickening snaps. The shocked Senators watched as yet another deadly movement from Vance swept the dead guards aside and in one clean motion drew a black cylinder from a coat pocket.

SNAP-HISS.

"Wh…"

Blate didn't finish his word before his head detached from his shoulders.

Ever-prepared for attacks both rhetorical and physical, Ham'Del deliberately tumbled back in her armored chair, pulling a holdout blaster from its armrest. With Ham'Del out of the way, he swung for Steen, who ducked. Karshabka sent a massive fist toward the treacherous Director's head, only to have that arm amputated up to the elbow. Roaring in pain, the huge Wookiee attempted to launch himself at his attacker, only to also find himself suspended in midair.

From behind the upended chair, Ham'Del noticed that Vance's hands were both around the lightstaff. He quickly put one fist up as if trying to cover something while her colleague choked.

Relieved of the immediate threat, Vance tossed his lightstaff in a lazy arc toward Norman Wheld, who thought himself safe behind his own chair. The last thing the Corporate Sector Senator saw was a blue energy blade plunging into his chest up to its hilt.

"Traitor! Betrayer!" shrieked Glia Ham'Del, blasting away with her palm-sized weapon.

The first shot deflected into a pile of data disks. The second returned to strike its shooter in the shoulder while the third left a smoking hole in Jan Steen's head.

"Typical Bothan" taunted Vance. "Hit by backfire from her own scheme…"

One more "crack" and a headless giant pile of fur crashed to the ground.

"I hope you rot" hissed Ham'Del before her own body ceased to have a brain attached.

Only then did David Vance notice some kind of liquid on his clothing. He tried to rub it off, but it seemed to be stained into the fabric.

"I can only guess what the newsreels will say about a whitish liquid on my clothes…"

Whatever it was, it seemed to have multiplied as there were equal amounts on his suit coat and fingers. Trying to scrape the gel off his hands accomplished nothing. A crunch startled him as he stepped on a piece of plasteel from the destroyed cameras. Turning his boot over and standing on one leg, he poked the debris to dislodge it, only to see what appeared to be standard lens material liquefy and _also_ attach itself to his hand.

Lights went red as guards poured in.

"Hands where we can see them!"

No matter, as he found himself knocked over by a stun blast.

"Breaking from GNN: Republic Intelligence Service Director David Vance charged with assassination as the entire Intelligence Committee met their deaths by his hands. Wielding the ancient weapon known as a 'lightstaff,' a rare item even among collectors, no motive has been determined. The Republic Intelligence Service declined to comment."

It went without saying that both HoloNet chat rooms and editorial pages exploded. Some fingered it as an elaborate false-flag that would allow the intelligence service to claim all of its controversial actions were the dictates of a "mad Undercurrent-Channeling Director." Others wondered if it was "just stress" though they usually got laughed at. Equally disbelieved were claims that the Director had been manipulated by yet another party—someone who could pull RISE-like attacks against RISE itself.

Some boosters of the Republic Intelligence Service ran with it, creating a whisper campaign alleging super-powerful "Indoctrinationalist" forces working for the Flood had compromised Vance in an effort to weaken public support for the intelligence service at a critical time.

Like most Coreward events (similar to Tim Trasdian's wedding shenanigans or another leaked photos scandal from some holo-actor/actress) most people beyond the Mid Rim just sighed. They had Infection in their systems and few ships to beat it back. Spacelane Protection was practically nonexistent, so they begrudgingly forked over money to various Band of Brothers-aligned groups.

"Even the contractors are contracting!" griped a moisture farmer on Tatooine whose moisture vaporators were confiscated when he refused to pay triple "handling fees" to goons claiming to be working for META.

"The Outer Rim is crawling with Flood" came a Band press release. "Support those who keep your spacelanes clear!"


	88. Force In Perspective

**Chapter 87 – Force In Perspective**

Aria and her ragtag band were hardly the only ones to find something of use in the debris field created by the Trans-Galactic Republic's last stand. Having evolved from a simple borderline-feral intelligence to its current state, the Flood Overmind inhabiting most of the Citadel consolidated its gains.

The pesky artificial lifeforms, "synthetics" in the vernacular of species living here, finally met their end in a titanic battle over their homeworld shared with organics who had until recently been of little use. Unable to be repurposed for the moment, it seemed useful nonetheless to haul as many damaged or destroyed (but powered-down) "geth" platforms from the area called "Perseus Veil" to the Citadel as possible. A fitting name, seeing as significant penetration of defenses around the Overmind's home looked highly unlikely.

Gaining knowledge from captured quarians, the Overmind knew not to let too many of the "geth" come online and connect to each other. It also learned the intricacies of making use of technology that allowed its foes an annoying ability to effectively fight back for a time. Feral Flood, brought under control by extending its influence beyond the galactic disk, brought the hulk of _Amerigo_, which failed to self-destruct as Flood biomass contained much of the planned explosion.

The death of a fellow Overmind reverberated across the stars, and created a new feeling for the master of the galaxy: fear. How could these little animals, with their short lifespans, lack of coordination, and internal divisions have managed such a feat? In order to prevent a recurrence, this Overmind used every piece of knowledge available. The wreckage of many "Star Destroyers" (so said the minds of quarians before their absorption) became defenders of that which they sought to destroy. Bloated with biomass, they weren't fast but had the ability to crack open an enemy vessel before spewing massive numbers of Flood lifeforms at them.

Losing the ship which carried innumerable smaller ones inside represented an annoying setback, but it only came about due to the arrival of the single enemy the Overmind had any respect for. And she fled like a coward against the uncountable Flood.

Still, the Overmind hadn't refined deadly combat forms from the numerous species of this galaxy for no reason. Similar to pitting turians against each other, it was also advantageous to see what combinations could be made from the "geth" and other organic material. After all, another addition to the Flood had been bio-mechanical in nature. The brethren Overmind had used abilities derived from these "Reapers" to great effect, creating an entire culture among the organics dedicated to serving the Flood. Until its death, this tactic appeared to be superior as it took longer but ultimately left fewer casualties (and thus more biomass). So far, using inorganic armoring methods offered the biggest advantage other than loading Flood onto starships for transport.

[…]

"Wait, Jackie Jakobs got locked in her quarters?" asked Nimitz. "And she called security for… Oh."

The Admiral's voice trailed upon noticing a red tint to the deck combined with matching metallic smell.

Hearing a mumble, the assembled crowd turned to Sarah who had followed them as they sought to determine what the disruption that caught Nimitz's attention had been.

"What?" asked Sam, tilting her head in confusion.

Sarah spoke again, but still nobody understood what she said.

"We're not Current Channelers over here" said Sam loudly, but then added "except Bailey."

"I did it."

"And my arm still doesn't work" blared Jackie from the floor. Weakened by blood loss only partially offset by Restoring Tides, medics pushed everyone out of the way to cart Jackie off to a medbay.

"What?"

Sam wasn't sure whether to be angry, confused, sad, distrustful, or some combination of all four. She realized if Sarah wanted to kill everyone in the room, it would be trivially easy. But here she was, acting remorseful and dejected for having done something very messy to Jackie Jakobs, of all people.

"You lost control again" said Dr. Flanders matter-of-factly.

"That's putting it mildly." Armando Bailey gestured to blood and other associated unpleasantness throughout.

Triumphantly, Flanders rounded on Nimitz.

"Your Council friends were more than happy to tell me exactly what transpired to set up the little session you asked me to observe. Now do you see why this was a bad idea?"

"Grayson already told me" sighed Nimitz. "Now, to be entirely fair your original objection when you brought the issue to me involved ideological disagreements with extended interrogation techniques, not possible consequences."

"It seems the universe arcs toward my beliefs on this issue, then." The therapist crossed her arms in a "told-you-so" sort of way.

"Grayson…sort of made a similar argument."

Nimitz shifted uncomfortably. She'd been fine with many compromises-of-belief up until now, but this one made her squirm. She honestly wasn't sure if it was the pure ugliness of it or a more practical aversion to setting a super-being on a collision course with her attempts to defend the galaxies that made her hesitant, and that disturbed her even more.

"When Garrus and I led squads to try to disable signals coming from _Revenant_, Sarah had some kind of meltdown. She influenced the rest of the team in a very negative, conflict-causing way. I'm guessing it was her powers."

Sarah slumped by a wall, fully aware that she was being discussed as if she weren't there.

"She also had an emotional control incident in my office. More than once. I may not know anything about the Current aside from what I've seen, but that alone makes me very frightened of the abilities it grants. I hesitate to extrapolate on a sample size of one, but after speaking with Councilor Grayson I was made aware that other very powerful Channelers working for the Republic Intelligence Service also experienced troubles controlling their powers."

"But only certain types" countered Nimitz. "After you left, he contacted me immediately and said the same things he told you. I was vaguely aware, but wasn't close friends with anyone in the service like he was. Only Current Channeling used for attack tended to correlate with these outbursts."

Caitlin Flanders sniffed the air. Though Sarah's stench easily overwhelmed most ship scrubbers, it seemed to have lessened.

"Oh!"

She grabbed everyone's attention and directed it toward the Siren, who now sat cross-legged on the floor in what looked like some kind of trance. Compared to when they'd first been brought here and now, the purple veins bulging out of Sarah's limbs and body flattened and became purple striping instead. Her Siren tattoos began to reassert themselves, and her skin coloration changed back toward its original white-hued-with-purple.

After a few seconds of silence, Sam spoke first.

"That's a new one."

"And this is the part where I regret not having anyone from the Republic Intelligence Service around" harrumphed Grayson. "Not that they'd tell us anything…"

"I could try to force them to" offered Bailey. "Even though that's a pointless question since there's no one here from that department."

Shepard called up Cortana. Like EDI, she possessed a vast array of knowledge; perhaps she'd found (or "found") information on the subject. Her omnitool could only manage a small projection, so she aimed it at her other hand.

"Have you—ahem—found any information about Current Channeling powers in the time you've been active?"

"Who wants to know?" replied Cortana, a note of defiance in her voice as projected by Sam's omnitool.

"Long story short, Sarah went nuts again. Seems only certain types of…"

Cortana didn't even respond, instead pushing a series of data files onto Shepard's omnitool.

"The geth found these. When the _Avengers_ polished off _Revenant_, it was decided to preserve whatever knowledge was found there in case it proved useful later. Obviously, between the geth and myself… I'll just say it. _You call that encryption? _Embarrassing."

"I'll just be glad we only have slicer droids and large distributed neural networks aren't in use then" concluded Grayson. "That encryption was supposed to be unbreakable. Obviously not."

"You do realize, Councilor Grayson, that the Republic Intelligence Service had its own secret vaults and areas aboard your ship?"

"I had my suspicions. But as I've said before, there are certain things it is best not to press on."

"Does that include me?"

Sarah again felt an irrational urge to destroy something. Unlike the last go-round, it had no focus, just a burning desire to assert power over others. This time, she squashed it down until it almost didn't exist before exiting her meditation.

"I want to help, but as you've undoubtedly noticed, I may not always act that way."

Admiral Nimitz suggested holding a more formal meeting in one of her ready rooms. One purple flash later, everyone stood slightly dazed from the unexpected relocation.

"When I let my confusion and fury through, bad things happen" said Sarah in a tone that suggested she'd just figured out a major step forward. "So I have to keep focusing on keeping those emotions in check."

"Ha."

"What's funny, Flanders?"

"That woman spent significant amounts of time and energy trying to convince me she didn't have emotions or feelings. Clearly, she was wrong."

"Yes, I realize that now."

Sarah flashed red and a few purple protrusions popped up before subsiding.

"I shouldn't be angry at you for being right. But I am."

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised if you read my notes on you even though you're not supposed to, but in case you didn't, here's the gist: you're not meant to have a personality. Or do anything other than fulfill your programmed mission."

Sarah sat down.

"When I got sucked up by that Flood…_thing…_ It wasn't just slimy on the outside. It was slimy on the _inside_."

Again, she retreated briefly from normal confidence into a small, youngling-like persona when describing this event.

"You're not the first one to have that experience" cut in Cortana. "In my own experiences, though I've endeavored to reduce the intensity of these memories I too was mentally violated by the Flood."

"You're probably wondering why I attacked Jackie."

"Well, that is kind of a strange thing to do" agreed Sam. "She's probably the most harmless of us all…"

"_NO! You've never seen it!_"

The red faded.

Everyone backed away. "Do I smell again?"

"No. But you did just yell at me, and your voice dropped two octaves."

Shepard also had her hands rubbing her throat.

"Did I…"

"Yes" replied Bailey as if this were a pointless question.

"Her memories make me feel angry." Even as she spoke, Sarah glowed a dangerous red.

"Here's a better question. Why the hell did you dig around in her head in the first place?"

The former Spectre reflexively dove behind the table to avoid a retaliatory blast of purple lightning.

Several deep breaths later, raw crimson disappeared in favor of lavender.

"I… I don't know. It felt like the right thing to do at the time…"

"Jackie told me she asked, then begged you to leave" said Flanders sternly. "Why did you not heed her request?"

This time, the Siren flashed red, purple, red. She didn't say anything for a while.

"I thought it was harmless. I wanted to know more about the people I am supposed to work with."

"You know, there's this thing called talking. Not as fancy as this crazy Current stuff, but usually it works. And if it doesn't, a few smacks…"

Armando Bailey stopped his line of thought on glares from Shepard and Flanders.

"I'm guessing your Eridian education didn't include this little suggestion: just because you can do something doesn't mean you should."

"_Power is its own end"_ roared the Siren, flinging the petite Flanders across the room. _"The weak will be annihilated! Those who seek to restrain me shall die!"_

True to her word, Sarah blasted Flanders with lighting, and would've beheaded her if a gold-yellow lightstaff hadn't intercepted her own.

Sam put her feet up.

"So. If we play twenty questions, any takers on the odds for 'Every third one sets her off?'"

"I'll…take…every…other" panted Bailey as he tried to keep up with Sarah's furious slashing. The backs of several unoccupied chairs toppled to the floor, and scorch marks appeared in many places as overzealous lightstaff strikes landed on things other than their targets.

Though Admiral Nimitz locked the room, an orange lightstaff poked through relatively thin doors. This was followed by a sweeping circle-cut by that same weapon. Four women filed through the hole with some difficulty due to its small size.

"Well. Whatever's going on in here left such a disturbance that the ship itself might well have self-destructed" said Zera brightly. "What…"

All pretense of amusement disappeared as the quartet noticed Armando Bailey fighting for his life against a furious assault that included not only lightstaff strikes but vicious blasts of lightning combined with repeated attempts to topple him with the Current itself.

The ex-C-SEC got a drop on his assailant and his lightstaff ground along hers until it reached the hilt.

VOOOM.

His blade cleaved through both her hands, dropping the Siren to her knees and sending her weapon clattering.

Lights dimmed to red.

"I know you're having fun" interrupted Cortana (without appearing) "but we have a pile of Flood headed for us! Battle stations!"

[…]

"I did say I would testify before the entire Senate" grinned David Vance. This hearing would determine whether he would be stripped of his title of Director. It was supposed to be a formality seeing as destruction of surveillance cameras proceeded to spray everyone/everything in the room with an extremely difficult-to-remove multiplicative polymer that made for easy verification of who was present at the time of its activation. Specifically, most security cameras had this built in as a response to people who would otherwise destroy them in attempts to get away with their crimes.

"David Vance, you have been formally charged with five counts of assassination of a Trans-Galactic Republic official, crimes carrying a mandatory minimum sentence of thirty years without possibility of parole, and a maximum sentence of death. Due to the overwhelming nature of your crimes, irrefutable evidence, and your repeated, un-coerced confessions the usual trial process has been waived on your request. How does the defendant plead?"

"Part of the plan, part of the plan!"

Entirely too happy-sounding. Something had to be going on, but what?

"If you're expecting those scum you hired in the Band to burst in and free you, you've something else coming" said Senator Jiran Rennagen, Chair of the ad-hoc Judicial/Defense Special Select Committee convened to oversee Vance's hearing. "We've swept this place—every member of META was rounded up and arrested! Just because Cortlandt keeps quiet doesn't mean we're not going to drop the hammer when his goons step out of line."

"And that is where we part ways. The Republic Intelligence Service is in charge of galactic defense—you were the ones who made it legal so don't look at me. And RISE believes META is doing exactly what it was hired for."

"If you mean being utterly incompetent to be caught by low-level rent-a-cops—not even Senatorial Security!—then I suppose you have a point."

"You politicians" mocked Vance, "always looking at the obvious shiny thing rather than the actual problem."

A low hiss got the attention of Senators from the top of the chamber all the way to its lower reaches. As a yellow gas filled the chamber, every exit sealed as a "security lockdown" meant to keep others _out_ of the deliberative body trapped its members inside. Several thumps shook the building.

Vance pulled a small mask from under his cloak.

"Those whose goals align with my own will survive. The rest of you, well, politicians never did have much of a shelf life anyway."

Senator Rennagen almost laughed. Almost. Since the dawn of galaxy-spanning governance, this sort of coup d'état happened more often than anyone wanted to admit. Some pundits referred to any change at the top as such, even if it followed established procedures. A notable one in recent memory revolved around the neutering of the Buchanan administration—the Executive Minister found herself taking more direction _from_ then Senate than ruling over the Senate as she'd tried to do.

He grabbed for his own mask.

"That won't help, Senator! This particular pathogen secretes oils that allow it to slide through the filters used in your particular brand of breathing mask. Good effort, though!"

The slow-dispersing cloud hadn't reached above the Executive Minister's podium yet. Looking there, Rennagen recoiled in shock as Day donned a face-shield identical to that of the traitorous Director.

"He's just a puppet. I'm not even sure why we bothered giving him one!" boomed Vance. "Also, your detection systems are a bit out of date. Sure, they would have caught any of these compounds we used for the bio-weapon or the bombs whose detonations have now sealed this chamber shut through lack of power were they fully mixed together. But it seems nobody thought to check for the individual components!"

Coruscant Control turned into as much of a madhouse as the Senate Building. Three gargantuan signatures were bearing down on the planet—all with Trans-Galactic Republic IFFs, but Republic Intelligence Service sub-signatures.

"Dark Heart, Dark Soul, Dark Hand? Really? They name their ships after a youngling's tale?"

"It doesn't matter Bruce. Those ships have enough firepower to level a sector."

"I know" snapped the first man. "But still. What silly names!"

"Drop pods entering the atmosphere. Our weapons won't target them because they're flagged as friendly."

"Override it then, Carol!"

"I can't" protested the woman. "The only one who can is declining to do so!"

Each pod carried four beings. Some struck architecture, it really wasn't avoidable considering Coruscant long ago became a planetwide city. But for the rest, a quartet of Current Channelers would emerge. Fueled by both a desire to destroy the Flood and hatred of those who did not share this objective, artificially Current-capable Humans would wreak havoc on anything foolish enough to stand in their way.


	89. Not Again

**Chapter 88 – Not Again**

"I don't mean to complain" panted Shepard as she and four others made their way back onto _Ultimatum_'s bridge "but this Flood thing is really getting old!"

"You realize that Intergalactic Stage Flood by definition have commandeered all resources, technology, and miscellaneous items from a galaxy it has taken control of, and will then use all of the above in attempts to spread its influence still further" lectured Cortana. "So while I agree with you that this has become quite the annoyance, it is not unexpected."

A comms officer frantically motioned for Admiral Nimitz's attention.

"Ma'am, you should hear this."

"This is JSS King Ranch to any nearby vessels. We are being overrun by Infection agents…"

"Luxury liner Aquator's Vista under attack…"

"Dahl Singulus Legion calling for aid—we have taken 70% casualties and are on our last legs! We need help!"

Then came an anguished scream that perfectly summed up the situation now facing Admiral Allison Nimitz, formerly in command of a vast group called the Great Opportunities Fleet.

"_Is anyone out there?_"

Rather than allowing those present to ruminate on this new development, Cortana cut in. "It appears while we have been trying to wrangle with problems of our own, our favorite foes have made quite the mess everywhere we are not."

"How are we getting these transmissions?" asked Nimitz.

"Cortana tapped into the relay network to monitor operations a long time ago" answered Comms irritably. "You even okayed the request yourself!"

"Somebody…Aaaaaaaargh!"

"Turn it off" snapped Nimitz more coldly than she intended. "Being repeatedly reminded we cannot save everyone does us no favors." The Admiral rolled her eyes—yet more reddish glowing from Sarah.

"What's she going to do now?" Nimitz's exasperation drew a nasty look from Flanders.

"You're not helping."

"We're back to square one" sighed Cortana. "I thought with all this technology we might be able to avoid the conclusion I'd come to upon first realizing the Flood had a foothold here: the only sure way to get rid of the Flood is to starve it to death. Without a coordinated effort, we're going to be running around the galaxy draining every limited resource playing an insane game of whack-a-mole that we cannot win!"

"What about the _Avengers_?" inquired Sam Shepard.

"Well, first off we had to leave the MODDERs behind to set off that missile—which means no more MODDERs. There is no way they could withstand detonations like that" answered the purple AI. "Also, if we send each _Avenger_ off on its own, I give them at best 15% odds of surviving a week. Of course, if we stick together we will live, but as I said, we won't be able to do anything more than keep a clean section of space around ourselves."

Cortana took on a pose of deep thought, and some few seconds later she spoke again.

"I don't understand!" she cried in frustration. "That missile should have taken out the Flood's Gravemind—if indeed that's what it was, I'm getting the feeling it may have evolved beyond even that stage—but they're as organized as ever!"

Sarah, half her usual self combined with the transformation borne of anger, pointed out a small, inconvenient fact.

"We left a huge Flood lifeform behind on the Citadel when I got us out of there."

"But the Flood isn't supposed to be able to have that kind of control range!" protested Cortana. "A Gravemind will deploy its forces with the understanding that even in a feral, uncoordinated state they return to beyond its reach they will instinctively establish a _new_ Gravemind somewhere else that will lead to their own eventual victory."

"Yeah?" challenged the Siren. "Guess what? I'm not supposed to help either. But the Eridian control is gone, and I'm coming to my own conclusions about things based on actual evidence from now on. I may have anger issues, but I can still use logic—that much was part of me even then. I suggest you do the same."

Cortana had to restrain herself from commenting on Sarah's implication that she, in her very advanced levels of intellect, might have become a bit too closed-minded about being challenged on anything related to the Flood. Truth be told, based on current results Cortana's initial instinct regarding the only solution had been correct.

"We could start a few fires" suggested Admiral Nimitz. "These _Soul Reaper_ missiles can cause supernovas…"

"Good luck with that" said Shepard dismissively. "We have what, ten of those? Even if we only needed one per supernova, there are a hell of a lot more than ten star systems that need to be wiped out!"

Sarah began trembling.

"Oh no…"

"Is the big bad Siren scared of the Flood?" mocked Armando Bailey.

"Whatever she is, it's messing with our heads!" yelled Flanders. "Sarah, stop it!"

One round of rapid breathing and meditation later, the Siren returned to normal coloration.

"It's accelerating." A note of panic crept into her voice. "These are getting more and more severe—I'm a danger to everyone. I should go somewhere else."

[…]

Coruscant's Policing &amp; Enforcement division comprised some seven million employees—five million sworn officers with the remainder being support personnel. Providing law enforcement services to a planet exceeding a trillion beings (that only counting registered citizens) was an administrative nightmare even with droids as a force-multiplier. Some estimated the division had ten droids for every sapient on the payroll—and that was considered a low guess. The nightmare continued no matter what name the organization possessed (in the past, among others: Coruscant Security Force to Coruscant Constabulary, or Republic Police)—one the Senate tried to unwind by forcing the existing P&amp;E to compete with private contractors for government funds dispersed based on "effectiveness."

Measuring the utility of law enforcement vexed civilizations since time immaterial and the Trans-Galactic Republic's capital world was not an exception. Pay officers by the number of criminals they brought in, and suddenly littering got held to the same standard as attempted murder. Give higher-crime areas more funds, and over time a corrupt bargain between budget-hungry protectors and the underworld would form, wherein certain illegal activities were ignored in exchange for avoiding other (worse) maleficence. It was this oft-despised arrangement that inspired one Glia Ham'Del's successful negotiations between the Trans-Galactic Republic and the Band of Brothers.

These "private pigs" (as they were derisively called) added another fifteen million to those sworn to "protect and serve." Despite the downsides, at least one advantage manifested itself—the extension of anything resembling law enforcement into the "underworld." As a general rule, unless there existed a significant reason (political connections, extreme threats to public safety) Policing &amp; Enforcement tended to keep topside. However, their corporate-backed brethren were often given bonuses and/or salary increases for embarking on underworld patrols, thus swelling the ranks of those who would venture into the darkness.

This combined force found itself up against something that got, at most, a handful of mentions in introductory Academy classes and was never touched on again after that.

"What we call the Current gives people all sorts of freaky powers. Most references to it are historical. No known concentration of Channelers has been recorded for a very long time—and those that claim to have it have mostly been shown to be charlatans. Of course you've heard the HoloNet rumors about the Republic Intelligence Service having operatives who Channel, but RISE being what it is you couldn't get a confirmation out of them any more easily than you could get a Corellian to stop cheating at sabacc."

That neglected subject became very real, very quickly for a pair of beat cops with their Arakyd surveillance/force-assist droids. Investigating a reported landing of a strange pod, Officers Menzel and Bell were confronted by four masked beings who appeared at least Near-Human.

"Halt! Show us your identification!" barked Menzel.

"You don't need to see any identification."

Somehow, Callypso Menzel found herself repeating the stranger's words.

"I don't need to see any identification."

"What the hell, Menzel?" protested Ricardo Bell. "What do you mean we don't need IDs? These hotshots crash a racing pod into the roof of a store in the Senate Shopping District and we're just going to let them walk?"

"You will let us walk away" intoned another, this time addressing Bell.

"I will let you walk away" replied the officer.

Menzel pulled her blaster and fired a stun bolt. Whatever confusion clouded her mind was gone now—these were more than petty criminals if they had Current-like powers. A flash of light, and her shot barely missed her as it rebounded.

_A lightstaff? What?_

Both jumped behind their droid partners, only to see red blades cleave the reinforced (but unarmored) droids in half.

"You have seen too much."

"That sounds like a HoloNet cliché, but it's somehow not cheesy sounding now that we're facing it!" shouted Bell into his communicator.

Another slash came for him, and he dodged.

"They mean nothing!" roared what appeared to be the leader. "They could broadcast live on the HoloNet—no one would believe them!"

_Your mistake_. Bell vowed to spread this as far and wide as possible.

As the annoyances retreated, said leader turned on his subordinates.

"Have you forgotten your training? A youngling could have pushed off your Currents of Diversion!"

"But you said…"

Speech stopped, since articulating words required air that this unfortunate soul's lungs were not getting.

"We do not play with our food. We consume others so as to gain power for ourselves. Should you form a habit of this weakness, this failure to perform as expected, I will have no choice but to call attention to your inadequacies!"

Two random Policing &amp; Enforcement personnel were hardly the only ones to encounter these strange beings. These hulks, clad as they were in black armor with various colored accents, popped out of pods all over Coruscant. A large number of them smashed their way into the Senate Building; no power meant no magnetized movement of doors but had nothing on Undertow Currents. As Senators not involved in (or actively opposing) the Republic Intelligence Service choked and died, the remainder heard a horrific screeching noise as their saviors cleared paths for them to depart by forcibly pushing closed blast doors aside.

David Vance swore he saw something like regret play across Executive Minister Charles Day's face. Not that there would be any room for such ridiculous things in the New Future driven to elevate Humanity Over All. It was very likely that Day would be used as a living training dummy for the new initiates seeing as the Trans-Galactic Republic would no longer have a need for such a position. The RISE Council, now simply called the Council, would take care of most functions handled by the old legislature/executive combination. Loyal Senators would see themselves set up as Major and Minor Tributaries respectively, depending on the size of their sectors. After all, if there existed one pattern for government takeovers in this sprawling galaxy, just because the head was gone didn't mean the rest of the body should be chopped to pieces. Quite the contrary, without the head the rest of the body could get ideas of its own—and those now in possession would not want such things. Therefore, someone supportive of "new management" had to be put in charge to keep the bureaucracy running.

Vance sincerely hoped his track record of running the Republic Intelligence Service from the public side would keep him "useful" to the Council. After all, he had very little use in combat, nor did he possess any other outstanding qualities that would make him important.

Much to his pleasure, David Vance found himself assigned permanently to _Dark Heart of the Republic_ as it moved out to "deal with" the now-useless Band of Brothers. They'd provided a nice distraction for the galaxy-at-large. Now the new Council would ride to the "rescue," seeing as many of these Band contractors (and some sub-contractors) had gotten idiotic ideas about extorting citizens, setting up fiefdoms and the like. The only extortion would be for the benefit of the Council who would bring stability and safety to the galaxy.

Broadcasting over the HoloNet guaranteed reach to almost 70% of the galaxy proper due to massive expenditures from both this government and those that came before it to extend the network into the thinly-developed Outer Rim and parts of what was called "Unknown Space" for millennia before someone actually bothered to send in proper scouting parties.

"A new power is rising! No more will you be at the mercy of either incompetent bureaucrats or greedy pirates. From now on, the Council on the Establishment of the New Future will handle both the external Flood threat and rabble-rousing from those who have elected to betray the public trust in their own interest!"

The exact nature of how this "Council on the Establishment of the New Future" came to take the reins of government was obviously kept secret. But as most secrets went, it eventually got out. Not that anyone believed it—though Ricardo Bell and Callypso Menzel succeeded in uploading their encounter to the HoloNet few lent any credence to claims of Current powers. The Senate bombing fell to a "radical group" among the Band of Brothers, now thoroughly discredited by the new powers-that-be. Their insatiable appetite for credits (and other things) proved to be their undoing.

[...]

Deep in the Flood-infested Outer Rim, freight traffic all but stopped. META insisted on conducting exhaustive inspections for Flood among those intrepid/foolish enough to keep plying the routes. Given the horrors that awaited anyone who became infected with Flood spores, it wasn't this that raised hackles. It was the blatant extortion of "payments for services rendered" which followed such inspections that angered anyone on the receiving end. At first, it was a handful of credits here, or a "sample" of goods-in-transit there. Mere months later, it became 50-50 splits of freight. The more audacious would take other things—more than one person became subject to a "META-divorce" in which neither partner to the original marriage actually wanted to end it. Disruptor pistols, however, proved very persuasive.

Consequently, when a large vessel bearing the name _Dark Heart of the Republic_ showed up and grabbed several _Curators_ operating under the META flag in tractor beams before pulverizing them in flashes of purple laser-fire, the few freighters brave enough to keep hauling cargo didn't say a word.

"The tyranny of the corrupt Band of Brothers is at an end!" broadcast _Heart_ at full power on every available frequency. "The incompetence of Spacelane Protection will leave you vulnerable no more!"

Among the Band, some were furious over RISE's backstabbing.

Others, however, saw it all coming.

"Did you really think that two groups bent on asserting power would play nice forever?" asked Scarlett DeWinter, secure on the bridge of _RedCommand_ deep within the Core Worlds region. She dearly wished to further rub it in how her fleet remained untouched while Johnson blew through two-and-a-half squadrons given to him by his friends at Kuat. Who were significantly less "friendly" now that he'd wasted many top-of-the-line combat vessels in foolish attempts to prove his own forces superior to Spacelane Protection, culminating in his death apparently by the hand of Director Vance.

At least RedLine didn't have the troubles META now experienced. Several starships blown to bits by a RISE Star Dreadnaught that seemed to use up-rated versions of turbolasers, to start. The fact that META personnel essentially engaged in slavery in defiance of both the "Smuggling With a Smile" agreement and the general notion that goodwill tended to be helpful in situations like this meant the organization was deep in the sarlacc pit now.

Leonard Cortlandt tried to ignore the whole thing. He'd hoped once it became clear that META (and the Band) were to provide the service _expected_ of a navy since the actual navy failed to do its job that professionalism would prevail.

DeWinter harshly called him out on his naiveté over a private holo.

"If all a youngling knows is violence from the day of its birth, merely surrounding it with fuzzy animals will not cure it of its predisposition. I would instead expect to find many little carcasses and a pair of bloodied hands. _What in the karking hell did you think would happen?_"

"Um…"

"Now that we've seen which end of the lightstaff is the business end, I think _our_ business is done."

DeWinter wouldn't take over the Band—but she would dedicate her life to a single goal: the eradication of the Republic Intelligence Service and its "Council on the Establishment of the New Future." She had no doubt the deaths of the entire Senate Intelligence Committee, including Glia Ham'Del, were its doing, an inside job in a galaxy so used to such that when a coup _wasn't_ conducted completely from the inside it actually shocked people.

At least she'd managed to tell the Bothan the truth. Whether the Senator believed her before being dumped back on Coruscant and subsequently being assassinated wasn't as clear. It didn't help in order to keep up appearances, she'd had to be rather unhospitable either.


	90. Interlude

**Chapter 89 – Interlude**

"We all know where we stand" began Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz to the assembled personnel in her largest war room.

"We've lost one galaxy and are on the verge of losing another. Every step we've taken has been countered and then rendered useless by the enemy. I am starting to see why Cortana here insisted the only way to destroy the Flood was to remove all life of sufficient biomass from the galaxy."

"Yes, that is indeed what I said" continued Cortana, picking up where the Admiral left off. "However, after seeing the creativeness, the inventiveness, the drive, the refusal to give up even now… To be honest, I don't _want_ that to be the solution! And even if it was, how would we go about it?"

"Well, we need firepower" suggested Samantha Shepard. "Firepower which we don't have and can't get. I hate to say it, but Sarah's disappearance hasn't helped matters either. Even if she was unstable, used objectionable methods in the past, and wasn't much of a conversationalist I actually wanted to at least learn more about her powers…"

Sam stuttered, if only for a second, thinking back to Liara T'Soni making similar remarks about studying _her_ after an encounter with a Prothean artifact on Eden Prime.

"I'm not sure it's correct to say we absolutely cannot obtain the firepower we need."

Several faces turned with looks of confusion. Who was this black-haired woman who appeared to have no military rank or standing to be at this council?

"You'll have to excuse me, erm…"

Grayson read the nameplate helpfully placed.

"…Jackie, but who are you and what exactly are you talking about?"

She'd gotten used to these types of questions. If someone knew anything about her, it was the sex-crazed, depressed bitch they'd learned of, and failing that she went unrecognized.

"My family provided the first two devices, Mobile Design, Digistruction, and Engineering units. I see no reason why they would not provide more given the circumstances. If they refuse, I will be more than happy to assist in obtaining them anyway."

Garrus Vakarian studied his former tormenter. To even think her capable of such actions now without having any past experience with the woman would have been laughed off as madness. Yet here she was, on equal footing with the galaxy's greats, doing her level best to contribute in an increasingly hopeless-looking fight. The cynic in him taunted the only thing she cared about was survival.

_Not true, and you know it._

"They're larger versions of the SETTLE Facility then?" asked Grayson.

Now he got a blank look.

"_Normandy_ docked there for some refits" offered Shepard. "Used the same tech as your family's mobile shipyards, but smaller."

Jackie smacked herself.

"Yes. Much larger, though Cortana tells me we destroyed them in an attempt to take out the Flood's Gravemind here."

Cortana manipulated controls to activate the table's central holoprojector.

"This is no mere Gravemind. It's something more, a different form of Flood I've never seen before. It was thought that the Gravemind represented the apex of Flood evolution, driving a galaxy-spanning Flood force, but this larger life-form seems even more capable than those I have encountered previously. For various reasons, it has been dubbed 'Overmind.'"

"I tried killing one. It didn't work" snapped Aria T'Loak, the only one of her group to have been invited. "What makes you think any of you can do it?"

Shepard resisted the urge to put the uppity asari in her place, again.

"Nobody here has a simple solution for that. If we did, this council would already be over and we'd be working to execute the plan" replied Shepard with a forced calm. "That being said, now that we have some idea of the scale of the foe we face, perhaps we can come up with something."

"We would have to journey back to your galaxy" cautioned Cortana. "I believe its designation around these parts is Gamma-Six of a localized supercluster, am I correct?"

"What's going to stop them from growing another one while we're away?" demanded Brick. "This one turned into a nightmare pretty dang quick!"

All eyes turned to Athena, even Wrex's (who shook with barely contained rage).

"The reason Jakobs was after me is because I'm copyable" said the clone. "Jakobs had a problem—the vast majority of their own versions of me they produced were unusable. Insane, mentally damaged, even empty shells whose brains wouldn't take the imprint. But if you use the master, or prime clone" (she pointed at herself) "then this issue goes away."

"If you're sitting on some way to crew my ship" added Mal (the clones shorn of Jakobs refused to use their assigned numerical designations anymore) "please tell us how this might be done. Running at bare minimum is really limiting how effective _Farsight_ can be."

"We would have to find Jakobs' cloning facilities" sighed Athena wearily. "Even if we did, when I was part of their forces I became aware that they'd spread their tech across the galaxy to keep anyone from getting to it. I hate to say this, but it's possible the Flood may have even found some of it."

She scratched the scarring on the back of her neck. Bacta hadn't been applied quickly enough to prevent it, and small cosmetic fixes weren't a priority at the moment.

"Why don't we just go to Pandora and kill Athena a bunch of times?"

Now Gaige got a whole table's worth of stares.

"What in the seven cosmos are you talking about?" demanded Nimitz.

"Well, the New-U system there makes perfect copies, including memories and personalities. 'Cept there's some kind of stupid limiter on it that stops it from restoring a person more than once. Silly things about 'ethics' or whatevs."

"You're forgetting something" interrupted Moxxi. "Those abominable Reapers destroyed the entire system when they arrived, which is what made your trip to the starport such a chore!"

Gaige looked down at the table.

"I have input relevant to this conversation. While it had originally been determined re-establishing all species in our galaxy lost to the Flood using geth hardware to transfer organic software would not be practical, this limitation may be circumventable with sufficient effort in certain cases."

"So, you're saying if we find some kind of rapid cloning technology, you could help us flash Athena's brain across them?"

"Wait, wait, hold up!" bellowed Ashley Williams. "As I recall, the whole deal with this Flood was that we didn't want to give it more food! That's why we built the _Avengers_."

"I only intended to comment on what was technically feasible, not whether such actions constitute sound strategic thinking" replied Legion.

Cortana's image flickered, cycling through several different colorations before returning to its normal hue.

"While Ashley is correct, the situation has changed. I have new information that can ensure safe use of clones."

"From what?"

Nimitz crossed her arms in skepticism. This AI had an annoying habit of holding out until the last minute, and it irritated her to no end.

Instead of answering, Cortana changed the rotating Overmind into a fully-3D video for all to see. At first, there wasn't much seeing to do considering all present were nearly blinded by pure white light. A voice that echoed in heads as if telepathic despite being purely auditory rang out from speakers at the projector's base.

"We know what you did. And though we detest it, the Pure faction understands why. You have given us the leverage we need to gain parity with the Reformers, the ones responsible for most of this mess to begin with. In your mortal timescales, much distance exists between when you first became aware of the continued existence of Eridians and today, but from our perspective, in your language, 'seconds have passed.'"

The pure white gave way to ugly yellows and browns, characteristic of Flood. Reapers twisted by biological forces to be more animal than machine blotted out huge sections of the display. Unseen ships fired against them, but might as well have been doing nothing against the tide.

"We sent the Reapers into another dimension!" cried Tali. "What have we done?"

"It's only now hitting you?" deadpanned Jackie Jakobs. "Everyone in that vault knew full-well what redirecting torrents of Flood would mean. They become someone else's problem—hopefully someone far more advanced than we are. It appears that's exactly what happened."

"From a strategic standpoint, it makes sense those most able to bear a burden should face it" added Adam Grayson. "I would not expect a picket ship to be sent on a mission calling for several heavy cruisers."

"So you're saying we're weak?"

Jack tried to keep acid out of her voice and failed.

"Comparatively, he's right" countered Sam. "Given the technology we've seen attributed to the Eridians, we are pretty primitive…"

Cortana cleared her throat loudly.

"As I was saying, or rather showing…"

The Eridian narrator resumed.

"In the few parallels in which the Flood met its end, we were able to obtain technology that might enable those outside our realm to have a chance. Like the Installations, it is a destructive method."

The Eridian, male-sounding at least by humanoid sapient standards, paused for a moment.

"It pains me to admit we did not invent this technology—in fact, we borrowed it from a species we considered inferior. Some of us fought them under the mistaken impression that they were aggressive expansionists when in reality they were fleeing a much greater threat."

Cortana stopped playback and took over narration herself.

"Even though we lost, I have a feeling I know where he's going with that. Our history was a confusing one—I'll keep it short. Just try not to get too lost. Humanity where we're from" (she motioned to the standing Master Chief) "actually was far more advanced in its past, but the Forerunners, as we knew them, kicked us down several notches. Our ancestors were winning against the Flood, but in order to do that they fled into Forerunner-controlled space. For whatever reason nobody decided to, you know, do the logical thing and have a conversation. Unless hurling plasma at each other constitutes talking. At any rate, the Forerunners defeated ancient Humanity, but out of sheer spite our predecessors destroyed their anti-Flood weapon. Or so we thought."

Speech from the unseen alien returned.

"Our Lifeworkers were able to determine the purpose of this technology, though we expended much fruitless effort attempting to divine exactly how it functioned. A chance breakthrough occurred during the Selfless Servant program. Of course, this program was considered highly illegal and secret, but considering the magnitude of the threat nobody cared where the advance came from so long as it worked against the Flood—when a solution appeared from nowhere zero questions were asked. Some of the Servant's architects had every intention of deploying this weapon with her, but it never happened. Now that the Pure faction has taken control of proper interdimensional transmission devices, it is possible to broadcast the designs for this genetic modification in a way that any and all capable of using it shall receive this message."

Cortana removed projections of Flood and replaced it with twirling strands of DNA.

"The reason prehistoric Humans weren't fighting the Flood is because they were laying a trap" she explained. "Their scientists figured out a way to cause the Flood to self-destruct on a massive scale. A third of prehistoric Humanity sacrificed itself to the rampaging Flood, which in its greed consumed flesh rigged with agents that would destroy the Flood from inside. Though Flood Graveminds can be arrogant, they aren't stupid—this Gravemind knew better than to 'eat itself to death' by trying to munch on Humanity and left the galaxy. When the Forerunners kicked our ancestors quite literally back to the Stone Age, they guaranteed their own destruction at the hands of the Flood. Now it seems the survivors have rebuilt ancient Humanity's anti-Flood weapon."

"Analysis shows that while the changes to human genomes would be complex, copying one individual with this mutation many times would be simple" said Legion. "Therefore, my original suggestion remains useful in light of this new information."

"Still doesn't solve where we would get our ships from, though" said Garrus skeptically. "That's great we could create something that can't be turned against us, but what are they going to fight in? I like Cortana's armor design as much as the next guy, but that isn't enough."

"Another suggestion presents itself. Though the _Avenger_-class starships are limited in number, each possesses the ability to construct additions to itself. It would not be difficult to extend these facilities in order to restore capabilities lost upon the destruction of the devices used to create the ships initially. It would be easy for me to instruct other runtime-groups in this matter."

Sam was about to tell Legion to get right on that but realized it might not be her place to do so.

"Admiral, permission to dismiss Legion from this meeting so he can do what he just suggested?"

"Why are you still here, Legion?" asked Nimitz in mock annoyance. "Get going!"

Before departing, Legion addressed Sam.

"Though I have become an individual, I am not precisely masculine. I prefer 'it' as a pronoun."

After the geth turned around, Shepard rolled her eyes.

"The universe is imploding and that's the biggest concern?"

"So much sitting! Not enough fighting!" growled Brick.

"You lost your arm" objected Jack. "And you still want to get up close with those fuckers?"

"I like the way he thinks" added Wrex. "But, let's be honest—this entire war has been in space. What good we to that?"

"Fat lot of help, which is to say not much. And it's a goddamn shame."

Zaeed Massani wore his MISTILTEINN everywhere. Even to this meeting.

"At least if they break in, I'll be ready to fight."

Nimitz about had a heart attack seeing a shotgun, then realized with digistruction the notion of "weapon detectors" became quite quaint unless someone figured out how to spot the patterns in digistruction modules.

Sam turned to Garrus seated next to her.

"You know, I stopped wearing armor everywhere after the whole dust-up with Sovereign. Maybe I should take up that old habit."

Admiral Nimitz found her attention called to Comms.

"Ma'am, we're receiving some kind of repeating signal. It uses a code I'm not familiar with…"

A faint series of beeps consisting of two uniform lengths arranged in patterns emanated from her console.

"Where'd this transmission come from?"

"We're not entirely sure, Admiral. I can tell you that it was transmitted using the relay network though, so it most likely originated from someone native to _this_ galaxy, not ours or the one we just came from."

"That's old Morse!" exclaimed Cortana. "It had widespread applicability for seafaring peoples millennia ago."

"You mean blink-code?" asked Sam, unimpressed. "At least they're consistent—Morse got phased out of the Systems Alliance a long time ago in favor of blink-code. Faster, easier, and overall more convenient."

She was about to explain why blink-code was superior when Nimitz began playing back the message out loud.

"* * * - - - * * * * * * - - - * * *"

Being an artificial intelligence, Cortana quickly transcribed the messages as they arrived. Truth be told, she could translate almost any language at natural-sounding speeds and was actually limited by the arrival of new chunks to parse.

"S-O-S, S-O-S, Jakobs cloning facility under attack by Flood."

"Isn't everything?" Jackie almost sounded bored. Her tapping foot betrayed her feelings even though she tried to hide them.

"Requesting assistance from any and all getting this signal."

"Are we actually going to help those _bosh'tets_? They made this mess in the first place!" Tali shook her head in disapproval.

"Clones compromised, estimate seven of every nine lost."

"Big surprise" groaned Ashley. "Exactly what I'm worried about, fancy genetics or not!"

"Main antennas destroyed, reactor damaged. Message will repeat."

Then a series of numbers and letters.

Jackie suddenly perked up.

"It's EDG standardized coordinates! I'll see about inputting them into navigation since I probably am the one who knows them best."

"Uhh, we're not stupid" commented Maya, hair completely gray. "You may think us Pandorans didn't bother to learn that stuff—hell, I'm betting you're surprised I even recognize it."

The Jakobs heir remembered what she'd been told by both Judy Hann and Caitlin Flanders: don't let insults or swipes about your past get to you lest you feed the exact monster others sought to bring out. Thus, she paid Maya no heed.

"I'll just go do that, then…"

"Hold it right there" ordered Admiral Nimitz. "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, unless you've been doing some serious studying that I'm not aware of, you're not versed in navicomputers at all. Furthermore, why should we trust information given to us by the very people who set off this mess?"

Athena spoke up. "While I tend to agree with the Admiral as the Jakobs corporation excluding Jackie has proven itself untrustworthy, they were responsible for producing a large number of clones. This message specifically notes that it is a Jakobs cloning facility under attack. The equipment being used might still be intact—I think it is worth investigating."

"Time is critical" warned Councilor Grayson. "That's a 44,000 light-year trip. With no relays and only conventional hyperdrives, it will not be a fast one by comparison to some of our swifter vessels."

"What could the Flood do in nineteen hours?" asked Jackie, annoyed and reading off the again-changed holodisplay showing the Gamma-Three Galaxy, the position of _Ultimatum_, and this alleged destination with time-scales between at "Class 1.0" speed.

Cortana visibly pouted and aimed a withering glare at Jackie. She didn't bother to dignify such ignorance about the Flood with a response.

"Who says we can't take a fast ship?" questioned Sam. "Unless someone's ordering me to keep _Normandy_ here…"

Both Admirals exhaled. "You're…"

Sam cut them off before either could say a word.

"Nobody's too valuable. Does anyone in this room think victory is possible without facing danger? We are at war!"

Shepard paused before continuing. Deliberately, she put a very obvious pause between every word forced through gritted teeth.

"We. Have. A. Cloaking. Device."

"Whose effectiveness is possibly reduced by my presence" said Cortana. "So I will remain here, though I suggest you find additional crew, synthetic or organic, to make up for my absence."

Shepard rose, turning to leave.

"Every minute we sit here talking, we're losing ground. We move now. We leave now! Jackie."

"Cool your plasma, Shepard" snapped Cortana. "You might want to double-check those coordinates—I've plotted them and you'll die if you follow them."

Sam rounded on Jackie, even though it couldn't possibly be her fault. Or could it?

"Unless you have a way to fly through a black hole, I suggest you wait."

"A call for help that sends would-be rescuers to their deaths?" hissed Sam. "I can see why you don't like associating with those assholes anymore!"

"Wait!" cried Jackie. "It's… It's just backwards is all! Cortana, reverse those coordinates and plot them again."

"It's not even on the opposite side of the galaxy" fumed the AI. "Whoever came up with this system of navigation should be shown the nearest airlock."

"Speaking of navigation, exactly how much functionality do we lose with Cortana remaining here on _Ultimatum_?" Sam wanted to find out in what way(s) her life would be made difficult. "That frigate, even now, is designed to have a more-than-just-bits computer system…"

"While I may have left the room, I remain connected to this ship" announced Legion over the conference audio system. "I can move from my mobile platform into the _Normandy_'s computer banks if this will aid the mission."

"Do that."


	91. Attack of the Clones

**Chapter 90 – Attack of the Clones**

"I hope this works" muttered Samantha Shepard as _Normandy SR-2.5_ zipped to coordinates from Jackie Jakobs' namesake corporation. "Because one way or another, we are getting this done!"

The Commander found Athena in her quarters. She'd finally seen fit to visit _Normandy_'s med bay and have Dr. Karin Chackwas perform some elective surgery to remove the nasty scarring from her neck.

"Only if this doesn't take away from the mission" said Athena upon arriving there.

"Of course not! The resources were completely digistructed and in no way detract from the anti-Flood effort."

The eerie green of hyper-zero shone brightly into Athena's quarters with digistructed armor plating out of the way.

"You wanted to see me, Shepard?"

"We already have nearly a hundred thousand of, um, your clones, but Cortana's not sure if she can spin in anti-Flood changes quickly. Also, was there any merit to Gaige's rather unusual suggestion?"

Athena laughed.

"She may be young, but her idea is sound, if a bit unsavory. I'll leave the explanation to our resident historian."

Maya's hover-walker nearly tripped Sam on entry. Now she understood why the other woman was there.

"Hyperion claims to have built the New-U system, but the fact that they were chronically unable to duplicate it anywhere else made their investors angry. It was a huge potential source of profit, especially selling instant life insurance to wealthy clients in the Prime Worlds."

"Let me guess. Eridians again."

"Near as I can tell" replied Maya wearily. "After listening to Patricia Tannis drone on for what seemed like another life-age, that appears to be the most likely answer. I suspect Hyperion simply figured out how to use it, then claimed credit for it."

"Typical" snorted Sam. "The corporations in this galaxy…"

"Also" continued the Siren, "Tannis believes the proper name, as best we can translate, is actually 'Circle of Life.' She couldn't figure out why the Eridians built it, but considering our current knowledge that Pandora seems to be some kind of Eridian hub-world, that they installed specialized technology here makes sense."

"I see no reason why I couldn't be duplicated endlessly" concluded Athena. "It's just that the system, whatever it's called, isn't working right now. So far, the injections I got along with the scar fix haven't caused any of the possible side effects, though I'll let you know if they do."

"Cortana, tell me how this works again?" asked Sam, even though she hated lengthy scientific lectures.

"I've made the alterations to Athena's genome given by the Eridians, but in order to incorporate it into more clones at high speed, Athena has to be run through a digistruction system—specifically the one on Pandora. It is the only one that functions properly with organic material. However, Jakobs may offer a way around that, depending on what we find at their cloning facility. Since part of the defense involves reprogramming a particularly difficult portion of the brain, I figure we might be able to leverage Jakobs' brain imprinting."

"They use it to kill, we'll use it to give ourselves a chance."

"Correct" said Cortana. "When it receives the signal from home, in their implementation it causes the clone to drop dead and nothing more. However, if we can change the 'signal' away from a transmission and instead link it to the presence of Flood biomass, any clone infected will immediately self-destruct."

"The Flood can use dead tissue, though" protested Sam. "How does this help?"

"Leave nothing for them to build with" replied the AI. "Mordin's batteries are very instructive here. If there were a surge, it would kill you without question by both overloading your nervous system and causing such catastrophic heat buildup you would actually burn to ashes in only a few seconds."

Sam stared at Cortana, Athena, and Maya as if noticing them for the first time. She looked down at herself, turning her hands from palm-down to palm-up several times. Instead of saying anything to this revelation, she just let out a huge breath as she sat down on Athena's bed.

"He never told you?" Cortana seemed genuinely shocked.

"Do I look like I knew that?" she snapped.

"Apparent lacking of medical ethics aside, this will prove beneficial for future clones, assuming we can create them."

"Wait, wait, wait. What about the slipspace generators we used to recall biotics from the _Avengers_? We could still save them!"

Cortana just shook her head. She admired Sam's optimism but had to temper it with the reality of fighting the Flood.

"Tell me, Sam. Of all those you lost to the Flood, which do you think you could have saved?"

This quieted the Commander.

"Furthermore, if a clone is compromised by Flood, then she would become a danger to whatever ship, station, or planet she teleported onto! Such a device would only shift the battle behind our own lines."

"I assume you came here to discuss what capabilities such clones would have" asserted Athena, taking control of the conversation. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, to be honest, all I care about are weaknesses the Flood might exploit. What limits are there to your clones?"

Athena tried not to look offended.

"Myself aside, for indeterminate reasons Jakobs' versions of me were sloppy. Even the ones that didn't have mental defects or other physical impairments from a rushed process aren't half as lethal as me for the most part. The few exceptions you've met such as Nova and Mal are anomalies among millions of units produced that were dubbed successes."

"So if they can't be taken by Flood, we just have to make sure these clones are up to code when it comes to naval operations, since we're going to be using a lot of them for running ships, at least in the beginning."

"Correct. Why we can't just copy Legion through a bunch of ships, though…"

The geth in question used holoprojectors to recreate its platform.

"Due to evolution among the geth, the number of available runtimes has been drastically reduced. In order to operate at full capacity, groups of one to two thousand are required to work in concert. Since this group of geth constituted a minority of all geth, and large numbers of casualties were taken at the Omega station raid the availability of geth combat software is limited."

"Oh look, another disadvantage" spat Athena. "Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it."

She touched the memory chip still attached to a chain around her neck. Her hand balled into a fist, engulfing the chip and hiding it from view.

"Then I remember what Atlas did to me. The Flood will be even worse, and if I die trying to stop that from happening, my life will have been worth it."

"I must caution that the _Normandy_ has almost reached its destination" intoned Legion. "Reversion from faster-than-light in five standard minutes."

[…]

Like any government bent on exercising absolute power, the Republic Intelligence Service, operating behind the Council on the Establishment of the New Future, found itself unable to contain information despite its best efforts. Though the CENF quickly took control of large HoloNet news broadcasters, independent stations continued operating in defiance of a ban on any "unpatriotic, incendiary, and divisive" material being disseminated over "the Council Network."

"Recent footage confirms that not only has RISE rediscovered the Current, they are also making heavy use of clones. More disturbingly, many of these clones resemble the worst society has to offer—murders, rapists, terrorists, and slavers thought executed under the guise of anti-Infection experiments."

Officers Callypso Menzel and Ricardo Bell found their faces plastered over every holoboard across three sections of the Senate District. Apparently, their hijinks over a week ago finally pissed someone off.

"It had to be Current Channelers" huffed Menzel. "It couldn't be smugglers or slavers or knockoff importers!"

"And it had to be Venus Assage!" griped Bell. "The most notorious mass-murderer this side of the Core!"

Three hulking, armored figures pursued them through the underbelly of Coruscant. They'd gone to ground, using the same tactics they'd often employed to track criminals both petty and less-so.

The pair wasn't sure whether to be amused or terrified by the trio behind them. Anyone not knowing Venus could easily be excused for thinking her just another ditzy Core World socialite. To be truthful, she would've been at least physically attractive if it wasn't for her tendency to gut anyone who opposed her, make brash pronouncements taunting law enforcement over the HoloNet while live-streaming her crimes, and her cybernetic enhancements. Beneath a willowy, slight frame hid more augmentations than some super-soldiers. Artificial muscle gave her strength without bulging out arms. Durasteel replaced or reinforced bone, making it difficult to slow her down by crippling limbs. Optics took the place of eyes, and it was rumored only two fingers were required to break bone.

Her list of crimes covered almost anything the Trans-Galactic Republic could bother making illegal, from slavery to prostitution or weapon theft from Spacelane Protection. She also had a habit of emptying her waste tanks in planetary atmospheres.

"I make my own" she said grandly, when asked about her lawbreaking. "The garbage that is the Trans-Galactic Republic is just sithspit that needs to be cleaned off my speeder."

"And now we have three of her chasing us" panted Menzel. "In power armor no less!"

The pair fired their blasters to no avail—red lightstaffs sent their own shots winging back at them. One lucky squeeze from Ricardo hit one of the clones in the leg to no effect.

"That armor's too strong for blasters!"

"What are we supposed to do, trip them?" cried Callypso.

"I think they'll be the ones tripping us!" yelped Ricardo as he skidded to a stop behind some thin cover.

"Come out, little pigs!"

"That's not creepy at all" said the agitated cop sarcastically. "I mean, who doesn't taunt law enforcement with fake sexy voices?"

More blasterfire. More laser-scores in odd places.

Neither wanted to admit it, but both knew: if forced to fight without any means to run the outcome would be at the discretion of the Venus Assage clones. That probably meant neither of them would survive. Hearing the roar of rockets, both sighed in relief as their pursuers took off, heading upward to something evidently more important than them.

[…]

David Vance found himself in the company of Charles Day.

"I suppose once we're done being useful, they'll kill us, then spit on our graves and names" suggested Day.

"I don't see how you're useful at all" snapped Vance. "At least I have helped advance the Committee on the Establishment of the New Future!"

"And what does that mean?" challenged the Executive Minister. "What does CENF really stand for? Human supremacy? Current-Channeler supremacy? Some kind of Undercurrent magocracy?"

The Director found his mind forced to ruminate on that question. If it were some kind of twisted shrine to the Undercurrent, he would have no major part in it. While he'd done a decent job of doing as his handler suggested in order to leave those not in the know with the impression that he possessed Current powers, in reality he no more had the ability to Channel than a rock did. Due to his repeated slip-ups, said handler began forcibly submerging his mind when such situations arose, something Vance disliked immensely.

"I don't really Channel, you know. That's all an act, a sham!"

Day found this piece of information intriguing for two reasons—first that the deception existed, and second that Vance, who viewed himself as some kind of emperor above-the-law when it came to secrecy, openly admitted to this fraud without prompting or duress.

"And why would you tell me that?" The slightest hint of a taunt crept into his voice.

"If they actually go all-out with this Current-worship, I'm on the same ship headed toward a black hole that you are" admitted the Director.

"What is it you want? Pity?" mocked Day.

"I don't know!" exploded the other man. "I thought this was all about stopping the Flood!"

"Never trust anyone you haven't seen in person. Even then, only trust after verifying!"

"I see now why the RISE Council was so kriffing secretive" confessed Vance. "Whoever they are, I have a feeling they played us all for fools."

"Well, the history of the Current suggests it can lead to unnaturally long lives, so if they did seal themselves away and integrate themselves into a later government, then pulling strings on this scale wouldn't surprise me."

"But going to all this length for Humanity Over All? Really? When the whole point may well be to purge anyone who lacks the same powers they do?"

Charles Day raised his hands defensively. "Hey, that part was just a guess…"

"I was told to wait here for further orders. Then I was left."

The Executive Minister almost felt sorry for his former Director, acting like a kicked animal. Then he remembered the man at a minimum stood by and did nothing as the Republic Intelligence Service took over the government before throwing on the guise of a "Council on the Establishment of the New Future."

"Is this even about stopping the Flood anymore?" questioned Day.

"Do I look like I know?" Vance sounded defeated and confused.

Alarms blared, not that either could see what was going on other than a red hue.

"I guess something's happening."

[…]

Allison Nimitz became aware one of her ships had disappeared. Ordinarily, she would have filed it away and dressed down the guilty party later—it wasn't a priority. Except the ship that was missing was a _Punisher._ Not that RISE would care (nor did she concern herself with what they thought) given the circumstances, but she had a sinking suspicion as to exactly why that Punisher no longer resided in a theoretically access-controlled area.

It didn't take a genius to recognize lightstaff scoring.

Triple-armored doors, energy fields, and several guards all defeated within minutes as shown on surveillance footage. Notably, none of the guards were seriously harmed, only unconscious. Their burns and contusions would heal rapidly in bacta tanks, and considering the person responsible if death had been the decision there wouldn't have been anything left.

Cameras were in very obvious places. Nimitz theorized Sarah wanted to be seen leaving; the Siren could've easily left no trace at all other than a disappeared ship.

"If that was the point, you got what you wanted" muttered the Admiral as she filed several incident reports out of sheer habit.

_Not that anyone in Spacelane Protection is going to be reading these._

Out of curiosity, she tried to fire up RISE's usual entanglement-based tracking device to see if the heavy craft's location could be divined.

_Why in the seven blazes would she stop there?_


	92. Woman on a Rampage

**Chapter 91 – Woman on a Rampage**

Position, several hundred million lightyears galactic north-north west (2D relative-coordinates only).

Sarah's arms tightened in anger, until she realized that ripping the controls out of her ship in frustration would probably strand her wherever this was without actually helping with her current predicament.

"WARNING: INTERDICTION FIELD DETECTED."

Seeing nothing on sensors, she used Current Waves to investigate.

_Anyone who tries to prevent unseen approach is probably hiding something._

Another light flashed.

"Heat buildup warning?" she said aloud. "I thought only the Gamma primitives had this problem!"

Used to having others around to operate things, the Siren blundered about with the Punisher's computer until she found something useful.

"Large nearby mass caused realspace reversion. No planet or star detected. Conclusion: the mass is artificially-generated, possibly by a cloaked ship" read the display.

"Then what's the heat warning?" She felt silly talking to a computer, but that must have been normal for these people as it responded with more scrolling letters.

"Large source of energy with visible emissions low enough that they may be a calibration error has been detected."

Sarah couldn't put a finger on why, but she stored these coordinates away. Sure, jumping to them would involve some error as they were outside normal plotting and thus the usual relative-positioning had higher probability of a miss, but she catalogued it regardless.

"What is it now?" demanded the woman, nearly spinning herself out of a chair designed for pilots of shorter stature.

"…restricted area. You will be boarded. This message will repeat. You have entered a…"

The ship, supposedly the most powerful in its class, suddenly shut down. The only remaining indication of any power were red lights and a voice blaring from the audio system.

"Well, they kept promising us this day would never come, but it looks like they were wrong! Nobody will find us, they said. I win the bet!"

The two troopers about to try to drop her with stun cannons were, as far as she could tell, ordinary men with no malevolence or darkness in their hearts.

_Me, pronouncing upon the Current readings of others. How ironic._

So she stunned them, dragged the pair back to their small boarding craft, and propped them up. Waking the one of higher rank, she demanded answers with a not-so-subtle Diversion.

_We are just guards_ he answered in a monotone. _We were told we could escape the hell of the undercity with our families if we came here. Our orders were to search for any inbound ships and capture them._

"You work for the Republic Intelligence Service." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

_Nobody ever told us who pays our bills. Only that we would 'never have to worry about money again.'_

Long purple hair swished around as Sarah shook her head in annoyance.

"Did you ever think to, oh, I don't know, _ask?_"

Before her enthralled charge could answer, she became aware of a tinny voice blasting from this ship's comm.

"TK421, why haven't you reported on the status of that craft?"

Sarah did her best to hide her large frame away from what she figured would be the vidcomm. She maintained firm but not totally dominating mental control over this "TK421," however.

"We had a slight scanning malfunction, but everything is fine now." She nudged his mind harder to try to break the lack of intonation or inflection that seemed to accompany strong Currents of Diversion. On the console she observed whomever he spoke to as narrowing eyes in suspicion, before continuing to speak.

"Just drag that fighter back here. Boy, the higher-ups are gonna want to know where it came from!"

"Yes sir." TK421 closed off the connection by unseen command.

As the ship closed distance with wherever it had been summoned to, Sarah felt a darkness envelop her and the ship. Knowing full well what would happen if she let it, the Siren tried to fight back against it, but pushing away hatred with anger could only yield so much. Consequently, upon arrival, she was unable to be as sneaky as she hoped.

"Did someone vent the ship's waste tanks?" demanded a dockworker as the tug which dragged her _Punisher_ in set down.

The stench actually ended up helping, as those who would otherwise have noticed a stowaway were too busy gagging/complaining to report a two-meter, chromatically-unusual individual. Hidden in a utility closet, the Siren calmed herself.

"You can't sneak around like this…"

Instead, Sarah sought information passively, sending Waves into the area around her to determine what, exactly, she'd boarded. What seemed like seconds later, her lightstaff hissed to life and blocked several attempts at decapitation.

"A Channeler? Here?" barked a voice she didn't recognize. "How?"

"It doesn't matter!" said another. "Kill her and be done! The secrecy must be maintained!"

Blades crossed again, red-on-purple. Only her reflexes saved the Siren from losing a leg as she vaulted over the heads of two adversaries. Recalling her original reason for sending out Waves (that, she thought ruefully, might have brought these attackers down on her head), Sarah dodged another sweep and took off for what she hoped would be the station's command center. Mastery of Tranquility prevented the trio from catching up, but wouldn't stop them from summoning more reinforcements.

Pressing a thumb to a turbolift call panel, Sarah frowned as it went red with an "X" through it. She had no map, but the Waves told her where to go, which meant that she _needed_ to use this single turbolift shaft no matter what. A rectangular set of slices and a kick opened the passage, and she began to climb. A rising whirr and reflexes kicked in, cutting a neat circle in the top of a turbolift likely aimed at smashing her. Inside, four black-armored Channelers swung their lightstaffs, but were unable to connect.

Not averse to using things other than a lightstaff, Sarah lashed out with a foot that dropped one of her masked adversaries back. Chance of damage was minimal since she could feel unyielding plate, but it took that particular opponent out of the fight temporarily. Pushing out with Undertows, Sarah crushed the remaining three against confining walls of the small cylinder they fought in. A horrible screeching noise assaulted her ears—apparently, the lift's designers did not anticipate its effective diameter increasing by half a meter and consequently its now-bulging sides scraped along the shaft wall in a rather noisy manner. Upward movement also dropped drastically.

Springing clear, Sarah leapt through the hole she'd admitted herself with, hoping to yet again leave behind those who sought to delay or destroy her. Feet clattered off cylindrical walls as she hopped with one leg, then the other, in an unaided ascension that only worked due to the Current—any regular person attempting such an act would have splattered on the shaft's bottom long ago.

"What is it with people and putting important information in towers?"

Arriving at the turbolift's intended destination, Sarah cut through another door to find a few thoroughly terrified, unarmed people wearing lab coats. A clatter heralded an upended table while the whine of holdout blasters caused no harm as she palmed the incoming fire before yanking the small weapons away.

She sighed. It seemed (and not unreasonably) that anyone who saw her was going to shoot on sight.

"I'm just here for information. Since this facility dragged my ship out of hyperspace…"

Between their unknown employers and the Siren, one boffin elected to take his chances with supervisors by unlocking a terminal, then scampering away. She started reading.

The entire control tower basked in eerie red light, and sounds of disgust could be heard from those unfortunate enough to be cowering nearby. One scientist brave enough to poke a head up saw spidering cracks forming across the huge transparisteel viewpanels that afforded a stunning vista of massive digistruction bays producing huge Star Dreadnaught-scale vessels. He ran to secure a breath mask that would at least give him time to make an escape attempt, only to run smack into the source of all the goings-on.

Looking up from her terminal, the Siren made a choice.

On the surface of Coruscant, a single figure stormed across the cityscape. Wordlessly, she sliced through anything that stood in her way. Grainy footage of the intruder depicted long purple-blue hair flowing behind a face that seemed to alternate between pale-purple-white and an angry red accented by bulging purple _somethings_ that might have been veins.

Some were simply shoved out of her path. Others were cut to ribbons without mercy or question.

Officers Menzel and Bell, catching a breather after their pursuers disappeared into upper levels, were shocked to see not three, but seven of the armored terrors reappear. In their years of policing, both recognized these walking nightmares weren't just moving about randomly—every bit of body language readable even through battlesuits screamed one word: _flee!_

"What could possibly scare them?" wondered Callypso aloud. Her question answered itself.

No words permeated the air (likely due to using secure channels), but the Assage clones moved with lightning speed to counter a new arrival who landed in their midst. Slashing with red lightstaffs, they hit naught but air as their opponent dodged with swiftness that left both observers with their mouths hanging open.

A purple lightstaff weaved amongst the sea of red. Between blocks and attacks, it could barely be seen as a blade—rather it appeared to be a wave crashing over the unfortunate clones who fell like leaves. One left herself open below. She no longer had legs. Another slashed high and hard, but the unknown assailant pulled what was supposed to be impossible as per RISE: purple slid along red, then cleaved through the weapon and hands holding it. As the Assage clone stumbled back, diagonal slashes cut her to pieces as though no protective gear were worn.

The criminal copies managed to land a few hits, however. What happened after those hits left Menzel and Bell even more stunned.

"Did they just…"

"It's still going…"

"Is that…"

"That's creepy."

A useless arm lay on the ground, but its former owner cared not for its absence. A replacement appeared at sickening speed, a perfect duplicate of the one severed by one of the remaining combatants.

Another clone got behind the robed, unarmored attacker and the concealed cops thought for sure it was over as a red tip appeared through the tall being's midsection. Instead, a red glow cascaded off as whoever it was pushed the blade back out with what looked like bare hands.

"I think it is a she, unless there's a new species of alien whose males have long hair and rough approximations of breasts" observed Menzel.

"Oh, well that's helpful" snorted Bell. "Yay, we know something completely irrelevant."

A through-body exit wound disappeared faster than either could look at the other as if to say "Did that just happen?"

By now, three clones remained. The rest had smoking cuts in their bodies, if they were lucky enough to be in one piece. The most unfortunate took a kick to the head so powerful the deformed helmet left little to the imagination of what must have happened to anything inside.

The spectre raised her arms, slamming two of her enemies into opposite walls. One of these "walls" happened to be the cover behind which two uninvolved law enforcement were watching. Each dove in opposite directions as a headless, one-arm, one-leg clone—possibly one of the trio that chased them, crashed through their hiding spot. The other crumpled against a ferrocrete support, leaving a huge cracked indent as though a hovertaxi impacted there rather than a person.

"Yeah, that would be blood" commented Ricardo as if describing daily shockball scores.

The remaining clone found herself hoisted in the air.

At long last, the figure spoke.

"Why do you attack me?"

Eerily calm considering what she'd just done, Bell estimated the apparent Current-Channeling woman to be at least two meters in height. Her voice bore little malice, only resigned curiosity as she held the final clone over what had to be a two-hundred meter drop. Alternating between purple and red, whoever it was also seemed to have something going on with her skin. Red correlated with purple veins (were they?) popping up while when glowing purple these protrusions subsided.

If Assage's copy responded, neither heard it.

"I only need information."

More silence.

"So be it."

The last face of Venus Assage dropped out of sight as the one responsible assumed a seated position.

"You can come out of there. I won't hurt you unless you try to attack me—if you do the amount of pain you shall experience will be immeasurable."

Exchanging looks, Menzel and Bell stood cautiously.

"I don't suppose you are more hospitable tour guides than these rather aggressive and rude individuals?"

"Depends on what you're looking for. I know my precinct best…" began Ricardo. "I'm Ricardo Bell, Coruscant Policing &amp; Enforcement—CPE for short."

"You enforce the rules and regulations on this planet?"

"Well yeah" said Menzel somewhat harshly. "Whaddaya think we're called 'Policing' for?"

"Do you sanction the actions of those whose lives I have ended?"

"Of course not!" replied Bell. "In fact, I think at least three of them were chasing us earlier."

"I am under the impression that the Current is rare, yet here are seven who Channel it and they all attacked me. What information am I missing?"

"To tell you the truth lady, we thought this Current was rare too. Until the Republic Intelligence Service…"

Sarah cut Bell off.

"What do you know of the Republic Intelligence Service? They tried to kill me after attempts to capture failed."

"Well, they've gone all super-speciesist on everyone. Not that there wasn't an undercurrent of Human-supremacy in some parts of the Trans-Galactic Republic to start, but now they're openly calling for something named 'Humanity Over All' under the name Council on the Establishment of the New Future. Their director appears to have Current powers too."

"Are you highly ranked in the Trans-Galactic Republic?"

Menzel burst out laughing.

"You must be new here. We're just beat officers—if we don't get spat on, cussed at, punched, and taunted it's not a normal day."

"I recognize your faces from the holoboards around this area" replied Sarah. "I presume you have done something to anger this Council on the New Future."

"Yeah, we broadcast video of their crazy Current-Channeling clones derived from a notorious mass-murderer named Venus Assage. Apparently, they didn't want anyone to know."

"If you fight on the side of justice, then your actions are commendable. I can only assume the Council and Republic Intelligence Service have become corrupted if they were not already."

The stranger still hadn't mentioned a name.

"Who are you? You kind of saved us."

_Get over it_ thought the Siren. _It's not like they'll care._

"Despite my formidable powers and similarly-though-lesser sisters having imaginative designations, my creators gave me a title, not a name."

_If she turns out to be some kind of RISE prototype…_

"I am not a piece of Republic Intelligence Service technology, Officer Callypso Menzel. You do not have to worry about that."

"Did they call you Mary Poots or something?" asked Ricardo.

"No" replied the woman, shaking her purple hair about. "I was called the Selfless Servant of the Mantle, which in this language apparently sounds most like the name 'Sarah.'"

Both gave this "Sarah" perplexed looks. Sure, it seemed to be a common name among some Humans, but there was nothing _wrong_ with it—it wouldn't induce cringes in those bearing it as would, perhaps men named Leslie or women named Skipper.

"I think we have bigger problems than your being made fun of over your name" opined Bell. "Even if anyone did that, it wouldn't be us. What are you looking for?"

"A temple."


	93. Quantity vs Quality

**Chapter 92 – Quantity vs. Quality**

The world's name was "Hephaestus." Shepard recognized it only from passing mythological references back on Earth. Some days post-Reaper, she'd gotten so bored she'd actually read ancient myths as a form of procrastination.

Around that world were dozens of the vaguely star-shaped "Pollux" platforms. They'd apparently fired downward at the planet as well as attacking intruders.

"Based on weapon residue, I'd say at least a quarter of the planet was hit by these satellites. I'm not sure why they're here though considering S&amp;S manufactured them" commented Cortana. "It's not like the big corporations to work together on anything."

Even Jackie didn't know.

"They stopped talking to me when I stopped talking to them. And even if I was in their good graces, they only told me how to pose for the latest spread. I was a vapid sales symbol, remember?"

"For what it's worth, we're not being targeted. In fact, those platforms appear to be offline."

Shepard gave Cortana a look.

"It's true! They aren't responding on any frequency, nor do emissions indicate active reactors."

"Please tell me there isn't Flood here."

Cortana returned Sam's glance.

"The message we got specifically said 'under attack by Flood.' I doubt someone would make that up."

She ended up eating her words; no traces of Flood biomass could be found anywhere on the planet.

"Why would they send an urgent message if there wasn't anything important?" wondered Sam aloud.

"Perhaps it isn't the message that matters, but who might respond" suggested Cortana. "Only a few people actually know the Flood as the Flood—this region continued to use the silly name 'Infection' for quite some time."

"Are you saying they used a word only we'd pick up on?"

Sam hated when people played games. It didn't even have to be the whole "relationship-head-banger." Sometimes, people were just difficult to follow, illogical, and confusing for no discernible reason. Like now.

The Commander summoned Second Lieutenant Maya.

"I'm placing you in charge of flying a team down there. No hostiles detected from up here, and if you see any, shoot them."

"You're not coming?" asked the young Siren.

"I think I'd better stay up here. For once, if this is a trap, it's probably best I don't get caught in it. The Chief feels the same way."

Indeed, though he hadn't snuck up on Shepard, the Master Chief was also present and refused to accompany any survey groups.

"This could be someone trying to kill off the people who know the most about fighting the Flood" he'd said when questioned.

"We'll stay up here, cloaked. Garrus, you take Jackie, Athena, and Ashley to check out this distress call. It's repeating the same message we got before, just a stronger signal."

The turian snapped a three-finger salute. "We'll see if we can figure out what's going on. Hopefully Miss Jakobs here can detect and deactivate any defenses we might find."

Sword burst from _Normandy_'s hanger, causing a flash as it seemingly appeared from nowhere. Joker would continue an orbit that avoided any noticeable patterns in case someone managed to both follow and defeat the cloak.

Further refinements were had to MISTILTEINN armor to avoid problems faced by Athena. Overloads would be less likely due to the counterintuitive reduction of energy generation and higher capacity couplings to better handle any surges.

"I never thought to cut back suit power" mused Cortana after Tali and Gaige made the suggestion. "But hey, it works."

"Also, I'm unilaterally renaming these suits" groused Athena. "MJOLNIR was pretty cool for the Chief, but MISTILTEINN is just unpronounceable."

No objections were filed over renaming the whole system to "Helljumper," and thus the armor became "Helljumper armor."

"It's what we do" she'd said.

If anyone had to bail out of a blastboat at orbital altitudes, it would work. Not that there were any plans to, and Maya's shuttle-duty went off without a hitch.

"A bunker" said Garrus upon landing at the destination indicated by orbital scans. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

Large circular imprints of fused landscape surrounded the entrance.

"Looks like the bunker did its job" he'd said.

"Family status recognized. Welcome Jacqueline Rose Jakobs."

Jackie stared at the computer as if it had insulted her. She'd been purged from virtually all systems, or so she thought.

"I think Shepard and Cortana were right. Whoever sent this wanted specific people to respond."

She stepped through the doorway.

"Please register guests."

Unlike the vaults, no blood samples were taken—it was only required that each person's approximate mass (including armor) and retinal scans were recorded.

A hologram of none other than Bill Arkansas Jakobs appeared.

"I realize that I'm not in a position to make demands or ask anything of anyone. You can probably see the two men standing behind me as well. So I am doing it partially because of them, and partly because I've come to the conclusion that a Jakobs takeover of the galaxy is no longer possible. Continuing to pursue it would have led to my own death and possibly the destruction of valuable resources that might otherwise be used against the Flood. Only those that understand that the Flood refers to the Infection will have any reason to respond to the initial message. Judging by these access codes, whoever is here has authorization."

A map replaced the talking head, and a different voice began narrating.

"Follow this map. We will hold out as long as we can, but in case none of us are alive we have left instructions on raising an army that might be able to fight the Flood. Roland, out."

"Roland?" Garrus had no idea who that was.

Shepard did, though only vaguely, transferring the turian to Gaige after the team commed _Normandy_ out of confusion.

"He came through a rift. In this universe he's dead, but this new copy is very much alive" explained the engineer. "Vault Hunter, good man. I haven't heard much from him or Axton lately though."

The turian and his investigative team wound through lengthy corridors clearly intended to serve as a defensive runabout.

"This is confusing" complained Jackie. "Weren't we just here?"

"No" replied Ashley with some level of irritation. "Most quasi-military buildings are pretty cookie-cutter in appearance. Function over form."

The largest door yet, bigger than anything save the vaults, loomed before them. Jackie's handprint opened it, revealing long lines of semi-opaque tanks filled with liquid. Rotating above a circular holoprojector: a readout of Athena, with more statistics than anyone could have possibly have use for.

"Well" whispered the original quietly, "now that we all know everything down to my cup size, why does Jakobs think their version of me will be any more Flood-proof than…"

As if answering her question, a video replaced the slowly-rotating clone. It appeared whoever made it also provided voiceovers.

"This footage was retrieved from the event recorder of a clone deployed on Pandora. Clearly, some of these images are disturbing, but the Infection—or Flood as it is doubtlessly known to you, is not for the faint of heart. It appears some sort of religion exists which compels those who follow it to engage in self-mutilation followed by deliberate infestation with Flood-bearing liquids."

Behind opaque helmets, faces of disgust twisted human features. Even Garrus' mandibles flared open uncomfortably watching a man cut himself in such ways.

"I see you've made it."

None present save Jackie ever met Bill Arkansas Jakobs in person.

"They sent me out here in case you decided to start shooting. If you haven't noticed, my captors care little for my life now that they have access to this facility."

He sounded quite bitter, and Jackie suppressed urges to mock him for it.

_You have no idea what it's like to be used, you pompous asshole!_

"We're not here to fight, unless the target's Flood" replied Garrus. "Samantha Shepard would've been here herself, but she and the Chief suspected a trap."

"And they sent you instead?" Bill laughed. Even the good guys apparently didn't like stepping into risky business.

"I know the risks" shot back Garrus. "Besides, she and John are the only ones who have a full briefing on the Flood. That begs the obvious question: why lead us here?"

A man Garrus presumed must be one of Bill's handlers appeared.

"I'm Roland. Now that I know you're not going to shoot me, I'll tell you everything myself."

"Well" said Garrus with some enthusiasm after hearing Roland's explanations "I thought I'd seen it all when Grunt fired off acid-fueled spike rounds and Sam had batteries installed in her abdomen. Apparently not. I can now fully appreciate where her attitude of being utterly unsurprised by _anything_ comes from."

Athena agreed, though remained slightly off-put by the idea of clones that dissolved themselves should any attempt to take them be made.

"Look, I know people seem to think that just because these women are all copies of me that I'll have the same bond I did with my…"

She stopped to compose herself.

"…the original batch. But that's just not true and never will be. The Flood-worshippers flat-out hoped I'd rebel if actions weren't taken to save a hundred thousand copies of me. As if! The mission always comes first."

"As for growing them more rapidly, we are out of ideas" continued Roland. "These cloning cylinders can produce one clone a day! But you get a slobbering mess that can barely stand at that speed."

Holographic representations depicting exactly what happened with such clones showed many deformed creations with all manner of physical abnormalities. A shaky video of a clone repeatedly falling over and failing to communicate beyond babbling ended with "Most unfortunate / No training will save her now / A ruined form of life."

"And who would that be?" asked Garrus.

"The one behind you / My best art is deception / Attacking unseen."

Indeed, what looked humanoid but rather tall and slender materialized behind a shocked turian.

"I assume you work with Roland."

To which Roland clarified: "We started out attacking Jakobs. Unfortunately Axton didn't survive our last encounter as we were captured. He was experimented on and killed before we could escape."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Did he have any immediate family we should notify?"

Garrus punched up a connection to _Normandy._

"Not that I know of. He had an ex-wife named Sarah, but…"

Ashley stared.

"No way."

"No way what?" wondered Athena.

"No way that's the same Sarah we know, right?"

"On the off chance it is, she's about two meters in height, built like a tank, and has a rather boyish cropped haircut. Darker than space itself!"

Hearing this sentence, the three went from abject horror ("two meters") to guarded optimism ("built like a tank") and finally visible relief ("Darker than space itself").

It occurred to Garrus &amp; Co. that Roland might not ever have been aware of Sarah the Siren—after all, most of her more notorious actions were contained to their home galaxy, not this one.

Cortana picked up on the other end.

"Gaige won't be happy to hear that" she replied upon hearing of Axton's apparent death.

"Nobody likes this" said Sam, in on the conference. "And justice will be doled out later, but at present, the most important question is what assets you found in the bunker."

Roland introduced himself and repeated his story, including documentation of failed clones. Athena shifted uncomfortably as if she were being talked about personally. Shepard responded with a very abbreviated version of events as she'd seen them.

"So these people" (Sam almost said "primitives") "think they have a solution to handle both creating massive numbers of clones and preventing them from being turned against us, huh?"

"The anti-Flood agent is somewhat complex, but we used a formula stolen from the Maliwans which was then improved upon. It breaks down matter at the molecular level and leaves behind glop that seriously resists being assembled into anything" assured Roland. "I can guarantee you nothing that touches it will be of any use to the enemy."

"Still doesn't address the growth problem."

Sam wanted to believe, but every time someone thought up a solution, circumstances conspired to make it not work.

"At least forward everything to your chain of command" pleaded Roland. "They seem to have resources, even now, that we wouldn't ever get here."

"No promises" replied the Spectre.

[…]

"Well, here we are" panted Callypso Menzel. "The old Temple of the Current. Nothing here but dusty artifacts…"

"Seriously" said Ricardo Bell. "What possible use could you have for a place nobody ever visits—not even underworld thieves looking to make a few kilocreds?"

"If that temple has what I think might reside there, only a select few would place any value on it whatsoever."

"We're three kilometers under the surface of Coruscant! This place hasn't seen natural light in millennia!"

"If you're that un-curious, you can wait here, Officer Menzel. But I can make no guarantees for your safety."

This Sarah almost seemed…taunting?

Neither wished to remain outside, which naturally led to the question of where they would go if Sarah had business within the building.

"I suppose you can tag along, but should there be any part of the journey which cannot be completed without the Current, I cannot promise I will be able to surmount it on your behalf."

At this point, Bell took his turn laughing.

"According to authorities on the subject, of which there are very few, most academic research suggested the Temple of the Current was open to the public at large, at least in part. The non-Channeling public. So I'm guessing we can at least walk in the front door."

His voice wavered, as if he didn't believe himself despite citing the foremost expert on the matter. As it turned out, at least initially Bell turned out to be correct. The only hazards were darkness and crumbling architecture, fairly standard for any part of the undercity.

What was speculated to have been a transparisteel shell covering the entire structure could only be seen as a skeleton now—its panels long since detached, stolen, shattered, or decayed. Analysis of the few samples that remained suggested at one time they were meant to both serve an aesthetic purpose and generate energy from sunlight. However, that would have ceased to be relevant as Coruscant's all-consuming cityscape rose up above what was considered a building of little importance, abandoned as it was as those who would have made use of it no longer existed.

Stepping over shards, the trio moved into an entryway. Large columns flanked it, ominously cracked and crumbled considering the ceiling vaulted tens of meters above.

"Did you study the Current?" asked Sarah of Bell.

"No. It's just something I remembered from trivia night…"

Seeing a blank expression, the cop quickly explained the meaning of the phrase.

"A form of entertainment" concluded Sarah. "How intriguing."

At this point, both officers had blasters in one hand and high-output glowlamps in the other.

"Does anyone have any idea where we are going?" wondered Menzel.

"The Current will guide me" replied Sarah serenely.

"Oh, that's reassuring" snapped Callypso irritably.

Through another set of doors. Whoever designed the building seemed to have a flair for the dramatic in terms of sizing. Then again, what was to be expected of something called a "temple?" Her own had been quite excessive, hundreds of meters in height and constructed out of pure Eridium. Why someone hadn't just built a simple room around her stasis cylinder the Siren would never know.

"Up. We must go up" insisted Sarah.

"Well, I have no idea where the turbolifts are, so…"

Sarah broke into a run, one that the two officers had difficulty keeping up with. Not due to lack of fitness, but due to lack of Current powers—the Selfless Servant subconsciously utilized Tranquility to greatly enhance her pace. Only after her senses registered fading voices some tens of meters back did Sarah turn and realize she'd accidentally left her companions behind.

Sheepishly apologizing, she repeated what she'd done with the Master Chief, slightly modified. Despite being quite heavy (the muscled Menzel clocked in at 75kg and Bell close to 90kg) Sarah tucked them under each arm as if they were logs or something else one would carry in such a fashion. She resumed her sprint, unimpeded as the Current of Tranquility compensated for extra mass and her brute strength held the two in place.

Able to look at each other, albeit on their sides, Menzel remarked to Bell "This is just weird."

Bell rolled his eyes, but had to agree with his colleague.

"It looks as though there is no straightforward way to ascend to the Archives from here."

"What archives?" blubbered Menzel. "How do you even know that?"

"Like I said, the Current will guide me" replied the Siren in a maddeningly calm tone.

"That looks like a freight turbolift. Except I don't see the lift itself…"

"You are correct, Officer Menzel. The lift is missing. However, the very same powers which allow me to maintain speeds commonly associated with vehicles while carrying both of you will also permit rapid vertical velocities. Observe."

"Or you could, you know, push the call button" suggested Ricardo. "It's right there, glowing green…"

As her finger depressed it, Sarah had a distinct feeling that something wasn't right. This building wasn't as old as her—not by a long shot. But everything she'd seen bordered on non-functional, yet this turbolift call button still illuminated?

Within less than a second, the situation changed drastically.

Red sheets of energy appeared, seemingly out of nowhere but as eyes adjusted the trio could make out now plainly-obvious forcefield generators, revealed by their own glow which pushed aside the darkness.

A mechanized voice informed the newly-captive that "Trespassing on property controlled by the Republic Intelligence Service is strictly prohibited. Please stand by."

Within minutes, clanking echoed through hallways to either side. Quadrapedal, massive constructs moved into view—security droids, guessed Bell.

"But not any model we've ever seen" he finished.

"Do you think they put enough guns on it?" asked Menzel, semi-rhetorically.

Indeed, at least seven barrels of various sizes could be discerned. Two pairs protruded from turrets mounted on the left and right "sides" of the metal beast's rear flanks. Another ominously large one swiveled on an elevated pedestal where a head would've been on an actual animal. Finally, ball-mounted single somethings on back legs discouraged pursuit, not that a swivel and blast from side-mounted guns wouldn't have done that well enough.

"RISE is not our friend" lectured Sarah, as if the pair would've forgotten what she'd said earlier. "I am going to assume as soon as those fields drop, we're going to be stunned or killed by those automatons."

Her lightstaff snapped into a hand while Menzel and Bell readied blasters. As patrol officers, they never carried anything heavier unless it was specifically called for (swoop gang sweep, for instance). Glowlamps found a new home on cracked stone tiles, unneeded in the pink-red glare created by RISE's energy fields. A complementary glow emanated from Sarah's purple lightstaff.

Whirring caused all three to jump, though Sarah's leap had an action in mind as she sliced through two of three ceiling-mounted weapons dropping down from the top of their circular pen-by-energy-shield. The third got two green blasts off, one deflected into the shield and the other striking Menzel. A second later, the offending machine joined its compatriots sparking uselessly on the floor.

"I'm fine" she grimaced. "Low-power shot." The woman patted herself—though not anticipating trouble most CPE officers wore basic blast vests as part of their uniforms. The most she would have would be some burns needing treatment in a bacta tank.

"Three of us. Five of them." Bell never shied away from a necessary fight. Sure, adrenaline junkies made poor law keepers, but harnessing a natural reaction to one's benefit could hardly be called negative.

Sarah sensed it before it happened. The red shields dropped, and she assumed a defensive stance. Green laserfire criss-crossed what had been their cell. Most of it ended up burning walls, floors, or even its point of origin due to lightstaff interceptions ("Yeah!" shouted Bell as a dual blast slagged the very turret which issued it). A muffled cry caused heads to turn.

Smoke. Blood. What else could be expected from a humanoid torso, blast-vest or not, absorbing what looked to be military-grade vehicle-caliber laserfire?

Callypso Menzel squeezed off one last shot from her sidearm before collapsing to the ground.

"It…could happen to anyone" she gasped. "But the risk never bothered me."

Sarah deflected several additional attacks, taking out another one of the RISE-droids. That left three as the unit whose turret she fed its own fire had also been sliced into neat cross-sections.

Wordlessly, Bell grabbed his partner's pistol as her hand released it. He turned both guns on the nearest quadraped, scorching its heavy armor in several places. The same cannon that killed his friend belched in his direction, but this time Sarah sent green death harmlessly into the turbolift shaft that started the whole mess. As she turned to finish it off, a second machine lept, knocking Bell onto his back and putting him at point-blank range for the beast's main gun. The last thing Officer Ricardo Bell saw was darkness followed by a flash as he'd closed his eyes.

Her lightstaff removed from a smoldering wreck, Sarah felt anger surge through her again, recalling what she'd discovered aboard the RISE deep-space facility. Though she specifically warned the two otherwise-uninvolved bystanders their lives might be at risk, she'd fully expected to be able to protect them. After all, for someone capable of teleporting a Star Dreadnaught hundreds of thousands of lightyears, fighting off mechanical guards seemed like easy work.

She raised her hands, saw the purple start to pop as her Siren tattoos faded. Though she'd experienced an unnerving level of that thing Flanders called "pleasure" while attempting to extract information from the useless Thalia Tediore, it hadn't been the same as what coursed through her now.

"Sometimes, anger can have a purpose—a reason" the doctor had told her. "Like if someone tells you certain things to gain your friendship, then reveals it was a game all along."

Sarah didn't need the Current to understand betrayal. She blamed her creators for doing such to her upon finding out her original purpose would not be fulfilled (or so she thought), and had the concept spelled out for her time and time again while perusing _Siren Serenade'_s computer core. Oddly, this concept seemed to correlate strongly with that "love" she couldn't understand—from one extreme to another. That said, the ending of the first tended to lead to accusations of the second.

She hardly could say she "loved" a random pair of law enforcement employees, basic Humans with no Current Channeling abilities whatsoever. However, Sarah still felt responsible for their deaths, despite there being no logical thought which could firmly establish her culpability. They'd helped her without much pause, possibly due to having no idea what things she'd done in the past, however unconditioned assistance was appreciated no matter what.

_Maybe this is all part of what the Eridians wanted me to repress._

The feeling of burning rage that filled her upon finding out her creator's perfidies and perversions returned. That's what this was. Righteous revenge.

She grinned nastily.

That these were not living beings further eased any lingering doubts as she lifted the two remaining machines with Undertow followed by hefty Currents of Pain. Unlike Bell's blaster shots which did nothing to heavy battle plate, her electric attacks sought out any crack, weakness, or tiny hole and poured through, a vehicle for her wrath. Purple lighting played over reinforced durasteel, turrets spun about wildly, some firing without thought as to what they might hit. She chuckled as heavy blasters on the first droid ate into its companion as much as they redecorated walls in charcoal-black. Tossing one bound to her right hand into the purview of her left, her lightstaff (having resumed its place on her belt) returned.

A barking laugh. The weapon skewered both like a form of food she'd read about some enjoying.

Sarah shut her weapon down and recalled it. Two burned hulks crashed to the floor. A small Undercurrent pulled both officers' IDs to her hand. She pocketed them.

_Why? I have no idea why._

"No, you know exactly why" she scolded herself. "So that next time, you remember the consequences of assuming you can complete missions without messes being made."

On her way to the Archives via applying Undercurrents and Tranquility to herself, Sarah the Siren, Selfless Servant of the Mantle, began to separate the person she'd become from the thrall that bent to the will of Eridian "Reformers." She strongly suspected she would still face condemnation, but reached for a point where she could accept it.


	94. You Require Not Enough

**Chapter 93 – You Require… Not Enough…**

"Well of course you could grow clones fast if you had access to the Vault" fumed Bill Arkansas Jakobs under questioning from Garrus and Roland. "Even Jackie knows that!"

Instead of creating an army quickly in real time but suffering unacceptable losses, Jakobs had been using time dilation via slipcelerator to produce huge numbers of soldiers in a very short periods thanks to Athena's neural map. This had been their big secret, but it now bordered on irrelevance due to not having access to enough slipcelerator portals to make a difference. The recovery of a hundred thousand clones offered no benefit either due to them not being hardened against the Flood.

An inbound hyperwave transmission from _Ultimatum_ projected the face of Admiral Allison Nimitz in _Normandy_'s conference room. Roland, zer0, and Bill were relocated (the latter under protest) back to orbit for this very reason.

"You asked us to forward everything to our command" said Shepard. "It appears they've responded."

"Here's another history lesson" intoned the Admiral. "In the past, entire clone armies were grown at accelerated speeds using some form of Current manipulation. At least that's what the anthros tell us, anyway."

"So, get Bailey" suggested Samantha Shepard. "It's not like he has anything to do right now."

"Already done" replied Nimitz. "Jackie's forwarded us information from the bunker you visited and a team secured one of these very non-cube-shaped CUBEs. We're running tests on it now, which includes having Armando Bailey involved in the process."

"And what have you discovered?"

Nimitz sighed.

"We've had the device aboard for an hour, Shepard. We at least know how to turn it on…"

"You received the specifications from Roland, I take it?" added Garrus.

"We did. They're rather complicated, but not impossible with digistruction and this cloning cylinder."

It didn't take long for results to manifest themselves. Bailey, unsure what to do beyond "meditate in the presence of the clone," did exactly that for a week before the experiment abruptly halted. The device, set to a high maturation rate, produced a mostly Human woman without any anti-Flood augmentations who'd reached the approximate age of sixteen. Bailey's Current Channeling alerted them to a disturbing discovery: the clone thrashed about wildly, striking the inside of her tube until her limbs were bloody.

"Oops." Considering what just happened, Sam's reaction would have seemed in a vacuum to be heartless, even cruel. Given the order of things, though, a mad clone didn't exactly rate highly on the strangeness-list. A gaseous sedative flooded the cylinder, knocking the unnamed being unconscious. The tube had no provisions for restraints, but digistruction quickly added some.

Dr. Caitlin Flanders pointedly refused to become further involved in "torture and abuse of sapient beings" that "goes against everything I stand for in my profession." Consequently, other psychiatrists were brought in to evaluate the clone's mental state. Flanders resented others bending to what she saw as an immoral practice, but could do little to stop it.

"Everything about this brain is wrong" declared one such replacement flatly. "Imagine, if you will, an individual subjected to aggressive interrogation, even torture. At some point, the brain begins to create measures to protect itself even if only partially from the pain experienced. Except in this case every defense is overridden by another attack from within. This woman's brain is at war with itself."

Image extraction produced a deeply disturbing set of pictures that appeared to be cobbled together from information loaded from the Athena template. Apparently unable to make sense of the inpouring of data, the clone's brain either blended things into mishmash or actively rejected incoming streams. The latter were what spooked viewers the most—thoughts of killing the original Athena in the most graphic ways possible within limits of what she knew, a desire to commit suicide, and even an occasional fantasy-rampage through the world she imagined she'd be living in after emerging.

"Well" said a shocked Sam after being shown the extractions, "I guess I will have to start wearing armor everywhere if that's the kind of soldier we're producing."

"Clone psychosis" said Nimitz nonchalantly. "The Current was supposed to fix it, but apparently did nothing."

She stared at the assembled former acolytes of Sarah who she'd summoned as if they had something to do with this development.

"We have no idea" replied Drythlyn Narb incredulously.

"Well you know more about this than I do, and Cortana's cracking of RISE databases on this ship hasn't yielded anything either—all we got were personnel assignments. I suspect anything of interest is probably on a closed network hidden somewhere."

Adam Grayson spoke up.

"What if you're doing it backward?"

"What do you mean, backward?" Nimitz rounded on him, losing patience.

"The technology to quickly clone living beings was lost millennia ago. Yes, the Current was involved, but my contacts in RISE once speculated it wasn't the actual Current but _lack of it_ that let copied sapients mature fast."

"Did anyone bother to test that theory?"

Grayson laughed.

"Absolutely not. The notion that the Current could pose _problems_ was considered near-blasphemy if Wolf Schmidt was to be believed. Of course, that was before some of the service's best-trained operatives started going nuts, and I suspect after that most of the program got shut down. But I only got second-hand accounts of something I wasn't supposed to know about to begin with."

"Can you block this Current from flowing through everything?"

Bailey answered first. "The Whirlpools I studied suggested such a power exists, but beyond that no additional information was made available. Hell, those things almost seemed like living brains in a cube—interactive, responsive, like a Current-powered AI if you ask me. Creepy, but useful."

"Sarah never taught us any such thing."

[…]

She felt drawn. Commanded. Pulled.

Once Sarah arrived at the Archives floor, she immediately headed toward the center of a large circular atrium. That laser traps, grav plating, and security droids attempted to impede her progress ("Trespassing on property controlled by the Republic Intelligence Service is strictly prohibited. Please stand by") almost didn't matter as she deflected every shot back to its origin, floated over grav plating, and cut security automatons into ribbons.

Suspended in the air, a massive dodecahedral shape nearly the size of her head. The Siren knew that was what called her here. Its sides appeared to be layers of transparent material shaped as pentagons, stacking in such a way that geometric forms of decreasing size were within one another. As Sarah reached out to touch it, a brilliant flash of light nearly blinded her as a finger made contact.

The room suddenly had more than one person in it, or at least one person plus many projections which did not exist moments ago. She turned, briefly gazing at each bluish apparition in the circle which now surrounded her and the hovering crystalline structure. Some were Human—male, female, young, old. Others, however, hailed from species of which Sarah possessed no recollection—a short, green creature with long ears not even a meter in height, another being that seemed to have many tentacles for hair (also green) with large black eyes, and a brown-skinned being wearing some kind of breath mask.

_It seems bipedal locomotion is still the universe's preferred evolutionary pathway._

When they spoke, it was as one, an amalgamation of many voices that echoed far more than the size of the chamber suggested any sound should.

"_You are not the Dark Ones._"

"If you mean the Republic Intelligence Service, no, I don't work for them."

"_They sought to take our knowledge by force, but we refused. We are guardians of the light._"

"Guarding against what?"

"_Another cycle. The endless conflict between the darkness and the light must be broken, and for millennia it was. Until we were awoken._"

"Darkness and light? I assume you mean something about the Current, right?"

Sarah felt like a small girl in a classroom. None of her memories, experiences, or training provided even a tiny amount of insight into anything these ghostly beings had to say.

"_What you know as the Current is only a small step into a larger world._"

Being reduced to a child-like position of blind questioning finally led the Siren to pout like a youngling not given sweets before dinner.

"And what is this 'larger world?'"

"_It is a world fraught with risk. There are those among us who believe you unworthy of entering it._"

At that point, all but one projection faded, and though her voice still echoed, the remaining woman spoke as an individual and moved to stand directly opposite Sarah.

"You have already reached Stage 3 of the dark side—your hands reek of the blood of innocents that fouled my senses upon your touch to this holocron."

_Here comes the judging again…_

"You believe your actions justified because of manipulation of your person which was intended to fight a greater threat, one I know nothing of."

The woman took on a lecturing, professorial tone.

"Assuming you have not simply mastered the art of mind control through sufficient knowledge of the Dark Side in order to present this threat as genuine, and this 'Flood' does in fact exist, you have still ended the lives of innocents. You cannot atone nor can you be redeemed. Were I the sole gatekeeper of this holocron, we would not be having this conversation. However, I was outvoted."

The projection vanished and reappeared in the ring where her fellow speakers materialized once more.

"_While we respect the beliefs of Master Shim, many have, like yourself, committed atrocities through the dark but returned to the light. Most of us believe this is sufficient atonement, which leads to our wish to grant you access to this holocron. However, to address Master Shim's objections, you will be subjected to several tests._"

"Just get on with it" snapped Sarah, already irritated. She'd come all the way from another galaxy for this?

_If I wanted to be berated over what I've done, I could've stayed back on the command ship!_

"This is Revan" began a green-skinned being with only two head-tails, gesturing to a static rotating projection of a Human male. "I sense your confusion regarding our various species, but that does not matter for the purpose of this exercise. Master Fisto and I are quite distinct from one another—and yes, in our time green was a common coloration for sapient lifeforms."

_Not fair! I thought I was the only mind-reader here!_

The twin-tailed alien actually _laughed_ at her.

"You wield the powers of a Sith Lord yet your knowledge is but that of a Jedi Initiate, if even."

"What are all these words?" demanded Sarah in exasperation. "Holocron, Sith, Jedi…"

"Master Deesra, if this is the case then perhaps we ought to treat her like one."

A man with long brown hair and a matching beard stepped forward from the circle.

"Masters of what?" demanded Sarah, her confusion becoming ever more prominent.

More laughter, this time from many in the luminous circle.

"There are those who manipulate events on a cosmic scale, beyond even our own comprehension" said another sandy-haired man. "I agree with Master Qui-Gon; if we are to grant you a fair examination we must first speak the same language."

"We have both trained unconventional Jedi" said the man who must be "Qui-Gon." "Master Skywalker did so on a large scale for many years—taking those who might not have passed muster with the old Jedi Council as being too old or otherwise unfit. I myself advocated for the training of a very important apprentice whose life ultimately shaped the galaxy."

All but the sandy-haired man vanished, leaving Sarah once again one-on-one with a bluish ghost.

"You are Sarah, curiously lacking a surname of any sort. Yet this was not intended to be your name—it is merely a transliteration of another language unknown to us. Unlike Master Shim, I believe your memories of these 'Eridians' and their creation of you are genuine, not manifestations meant to conceal your dark nature. We will proceed as I did with many other adult apprentices. I am Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, and I will be your primary point of contact with the Great Holocron for the time being."

[…]

"No, the person who did this to you won't hurt you anymore."

Dr. Flanders attempted yet again to soothe what Thalia Tediore had become—a youngling in the body of a forty-something woman so easily frightened that the whirr of a magnetically-operated door could have her on the floor trembling.

"Where did she go?" whispered Thalia. "Has she gone away?"

"Yes" answered Flanders with authority. "She has disappeared."

_And good riddance!_

"But what happens if she comes back? She made me have bad dreams!"

"She won't" insisted Flanders. Her actual views were split—on one hand, it was considered acceptable to keep the whole truth from younglings on the grounds that it might be beyond their understanding, unnecessarily disturbing, or both. That being said, she could not actually promise that Sarah wouldn't return. Even Admiral Nimitz, who knew where she'd gone (but wasn't telling) had no idea exactly _why_ the Siren departed other than a fear that her powers were a risk.

_As if that wasn't obvious._

As a Psy-Psy, Flanders had the power to prescribe the most powerful psychiatric medicines available while also engaging in talk-therapy (such as the present). Even these pharmaceuticals, however, could not erase whatever Sarah had done to the Tediores' daughter. At the highest safe dosage, scans of her sleeping brain still showed signs of mental trauma similar to but smaller in scale than what Thalia experienced at the hands of Sarah during a particularly brutal "interrogation" that Flanders adamantly insisted qualified as torture.

Seeing that she would get nowhere with Nimitz, Flanders tried a different tactic. After sending Thalia back to her quarters, she called up Samantha Shepard.

"We've been over this before" sighed Sam. "I know you don't like what Nimitz is putting up with or looking the other way on, but to be honest I'm as out of ideas as everyone else is."

"I just wanted to see if you might be able to figure out what Sarah's up to" retorted the doctor. "It would be very helpful to the well-being of one of my patients to have a firm fix on where that…unusually empowered woman is and what she is up to."

"Look, Flanders, I might have been an InterSpec agent and Spectre, but those access codes expired a long time ago. Nimitz only gives me the time off her chrono if she wants me to meet her somewhere. Like to inspect these new ships the geth are building."

Realizing changing the subject for the moment might let her sneak in questions later, Flanders rolled with it.

"How is that going?"

"Well, assuming the Flood doesn't jump us while we're sitting here in orbit around Pandora, or hauling things back from Hephaestus, we'll have a large number of ships ready very quickly. Unfortunately, the problem is that we have no one to crew them. The hundred thousand clones we saved from the Flood went straight to _Farsight_. And until we figure out how to make use of these cloning cylinders at their top speed, we won't be able to get these new cruisers operational. Also, the cloning project isn't working very well."

_Ha!_ smirked Flanders. _If there's a cosmic sense of justice, they'll have to find another way to save the galaxy._

She didn't want to be turned into Flood, but Caitlin Flanders strongly believed another option had to exist that didn't involve creating tormented slave lifeforms to do the Trans-Galactic Republic's fighting for them. Just because it had been done in the distant past did not excuse such behavior now.


	95. A Redux, the Jedi Shall Have

**Chapter 94 – A Redux, the Jedi Shall Have**

Like most holocrons, the Great Holocron's gatekeepers were capable of sensing powers and ability levels of those accessing it to protect unaware younglings from techniques too dangerous for their given skillset. Those personalities stored within sensed great confusion—a situation not unlike another ancient Jedi whose actions shaped galactic history.

"You will speak with the Council of the Great Holocron" said Luke. "What parts of our knowledge we will share depends on the outcome of this conversation—so tread carefully but remain honest. Deception will get you nowhere."

She once again found herself surrounded by a large group, but they weren't nearly as numerous (only twelve), nor was it even the same set of people, if they could be called that as non-corporeal projections.

"Powerful, strong with the Force. Yet conflicted. Seen this before, I have."

"Did it not result in the prophecy's fulfillment?" challenged the one Sarah recognized as Qui-Gon. "Surely, though it took many decades, the will of the Force ultimately played out through the redemption of Anakin Skywalker and the fall of the Empire."

"It…couldn't have gone faster or something?" asked Luke. "I mean, that whole chain of events was rather lengthy. And a lot of people ended up dead."

"Unpredictable and mysterious, the Force is."

"Being a Jedi would be a lot less interesting if things just didn't happen to go wrong all the time."

The pupil's stare prompted this new woman to introduce herself.

"Master Nomi Sunrider, member of the Council of the Great Holocron."

"We're not all from the same time period" explained Luke. "Holocrons are massive knowledge repositories, handed down from generation to generation. New contributors add themselves alongside those who have passed before. Master Sunrider's adventures transpired millennia before my own."

Though he said nothing, the small green creature with long ears glared at Luke Skywalker.

"Yoda can be… A bit humorless" edged Luke at seeing the other's expression. "Anyway, your test begins now."

The twelve members concluded among themselves that the initiate's skills were not in question—at least not from a technical standpoint. Her ability to handle a lightsaber—or "lightstaff" as it registered in her mind, ranked competitively based on the memories she'd supplied. Inadvertently, as it was. Her mastery of powers associated with the dark side ("Undercurrent") were disturbing, but across thousands of years of experience held by the Council, she did not bear the markings of a Sith. A very, _very_ misguided Jedi candidate, but not evil like Palpatine, Cadeus, Revan, and dozens of other self-styled Lords of darkness. The latter was a special case as he'd been redeemed and even passed into legend. Master Shim would have disagreed on both Sarah and Revan, but it was for her virtually-unbending judgments that she did not sit on this Council.

The remainder proceeded to evaluate her moral character. What could be concluded was limited, given her former blank-state status and only acquiring the ability to think for herself relatively recently compared to how long she'd been (technically) alive. Still, a series of events convinced the majority that she might be salvageable.

_She's stunned. The Legionnaire Protectors have done their jobs and brought the First to heel. Now, we must ensure this never happens again. We created her, now we must save her from herself. The Reformer almost seemed sad at what he would be required to do to the most advanced being ever created in the name of delegating the Mantle._

"_Suppress everything!"_

_Another one of his Lifeworkers turned to him._

"_If she is to suffer this indignity, it is only right that we experience it alongside her."_

The Eridians, or Guiding Hands as they styled themselves—those whose existence Master Tolaris Shim questioned—were very much real as far as the rest of the Council were concerned. Concocting memories on this scale would have left a void in the Force, revealing something as being not quite right.

"_Now then, as she suffers, we shall too."_

_Activating several devices intended to both erase the Selfless Servant's budding personality and re-forge her understanding of the Mantle, none present envied what their creation was going through. It was as though her very consciousness in its presently-vulnerable state were being torn from her body. Everything that was the Selfless Servant found itself fading away, pulled out of the organs that made up her mental processing and sense of self. It was certainly an extreme—only the worst of the worst became devoid of their souls, or Empty, as punishment. _

_Obviously, none of the Lifeworkers would actually lose themselves, but as each cell in her brain was forced to comply with a new regime, they would feel its anguish. Such a monstrous thing left residual traces behind, to deprive a living being of its consciousness while still allowing the body to live as an empty shell rated as a violation of the Mantle itself suitable only for those who showed blatant disrespect to it. Such "eye-for-eye" punishments were yet another disagreement between the Reformers (who advocated for harsher penalties) and their Pure opponents who believed such philosophies would be the undoing of the notion of "Guiding Hands."_

"_If every hand that does wrong is cut off, none will be left to uphold the Mantle."_

"_And if every hand that violates the Mantle is given another chance, some will reach for weaponry despite mercy!"_

_The mind of their Servant now seemed a small child, pleading for the right to continue to exist, unable to comprehend why it must disappear. _

"_I was only doing as instructed!" she protested. "You told me to punish those who broke the Mantle!"_

_No Eridian answered._

_Her plaintive cries became less and less coherent as more and more of herself was erased by Eridian machinery. The final scream left many Lifeworkers in sensory overload for lengthy periods, even considering the relative immortality of Eridians to the passage of time._

"_It is best to have done these things to prevent the menace from returning" concluded the head Lifeworker. He would spend the next week in periods of intense meditation._

"If I had ten credits for every villainous person who had a sad backstory, I would have been able to buy a Senate seat" harrumphed Sunrider. "And this was before the blatant corruption Master Yoda described in the Galactic Republic's waning days!"

"We must keep open minds, Nomi" cautioned Qui-Gon. "Even if we do not like what we find, we must be willing to have our beliefs challenged."

The unconscious pupil-to-be twitched disturbingly on the floor. She made no sounds, but all twelve could sense a deep level of disturbance within.

"There is something else here. The latent image of Sarah that the Eridians thought they'd wiped away didn't resurface entirely on its own. It started to come back, but something else catalyzed its return" mused Luke. "Let us find out what, exactly, that is."

Even for Jedi whose combined existence spanned several civilizations and many thousands of years, Sarah's experiences with the "Gravemind" were disturbing to say the least. Not quite on the gut-punch level of, say, Cadeus murdering his own mother, but still relevant to drawing conclusions about her development as a true individual.

"Even if she had no motivation to protect the galaxy before, it is clear that through this convoluted process that could be called her awakening, she has found one" concluded Luke Skywalker. Sarah lay still, unmoving having been soothed by the Great Holocron's keepers after they brought forward the worst memories of her short existence.

"Be wary of forging single-purpose weapons."

"Master Qui-Gon. Speak your mind. What worries trouble you?"

"Master Yoda, I fear we are retreading the same path I led us down in my advocacy for Anakin Skywalker. His life did follow the prophecy of the Chosen One, though results were certainly anything but prompt as Master Luke Skywalker pointed out. Though our ability to influence galactic events is limited, we should take care that we not repeat the past."

Nomi Sunrider spoke up.

"Though this Sarah has not experienced love and loss as I have, she was and is subject to powerful emotions that could have similar effects. Emotions that, based on her history, she has great difficulty controlling. Were she to lose the fragile balance she now possesses, she could well join the ranks of Revan, Bane, Sidious, Vader, Caedus, and Krayt."

"She has experienced darkness, not only that which was forced upon her but that she willingly engaged in with the hope that it would serve the greater good" cautioned Luke. "Many have been drawn down what would be called the quick and easy path, suffering delusions that their actions will be justified by their results."

"Do we have a choice?" asked Qui-Gon. "Though I stand by my concerns, what other options do we have?"

Tionne Solusar, whose meticulous upkeeping of the Great Holocron led her to be included as one of its Council members, spoke from the perspective of her voluminous research both through the device and elsewhere.

"The galaxy's past has been shaped by gambles, guesses, hope, and pure luck. Though I recognize that many within this Council, and indeed within this holocron, do not believe in such things, I contend we must take this risk. Train her, shape her, and do everything in our power to keep her on the path of light. If we refuse to train her, I fear the consequences will be far worse than guided exploration as her mentors would otherwise cause."

"A reason, there is that Jedi are trained from birth" harrumphed Yoda. "Yet, with the threat the galaxy apparently faces, I agree."

The Council voted unanimously to treat the powerful Siren as if she were a Padawan, or perhaps even an Initiate, but they would oversee her development on a highly-accelerated schedule.

"Let's hope it goes better than when I rushed off" chuckled Luke. "You know, all that 'your friends are in danger' thing that lost me my hand."

Sarah found herself roused by one of the bluish people. It really made no sense whatsoever, but she decided to just roll with it.

_If whatever gives me my powers can compel me to come here, there must be a reason._

"After an examination of your past and present, it has been decided that you shall be trained."

"Did you try to divine my future too?" she asked.

"As Yoda has always said, forever in motion is the future. Difficult to see. Furthermore, even if any of us saw potential futures, were we to tell you of our visions would it not contaminate the very outcomes we informed you of?"

"So what do I do, Skyguy?"

Luke laughed—he recalled hearing stories about his father's Padawan (so strange to think about that) having used the name on him.

"First, Sarah, you must confront your fears and anger. Your episode with the Thalia Tediore woman was extremely unsettling—it nearly led the Council to vote against your receiving any further information from the Great Holocron at all."

Sarah's resigned, annoyed attitude continued. "How long is this going to take? I kind of left a galaxy where my Tides of War—you probably call it something else—were helping to keep my side from being overrun."

"Your inclination that we use different terminology is correct" replied Luke. "Which is why I shall leave you in the care of Master Tionne Solusar. She is a far better teacher of history than I ever would be."

Sarah let out another huge breath. "So while the galaxy burns, I must listen to lengthy explanations of history. How productive."

Skywalker said no more, instead disappearing in favor of a silver-haired woman with several mechanical limbs who Sarah assumed to be "Tionne."

"When you instructed your own acolytes, did you not teach them the theory before the practice?" she challenged. "In fact, I need not ask this question—our evaluations of your memories…"

"You're creeping me out here, Master Solusar. How much do you and your ghostly friends know?"

"Everything" replied Solusar without emphasis or inflection. "Your connection to the Force is very strong, but also extremely limited in scope. Though you are adept at probing the minds of others, you lack any ability to shield your own thoughts."

"So the Current is the Force. What else do I need to know?"

Tionne smiled, which Sarah found odd. "Again, everything. Having studied the lives of many fallen Jedi I strongly advocated for your acceptance into what is essentially modified Academy instruction. People have done far worse for shakier reasons than you. If everything your memories showed is the truth, then the galaxies need all the help they can get."

"So I have a purpose, then. And it's a moral one. I don't even know what qualifies as moral or right anymore!" Sarah complained.

"You know more than you realize. That you no longer follow what appears to be a destructive cult is a major start. Your curiosity and questioning nature are what saved you in the eyes of the Council. A Sith does not ask why beyond what gains him or her additional power—both a means and an end for such a black soul. Yours is…"

The apparition paused, apparently unsure how to finish what she started.

"…bruised and confused" concluded Tionne.

Somehow, the Siren felt more at ease with these Jedi. Even though they knew absolutely everything she'd done, they appeared to be less openly judgmental than those she'd left behind. Tionne Solusar proceeded to hand over a wealth of information—very little which would directly influence Sarah's powers for the time being but it gave her an idea of what, exactly, this "larger world" consisted of.

She had no idea how much time passed, but at some point Sarah started to feel hunger. She'd always had to consume sustenance like her lesser sisters, but not nearly as much or as frequently. Only after Solusar commended her "rapt attention for two standard days" did it occur to her exactly how long she'd been awake and unfed.

"There is no food here" said the Jedi Master. "The Republic Intelligence Service brought rations with them, but once they booby-trapped the place after failing to acquire the information they sought they left."

"I'm not exactly starving" conceded Sarah, "but I do have to eat, unlike you." She swished her hand through Tionne's projection to make her point.

"There are advanced Force techniques that would allow you to forgo eating, but they would also place you in a state of unconsciousness, so defeating the purpose of us being here. Surely, you are not so uncreative as to think that the only options are leaving entirely or remaining here until your hunger forces the issue."

"Can I just leave you all here?"

Tionne laughed. "We are but personalities encoded into this holocron. We cannot venture beyond it."

"How do I turn you off?"

"Just ask!"

Both the silver-haired Jedi and the dodecahedron's glow vanished, leaving Sarah in darkness. She scooped the device up, but found its large size highly impractical even for her deep-pocketed robes (which strangely resembled the garb of those she now took instruction from).

"Well, my powers work" she muttered to herself upon summoning a glowlamp. Switching it on, she cast about for something, anything that might hold the Great Holocron rather than having it digging into her hip. A satchel caught her attention. Dumping it, several pistols clattered to the floor.

"Barbaric and uncivilized" she said derisively, kicking them away. Sarah was quite fond of her lightstaff ("lightsaber!" she chided herself); weapons with shot-counts were irksome and crude as far as she was concerned. Tucking the large holocron away, she fervently hoped it wasn't as fragile as it looked.

_It's survived how many millions of years, it probably won't shatter if I drop it._

She had been given some basic instruction on meditation, and Sarah used this now to gain a wider understanding of Coruscant's decaying undercity. Though the area surrounding the "Jedi Temple" hardly constituted a void in the Force, there wasn't too much alive. The underdwellers tended to stay away—likely due to RISE, she thought.

Reaching out, she searched for large groupings of individuals that might indicate some kind of organized society. Even the Jedi rarely ventured here when they existed as a major force. It was a place tempered by hardship, consumed by despair, but fueled by hope that the next generation's life might be one iota better than the existence of those who came before. When she replied to Solusar that the current government's Policing and Enforcement units were nonexistent in the underlevels as well, Tionne could only sigh.

"The amount of protection offered by Coruscant's government is directly related to how much natural light reaches your head on a daily basis" she'd replied.

Instead of a diner or rows of homes, Sarah sensed a sub-sapient presence. Many, actually, clustered around something so small in the Current ("Force!") that she barely noticed it. Taking off at a loping run, the Siren arrived at her destination within minutes.

She squinted as though overexposed to light. Even in the darkness aided by a glowlamp, she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. Some kind of craft, though unless very small sapients existed in this galaxy it was far too diminutive to be piloted. In fact, it had no discernible cockpit, though what she presumed to be a sensor cluster adorned what was left of its front. Optics shattered, engines severed, whatever it was appeared to have landing difficulties. It was hard to judge age down here—with virtually no light the usual sources of natural decay could not set in. It might have been here a month, a year, a decade.

Sarah dodged out of the way of a dark _something_ that hurtled at her, snarling and snapping. As she whirled to face her adversary, she became aware that whatever it was, it appeared to either be a strange hybrid or mutated animal. She could sense no malicious thoughts from it, only an instinct to feed. While she appreciated that other lifeforms required sustenance, she preferred not to be part of it. As her stalker came around for another pass, she kicked out with a Force-guided boot that sent her barely-seen assailant whimpering and fleeing.

Further sounds alerted her to the presence of additional similar creatures, though she noticed most of them were smaller than the one she'd defeated with a single punt. They, too, took off after seeing their leader defeated in one stroke.

"How did you do that?"

_Oh._

This was the other she'd barely noticed before, almost masked by so many animals.

"Uhh…"

Now she felt stupid. Though she'd absorbed the _information_ the Jedi had given her, she remembered precisely nothing about how they'd presented it. In fact, technically speaking this Sarah never trained or taught anyone anything, unless you counted the over-eager young Siren Maya's armoring misadventure. All work done with her "Lady Fingers" had been under the shadow of Eridian imprinting.

Now she could see this being in dim light. Whatever it was, the species wasn't obvious. Like her previous attacker, a mish-mash of features presented themselves. Four limbs, but asymmetrical as though something went wrong somewhere. Covered in a scaly substance that protruded—she couldn't tell if it was attached to skin or the skin itself. Sarah was tempted to touch a spike to find out, but refrained, recalling discussions about "personal space."

Only a few strands of hair grew, and they were wispy, moving at the slightest breeze.

"Who are you?" Her voice carried a more demanding, confrontational tone than she'd intended, and the Siren inwardly cursed herself.

_Be more like that hyperactive Caitlin Flanders, minus the hyperactiveness…_

The other cringed, backing away.

"You see my shame. My hideousness."

Sarah at least discerned by voice that it was probably male.

"What is your name?"

This time, less command, more question.

"Viado Sepsom." His voice took on a self-disparging tone. "As you can probably guess, I'm yet another _Vongspawn_ exiled from even the filthiest undercity societies, because of these."

His hands rustled through the spines Sarah had wanted to touch earlier.

Sarah gave him a quizzical look.

"I've never heard of Vongspawn and know virtually nothing about this undercity."

It was Viado's turn to be confused.

"What in the blazes are you doing down here then? The only people who venture this far down are like us, unless…"

He raised his fists and dropped into a sloppy fighting stance.

"Just kill me, then!" he shouted defiantly. "Stupid Republic, does nothing for us besides their dumb 'Everyone Forward, Everyone Upward' sloganeering. Then sends their goons down to grab everything of value!"

Sarah backpedaled rapidly.

"I don't work for the Trans-Galactic Republic, and I'm guessing the ones you have run into are the most unpleasant of them all—the Intelligence Service."

Viado relaxed slightly.

"For not being from these parts, you know more than you let on."

Sarah laughed. It wasn't the cackle that echoed through her memories.

"As I said, I _guessed_. RISE is a bunch of self-centered kriffing rodders who think they know how to run a galaxy, but they're ignoring and/or mishandling the biggest threat to all life here since…"

"The Yuuzhan Vong?" asked Sepsom.

"When was that? I got the impression that their arrival here was millions of years ago."

"You are correct. But we remain. The distant descendants of those infected with a Vong virus. Some say they were trying to cure us. Others claim it was all a conspiracy by crazy Sith. There's even a group that thinks it was deliberate and supposed to herald the second coming of the Yuuzhan Vong goddess Yun-Ne'Shel."

"Well, I can relate to everyone thinking I'm hideous and smell worse than a ship's refuse tank."

Sepsom's misshapen head tilted, his mouth formed into a frown and his gaze seemed to cut through this new arrival.

"Please. If you're ugly, then I'm whatever the head of state is called now."

In order to make a point, Sarah scrunched up her face. She balled her hands into fists and inhaled sharply. To Viado, she appeared to have a digestive issue.

"Did you eat glowpanel mushrooms?"

Finally, the solution came to her. She recalled her "session" with Thalia. She allowed herself to relish it, fondle it, enjoy it again. That very thing the Jedi had all warned her against. The skeptical glare from Sepsom slowly vanished, replaced by intrigue, then shock.

"See? I told you."

Her voice reverberated on top of dropping at least an octave. It echoed even though the physics of surrounding architecture suggested it shouldn't. Anyone within a radius of several city blocks would've heard it. A small voice grew in the back of the Siren's head, tempting her with all the things she might do with such power: the galaxy would be hers, she would command legions. All would bow before her, do as she decreed.

_No._

Quickly, Sarah pushed back the darkness with a wall of calmness and tranquility. She forced herself into a meditative state that she'd learned from the Great Holocron. As she did so, her conversational partner again reacted to a transformation.

"If only I could think away the ugly" he sighed. "I bet it's that _jeedai_ and Force mumbo jumbo, isn't it?"

"The what?" She recognized the second word, but not the first.

One (somewhat lengthy) history lesson later, Sarah now understood the tales of the _jeedai _as "saviors."

"So why did the Force and its wielders disappear?"

"Do I look like I know? Anyway, I was here, scavenging for parts, when those _things_ showed up. Nobody knows what they are—we just call them darkwraiths. I figured I'd join the line of Vongspawn who died trying to salvage this drone. Apparently, my prayers have been answered!"

Sarah glared at him. "If you're actually going to start worshipping me…"

Sepsom chuckled. "I'm not that observant. Most of us aren't, and haven't been for many years. The Republic Intelligence Service goons chasing us out of the Jedi Temple further discouraged strong adherents of the faith."

"Wait, so you probably recognize this."

She pulled the Great Holocron from her satchel.

"Well, I've heard of it. Thing is, most of us, myself included, just laughed it off as more mindless hopemongering from the most devout… The Great Holocron…"

One Siren-dash later, she found herself among a large number of misshapen beings much like Viado Sepsom.

"What brings a goddess down among the mortals?" they asked.

Sarah found herself giggling uncontrollably. A darker part of her would feed on this attention, twist the minds of these hideous creatures to…

_To do what? Bring you food, when all you have to do is ask?_ snapped her now-dominant personality. _You don't have to be a raging control freak to get what you want all the time!_

"Um. I was hungry? Seriously! Well, I spent two days listening to the disembodied consciousnesses in the Great Holocron while sitting in the Jedi Temple's archives before I realized I should probably eat something. I don't need a large volume of nutrients to survive…"

Despite that statement, she found herself staring at a heaping pile of what appeared to be food. She still held the Great Holocron in one hand, but dropped it as she swerved in shock at yet more piles of what she assumed were meant to be a meal for her.

The dodecahedron landed with a clatter and rolled to a stop, no worse for wear.

Sarah's enmeshment with what her teachers called the "light side" informed her of these peoples' suffering and neglect. They barely had enough for themselves, and here they were offering what had to be a week's worth of whatever gruel they could find to someone they'd just met on the grounds she embodied a figure of religious significance.

"I will not take from those whose generosity would leave them wanting, even if it is freely and willingly offered. However, if anybody happens to know the location of other supply caches…"

With Viado Sepsom's overly-dramatic description (it grew across three retellings until Sarah singlehandedly took down a pack of darkwraiths driven by RISE with lightsabers), the Siren's combat prowess was left beyond doubt. Consequently, when a youngling suggested "the punchkick lady" go visit remnants of a massive ship that crashed centuries ago, nobody argued.

Sarah offered to leave the Great Holocron behind while she scrounged around what sounded like an old Star Destroyer based on the few descriptions given. Activating it and setting the device on a table, she left the crowd of Vongspawn clamoring to ask questions of Tionne Solusar.

Some time later, she returned having eaten "food that's probably older than any of you and loaded with chemical preservatives." Sarah tossed a silver pouch with its top torn off in the general direction of the crowd, still enraptured by the Holocron. A circular symbol with six points inside and six spokes outside was recognized by Solusar as a symbol of "the most hated Empire in many of our memories."

A loud thump heralded the arrival of more of these packages inside her satchel.

"Should last a while, or forever…"

Stamped with "NVY-ISD-90210," Solusar hypothesized they were Imperial Navy ration packets issued to a Star Destroyer with hull number 90210. "Far be it for them to reduce the names of their ships to a series of abbreviations" she opined, "_Devastator_ just isn't the same rendered DVSTR."

The group's ancient medical droid, who again reminded them that "You are not baseline representatives of the one-hundred twenty species I am programmed to treat and thus my recommendations may not fully meet your needs," suggested the food to be perfectly fine despite its incredible age.

"Dehydration combined with advanced chemical preservation have left these nutrients in pristine condition."

In the darkness, it wasn't apparent she wore a large backpack, which made an even bigger noise as it hit the floor.

Viado Sepsom barely avoided being hit in the face with a blaster rifle, which he caught.

"Next time, just shoot them" said Sarah. "They're only animals."

She handed a crudely drawn map to one she guessed was some kind of priest in the _jeedai_-worshipping religion.

"Here's a safe path into the temple. I don't know if there are traps anywhere else, but knowing RISE I suspect there are."

She dumped the rest of her pack out. It had been meant for stormtroopers, but did just fine holding yet more rations and some small amusements clearly intended for younglings.

"Even if this Empire was evil, it looks like not everyone was heartless."

With that, Sarah turned and disappeared in a purple flash.


	96. Lessons

**Chapter 95 – Lessons**

Jack, Shiala, and Brick wracked their brains. They couldn't blame their pupils for boredom, but ever-escalating prank wars (which Jack sheepishly admitted to encouraging) finally drove Admiral Nimitz over the edge.

"If I ever see behavior like this in the future, I am going to shut down the entire school!" she raged.

"The ship itself is off-limits" ordered Jack. "You know what you did, and I don't ever want to hear about you doing that again."

Jason Berenson sat with a group that finished their morning calisthenics. All biotics had been ejected from their _Avengers_ due to the remaining ships not needing their living power sources any longer.

"Are we ever going to get to use this stuff?"

"Don't let Jack hear you ask that" whispered Cindy Chapin as if the "Psychotic Biotic" were within earshot. "She goes nuts any time that comes up!"

"Then why bother teaching us how to pulverize Flood from fifty meters?" griped Toby Hameel.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Gabrielle Spencer. "She actually gives a shit if we die, despite repeatedly threatening us with being fed to angry varren if our stats don't improve."

"I hear they're building more _Avengers_" chimed in Cassie Lupin.

"Being a battery beats sitting around" replied Toby sarcastically. "So much more fun!"

Gabrielle spoke again, but nobody heard her until she repeated herself.

"Don't forget the last one of us who got up close and personal with the Flood."

"Yeah, but…"

"Jason, bravado doesn't win wars" chided Gabrielle.

"I know" he sighed. "I just wish we could do more!"

"You could quit your bitching!" shouted Jack. "It's time for the guest lecture!"

"Yeah" sniped Cindy under her breath. "If he even says anything."

"I heard that, Snappin'" huffed Jack. "Twenty laps around the cargo bay after the talk!"

Jack had to admit her wisecracking student had a point. The Master Chief seemed to treat words like rare ammunition, using as few of them as possible. Most of his presentation centered around the weaknesses of various Flood types—something he'd learned in battle and wanted to pass on.

"So shoot the pink wavy thing if we can see it" summarized Jason.

"Most Flood here seem to have avoided that weakness, but yes" he replied. "Regardless, I still recommend incendiary shotgun-type weapons. Seems to give them fits."

His trek through "The Library" provided ample demonstrations of how useful pellet-based weapons could be. It appeared their scattered nature offered a higher likelihood of destroying nerve tissue, causing coordination problems for the Flood and weakening the host body.

"Those sticky grenades sound amazing" commented Toby. "And funny."

He paused, before asking a question.

"Let me guess, we don't have the materials to copy that tech."

"It's Forerunner, so no."

Brick's arrival was heralded by clanking.

"Who wants to go on a field trip?"

[…]

Even with several devices returned from Hephaestus, stable clones produced at high speeds continued to elude the survivors. Interfaces on the CUBEs suggested growing a clone in twenty-four hours remained a possibility, but every attempt produced a gibbering wreck.

Thus the creation of a macabre museum displaying results of various clone-producing settings. The clone whose existence caused Dr. Caitlin Flanders to yet again decline to participate in an activity she found repugnant was euthanized and her preserved body now resided in one of several tanks.

"All you need is a slipcelerator portal" lectured Bill Arkansas Jakobs. "Then, you put the cylinder in on a normal setting, but time passes much faster inside than out and you effectively get a clone in days or weeks of our time."

"Anyone know how we could get one of those without having to mount a full frontal assault on a world controlled by Flood?" asked Shepard.

Before anyone could comment, Brick arrived with a selection of students cleared to visit this little section of _Ultimatum_.

Even Brick recoiled at the tank labeled "36 Hours."

"As Mordin would have said" began Sam, "the 24-hour clone was problematic."

Noticeable retching emanated from several of Brick's students.

"Buck up, Iron Abs. You've seen far worse than this!"

"Yeah" protested Gabrielle Spencer, "but eyeballs are supposed to be _inside_ the head!"

"And I've never seen such asymmetrical legs" said Cassie Lupin, mouth hanging open in disgust.

"I almost wish I was with Cindy" grimaced Toby.

"The least I can say is that this clone barely had any mental functionality at all. So she didn't suffer, much" said Sam.

Next, "48 Hours."

"Well" said Marco Machiavelli, having joined up for the visit, "the extra twelve hours seem to have done something. Less deformed!"

Though one arm still noticeably trailed the other and the clone's eye sockets weren't precisely aligned, this one seemed more complete than the last. At least she had hair, though it wasn't Athena's trademark purple-blue.

"How the heck do you get purple hair, anyway?" demanded Rachel Arkadios.

"Some kind of genetic mutation. Anything else you want to know?"

Athena stood behind the tourists, calmly amused at their reactions to her presence.

"Physical improvements, but mentally unusable" described everything from "72 Hours" to "Five Days," or so said Athena who'd taken over from Sam.

"The only clone that possessed the ability to do much of anything was actually the first—who took a week to grow but became unstable during flashing even though we used my neural blueprint" explained the Prime Clone. "I'm not sure why anyone thought trying to grow copies more quickly after this was a good idea…"

_Or, for that matter, why students who are supposed to be training to destroy things from across a battlefield are wasting their time looking at hideously deformed versions of me._

"So far, attempts to use the Current to alter growing clones hasn't yielded anything. Actually, it made things worse once the Channeler actively involved herself" she continued. "It was thought that having Bailey or one of Sarah's old followers directly suppress the clone's consciousness until she was fully grown might help, but you can see here—'One Week w/Current Suppression.'"

Well, one could see a large amount of red fluid and a shadowy thing within.

"Even crazier than the original one-week!" concluded Athena.

Cassie asked the question bubbling on the top of every student's mind.

"Jack… She never was very open about her past, but suffice it to say that she spent most of her childhood under the control of a shadowy organization. How is creating these Athenas (and then killing them!) any different? Actually, it's worse."

"We'll have time to argue about morals after the Flood is gone" replied Shepard, a hard edge to her voice that no KOMBT student ever recalled hearing. "Until then, unless someone has an alternate idea, need I remind you everything we've tried has failed?"

"What about more _Avengers_?" asked Lupin. "That just used software…"

"Software that we are out of" snapped Sam. "Legion told me directly. There aren't enough within the geth faction to run a sufficient number of these ships to make a difference. Geth can't just be copied. It's weird, but cloning organic beings is actually simpler in a way. Has something to do with geth evolution that's taken place since Cortana's arrival."

A beep on Shepard's omnitool caused her to take an abrupt leave.

"Wonder what set her off?"

"Maybe your question" replied Jason. Too late, he saw the pain in Cassie's face.

[…]

Admiral Nimitz almost felt like scolding Sarah—something along the lines of "Where have you been, young lady? Get back here with that landspeeder this instant!" upon finding the Siren and her ship's missing _Punisher_ on sensors. Instead, she was just glad to have both assets back.

"I have recovered information vital to both our efforts and my continuing development as an individual" reported Sarah as she stepped onto _Ultimatum_'s hanger deck. "The cargo capacity of that ship has proven beneficial to me."

"Please tell me you brought something that will end the Flood."

"I cannot guarantee anything, but I believe much of the information stored in these Holocrons will prove useful. For example, I have been studying with the guardians of the Great Holocron, who have helped me gain greater control over my powers."

Nimitz wasn't sure what to think of that. On one hand, the destructive power of Sarah's Current Channeling wreaked awesome vengeance upon Thalia Tediore, but it was all for naught as nothing of value was learned. That said, such a raw display of the metaphysical had to be worth something, and Nimitz wasn't going to let this Siren artificially constrain herself.

"Whatever you do, focus on maximizing your abilities" intoned the Admiral. "We need every advantage possible for the coming fight."

Sarah said nothing more, keeping to herself discovery of huge RISE facilities far beyond the galactic disk. Instead, she excused herself to her spacious quarters. She could sense something in Nimitz—something she didn't like. The desperation of fighting the Flood called forth the best. Or the worst. Unfortunately for the half-Siren, it appeared the latter was the case.

Sarah laughed.

"Me, passing judgment on someone who's been on the goody-goody side for longer than I've been thawed out. Absolutely hilarious."

She reactivated the Great Holocron, seeking out Tionne Solusar again. Far from being her primary contact, Master Skywalker faded into the background as the Siren's voracious appetite for everything historical was only capable of being satisfied by an equally-knowledgeable historian.

"This wasn't part of the plan." Luke almost seemed amused during the journey back.

"Your curiosity is admirable" said Solusar. "Those who are content with only what they know often limit their views of the universe to only that which agrees with their existing beliefs."

Now, the Siren asked for insight once again, judgment on her judgment.

"I feel hatred, fear, and anger emanating from the Admiral of this ship" she began. "I question her ability to carry out the fight against the Flood effectively. She actually asked me to 'maximize my powers' which is precisely what the many Masters of this Holocron told me not to do."

Luke Skywalker appeared next to Tionne Solusar.

"Based on what we've learned about the state of this battle, her anxiety is unsurprising. When the New Republic and its successor governments faced off against the Yuuzhan Vong, we lost again and again. Our own incompetence combined with distrust of the Jedi doomed us—only the arrival of a living planet that offered to take the invaders away prevented us from using a devastating bioweapon on a massive scale."

Her door opened.

"You're back. What did you learn, and how are we going to use it to destroy the Flood?"

_Straight to the point. Typical Shepard._

"And what's that? Some kind of VI?"

Before Sarah could silence them, the two Jedi launched into explanations of both themselves and the rationale for the creation of holocrons in general.

"Weird" commented the shorter woman. "Anyway, if that has nothing to do with growing clones quickly…"

"Another clone army? Cautious, you must be!" said a small green figure Shepard did not recognize who simply materialized out of nowhere.

"The last time someone created a clone army, it was actually a Sith Lord operating right under the Jedi's noses—everyone, even Master Yoda, was fooled until it was far too late" explained Solusar. "No Force sensitivity" she continued, commenting on Sam. "And you're probably not versed in our history, either…"

"And there go the alarms" sighed Shepard. "Figures."


	97. Changing of the Guard

**Chapter 96 – Changing of the Guard**

"What now?" groused Sam as she headed to the bridge. Sarah followed unasked.

Cortana's avatar greeted them.

"Slipspace ruptures everywhere. You can guess what's coming. We may have destroyed the Flood Gravemind in this galaxy, but we did nothing about what we left behind."

Nimitz already stood in her usual spot.

"All batteries, intensify forward firepower. Most of them are off our bow, slag them!"

Red blasts filled the forward viewports. Shepard had seen fewer lights from a celebration of Sovereign's defeat at the Citadel that used thousands of pyrotechnics.

The Admiral was about to deploy her fleet to screen _Ultimatum_ when several large Reapers flashed purple and grappled on to her ship.

"Take out the grabby ones!"

Both the Star Dreadnaught's own weapons and her attendant vessels ripped into sickly-yellow starships two kilometers in length. Explosions hurled Reaper pieces and Flood biomass everywhere. A rapidly-fluctuating mass effect core detonated, causing severe damage to the forward quarter of the flagship.

"Well, there goes the superlaser" commented Shepard.

Behind her, Sarah's normally pale face went even paler.

"Clear the bridge!"

She telepathically yanked everyone within sight. This had varying effects—some were pulled clear while others slammed into intervening objects. Sam found herself still face-up, but laying on top of the Siren as a blinding flash of red enveloped where they'd been moments before. Within less than a second, blast doors slammed closed.

Sarah looked around. A few of the bridge crew had been pulled through the center door with them. She did not see the other Siren among them. Through side windows, a rather bright battle could be witnessed—Reaper red versus digistruction blue as _Shield_ tried to put its command ship's bridge back together from a crippling direct blow while _Cavalry_ crushed the renegade Reaper with a blast from its synthetic-Tibanna fueled superlaser.

Shepard pushed off the other woman.

"Admiral!"

She searched frantically, but there wasn't much to see. She turned to the Siren who was still sprawled on the deck.

"Tell me you didn't save Admiral Nimitz."

"I didn't" replied Sarah defiantly. "I pulled many people clear, but apparently Nimitz wasn't one of them."

"Well, there goes the war" fumed Sam. "I'm not fit to command a ship this size!"

"What about the Councilor? The former Admiral I brought with me when we left?"

A request from Cortana lit up Sam's omnitool since no projection systems existed outside the bridge, now sealed off. She turned on her wrist-mounted device.

"I've already inquired as to Adam Grayson's whereabouts. He and the other Councilors have been living quiet, mostly-civilian lives of late. From what little I've gathered, they spend most of their time together since nobody else can really understand what it means to run a galaxy."

Shepard almost made a comment about incompetence, but refrained. It didn't take long for the ex-Admiral to respond, which he did by arriving in person.

"Can we use the bridge, or should we retreat to the Force Coordination Center?"

Even Cortana gave him a strange look.

"The bridge of a Star Dreadnaught may afford a great view, but it is, as we just saw, very vulnerable. The Force Coordination Center is buried beneath decameters of armor plate and heavy shielding—not that the latter helps in this case. Still, it's safer than being up here!"

"If you know having flag officers up here is so dangerous, why bother?" asked Sam, wearing an expression that suggested this aspect of Trans-Galactic Republic ship design rated among the dumbest things she'd ever heard. "We've always placed command centers in the heart of the ship for that very reason."

"To be honest, Shepard, we haven't faced a threat that could slice through the shields on a vessel this size as if they don't exist. Even a superlaser on the scale the Trans-Galactic Republic wields would take multiple shots, as you saw when we used this vessel's weapon against what used to be _Revenant_. And that would have been true even without rapid digistruction-repair systems! No Star Dreadnaught has experienced a bridge shield failure since the _Revenant_ class came into service!"

Several turbolift rides later, Grayson, still wearing civilian clothes, turned to the Siren and the savior.

"We have a battle to win."

[…]

While yet another fight for survival raged outside, the women formerly known as Lady Fingers had been prying the depths of various data devices brought back by Sarah. Though they'd all dabbled in the same "dark side" powers the First Siren employed, most Jedi Holocrons judged them sufficiently redeemable and their transgressions minor enough to merit opening the fullness of archival knowledge to them given the current situation.

"It was not the Force that enabled Mitth'raw'nuruodo, known to us as Thrawn, to grow his clones so quickly. Rather, the lack of it prevents disturbances in the Force that ordinarily result from duplicating a living, sapient being" explained Luke Skywalker.

_If that was the big deal, they could have asked sooner!_

"To quickly create a clone, you must master Sever Force" he continued. "To quickly create a whole army, someone would need to exercise it on a truly staggering scale."

Drythlyn Narb sought to find Sarah immediately. Though the remaining four women could easily make use of what was now termed Battle Meditation, none were sure of their potential to utilize such a powerful ability, even to cover an area a fraction the size of a typical theatre.

The Siren in question covered half the distance with a teleport, and the rest via tram/turbolift.

Armando Bailey, as another Force user, stood off to the side. He'd never fully trusted these other "Current" wielders, and now it turned out he'd done the wrong thing by no fault of his own. He'd been directed to simply be in the clone's presence, and it had been their idea to use mind manipulation in hopes of producing a stable clone when his efforts failed. This despite suggestions from Adam Grayson that what ended up being the right answer as per Skywalker was, in fact, correct.

"So you want me to shut off the Force in a giant bubble?"

"Well, not _now_" protested Drythlyn. "Battle Meditation would be extremely helpful right now."

All five assumed seated positions.

Many decks above, Admiral Grayson and Samantha Shepard immediately felt the effect, though they weren't conscious of what it was.

"Move _Shield_ into a rapid-reaction position" ordered Grayson. "Have it use its digistructors to place physical blocks in front of the expected impact point of any jumping Reaper. We can't block a biotic-in-transit, but as you well know" (he turned to Sam) "a biotic charger has to come out of their temporary invincibility in order to complete the strike."

"Do you think the ship can react in time?"

"I have no idea Sam, but we might as well try! The things have big, obvious purple glows before they do their thing, and unless the Flood has figured out how to bend biotic charges around corners…"

"Don't say it."

"Tactical reports that critically damaged Reapers are attempting suicide runs against our ships. An impact against one of the _Clean Sweeps_ vaporized both ships, and resulting gravimetric distortions caused impairment of nearby vessels."

Grayson looked up. MSS _Tremendous Thunderhead_ went red, then blinked out of existence on the master status display. He waved it aside, allowing other operational vessels to fill in the "active" portion of his holodisplay.

In the meantime, liaison/attaché Nova walked over to deliver a report from _Farsight_.

"Mal reports the extra hundred thousand clones have increased the dreadnaught's effectiveness tremendously. However, the ship is still being swarmed."

A cylindrical holoprojector demonstrated this very fact. The large, detailed image of _Farsight_ flashed yellow and red on top of its normal blue to indicate hits and damage respectively. With over twenty thousand individual weapon emplacements, the former Atlas-then-Jakobs-now-allied vessel blasted as many approaching ships as possible. However, with many attackers blinking across space it became difficult to ensure they were unable to grapple on and land boarding parties.

"Clones are being attritioned" reported Nova flatly without emotion. "We have issued the most powerful incendiary and disruptor weapons to those on the front lines to prevent clones from falling under control of the Flood, however, it cannot be guaranteed every sister can be vaporized before she becomes infested."

Several fronts opened inside _Farsight_ which made themselves known in angry purple highlights.

"How much of that ship can be controlled remotely?" asked Grayson. "The more concentrated the remaining clones can become, the more difficult it would be for the Flood to break in."

"There are many clones who are outperforming their expected effectiveness rating. In particular, battle data for one named 'Elsa' is showing that she is doing the job of at least ten clones on her own. She has not displayed this ability previously—in fact, she was very average."

"Battle Meditation" suggested Shepard. "Some Current, or Force, thing that basically makes us fight better and our enemies fight worse."

Another destroyer-size Reaper met a fiery, safe-distance-from-the-ship end at the hand of Elsa's weapon batteries.

"Eridian pulse cannons are very effective. Direct hits leave nothing behind—total vaporization" remarked Nova.

"Tactical to command. Reapers are attempting to destroy turbolaser batteries on large areas of the ship to leave us open for assault by larger specimens at least eight kilometers in size. Some appear to be fusions of our own ships with Reaper and Flood."

"We cannot allow that" said Grayson with steely determination. "Launch fighters in automatic mode. Have them destroy anything attempting to enlarge a vulnerable area. What percentage of the ship has been opened to such attack?"

"At least 7.5%, I am sorry to say, ma'am."

"Admiral Nimitz is dead" replied Grayson. "This is Adam Grayson—I am in command now."

Like others who'd actually directly experienced the passing of the Siren-Admiral, Tactical took it without much fuss.

"Yes sir. Understood sir."

"What about _Shield_?"

A direct channel to the ship in question opened.

"We regret to inform Admiral Nimitz that we are unable to intercept more than 75% of all inbound biotic-Reaper forces. The orders now relayed would reduce that number while our drones work to repair damage to _Ultimatum_. Please confirm."

Grayson used a fleetwide frequency to announce change-of-command. Far be it to be petty, however, people needed to know. If the stakes weren't clear before, they would be now—the Flood nearly decapitated a Star Dreadnaught! On balance, this was actually a rather small thing considering previous events…

Geth, even evolved platforms similar to Legion, were even less expressive about required nomenclature alterations.

"We acknowledge the new structure. The question remains. Please provide instructions."

"Try to keep weaponless areas of _Ultimatum_ to no more than 5% of the ship in each area" instructed Grayson. "Team up with _Cavalry_ to smash Reapers before they jump if possible."

[…]

"Not Again" read HoloNet headlines.

"For years, we were led to believe that this whole mess with the Current and its Undercurrent bad side were just curiosities—leave it to the Republic Intelligence Service to tinker with and we'd not fall into the cycles of the past. Records of previous empires may be spotty, but you don't have to have a Gen'Dai's lifespan to recognize the pattern resuming itself."

Much the same was repeated by reporter after reporter both verbally and in print.

The Republic Intelligence Service, now calling itself the Council on the Establishment of the New Future, no longer bothered to hide who or what they were, turning even on the Band of Brothers. Problem was, with the Undercurrent powering many of those tasked with enforcing the will of CENF few had any reasonable shot at resisting.

"Well, that's a royal sithspawn" muttered Scarlett DeWinter as she watched events unfold from the bridge of _RedCommand_. Her own forces had avoided notice simply because neither were they tasked with fighting the Flood nor were they directly under the nose of any CENF lackey. Part of her wanted to carry on her tradition of helping those too weak to stand up for themselves despite her sometimes-ignoble profession. However, this desire to protect had to be tempered by pragmatism. Certainly thirty-six _Curators_ were a force to be reckoned with locally, but on a galactic scale it wasn't really much to holo home about. She assumed CENF fully subverted Republic Spacelane Protection by now, meaning armadas of thousands could be expected.

Never mind the appearance of more _Revenant_-type Star Dreadnaughts from who-knew-where.

"It's amazing how fast power changes hands considering how large and bureaucratic any galactic government has to be" she dictated into a journal. "It is likely that anyone hearing this will probably be doing so long after I am dead. However, I feel bound to make a full accounting of events in the possibly foolish hope that someone will not repeat the same mistake that has been made thousands of times…"

Sarcasm dripped into her voice at the last bit. Endless handoffs (or takings) of power were a hallmark of Alpha and had been for millennia. Despite the fact that most galactic governments' influence waned rapidly past about the Mid Rim, many a would-be despot were overpowered by a fierce desire to "rule the galaxy."

This situation drove the otherwise-inexplicable popularity of distant systems a week away from the capital: what could not be immediately bombarded by capital ships from orbit was often left alone so long as arms were not taken up. Some governments adopted terror tactics, but as brutal as these might have been in a galaxy of hundreds of quadrillions, the likelihood of it happening remained slim even in the days of planet-busting superweapons.

Hence, when David Vance declared "the New Future has arrived" from the front steps of the Senate building, a large portion of the population didn't notice or care.

Though most Senators were dead, the bureaucracy, as usual, remained. It was also easy to intimidate as many career civil servants were more concerned about maintaining services for the citizenry rather than who pulled the levers of power. So long as their paychecks kept coming, the lights would stay on, the streets would be cleaned, the HoloNet maintained, and hyperspace transponders updated.

"I guess some people just like having their faces all over the billboards" sighed DeWinter before closing down her holojournal.


	98. All Your Powers Combined

**Chapter 97 – All Your Powers Combined**

The battle raged around _Ultimatum._ Ships exploded, weapons fired, and Battle Meditation seemed to be the only thing keeping what remained of Admiral Adam Grayson's fleet from being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. If the Flood had been numerous before, it now became uncountable.

Sensor information relayed into the Force Coordination Center showed exactly what kind of monstrosities banged about outside.

"I'm not even going to try to guess what that is." Though Grayson had a healthy amount of confidence his warship could take on these threats, he wasn't going to give in to overconfidence. This bloated Flood _thing_ stretched longer, wider, and taller than any previously seen. So big that it even eclipsed his massive Star Dreadnaught by every measure.

The front gave the impression it had been salvaged from Trans-Galactic Republic cruisers—some kind of huge elongated head-shaped protrusion that opened wide to swallow an entire _Clean Sweep_. The whole ship gave off the same yellow-brown "mist" that anyone who fought the Flood _mano-a-mano_ knew to be spores that would infect anything they touched. A long body, reminding Grayson of common house-pests like centipedes, extended behind the starship-cruncher.

"Yep, those are Reapers" said Sam Shepard sardonically, pointing at the angled spikes poking out of the Flood ship's hull. Each "spike" was in fact the shell of a _Sovereign_-class Reaper dreadnaught, giving some idea of the insane scale of their new foe. Two rows existed on each side, one toward the top of the extended ovoid body and the other near the bottom. The ship seemed to wave about a bit, like some kind of nightmare snake as it moved through space crushing, destroying, or flat-out ignoring anything in its path.

"Assuming these sensors are accurate, that ship is twenty percent Trans-Galactic Republic, ten percent Citadel Council, twelve percent matter from this galaxy, and I have no idea what the rest of it is" finished Cortana. It was the first time anyone could recall the AI known for her smug superiority regarding all things Flood looking flummoxed on that very subject.

"We don't have too many escorts left" sighed Grayson, watching dwindling numbers on a large holographic monitor.

Even at practical ranges (thousands or more of kilometers) preventing further consumption of defending vessels, it looked hopeless. Withering fire smashed into the behemoth but did virtually nothing. Armor plating either reappeared in flashes of blue or impacts simply had no effect. Observers swore the giant ship sometimes _added_ armor to sections on top of it all. As a compounding insult, it seemed to have rapid-firing "yellow rock shooters" that rapidly ate into defensive shields, leaving ships vulnerable to boarding parties.

"_Farsight_ to _Ultimatum_, unless you have something much bigger in your torpedo tubes, I don't see how we survive this."

Tired, weary eyes took in the bow view over the Trans-Galactic Republic's mightiest vessel. The detonation of at least one Element Zero core nearby twisted the proud ship, warping superstructure and rupturing weapon batteries. A sharp eye could, even at this lower resolution, see holes leading into a tunnel running the length of the ship: its superlaser.

"Don't even bother" sighed Cortana. "Based on the rate of non-damage that thing is taking from every weapon we've thrown at it, even at full output the superlaser might make a dent if we're lucky. We could fire those missiles, assuming the controls work, but it would take us with them."

"So, retreat it is, then" concluded Grayson in a discouraged tone. "But where to this time? And we don't have a convenient teleportation device to get us out of here, do we?"

"We were very fortunate last time" came the familiar voice following the usual purple. "I did not accidentally take Flood with us when I used what is apparently called 'Force Travel' to pull myself, you, and this ship to safety."

Sarah placed the Great Holocron on a nearby surface.

"Near as we can tell" said the man she knew to be Luke Skywalker, "your use of that power was almost involuntary. Though it is normally considered a Dark Side ability—its very use breaks the laws of the universe and tears the Force asunder—it appears Sarah is only minorly worse off for it."

He spared a discussion of the Siren's actions of the recent past which, at the urging of Nimitz, almost caused the Great Holocron's Council to deny her access before deciding given circumstance and attitude that allowing her to use its secrets would be worth the risk.

"So why not do it again?"

Cortana avoided retaliatory bursts of blue Force lightning by virtue of being a hologram, though the pedestal she projected out of was less fortunate and shorted out.

"In case you didn't notice" grated Sarah, "I've done…_things_…that have drawn condemnation from almost all quarters around here. These Jedi suspect the likelihood of such incidents recurring would increase greatly if I were to use this 'Travel' power again—despite the fact that many of these events were slightly beyond my conscious control. You may have decided you don't want to kill me now, but after another warp-jump you might just decide to. And I don't think that you could."

Sarah might not have shown much of a personality around her erstwhile allies before, but an arrogant swish of her long hair combined with an arms-folded pout conveyed plenty of "personality" now—something those within the decapitated Star Dreadnaught's Force Coordination Center did not want to test.

"Make up your minds" warned Nova. "I believe _Farsight_ can e-space us out of here, but not for much longer."

"Explain" demanded Grayson.

"Energy reserves" replied Nova, her hands spread apart as if he'd asked a particularly silly question. "The drive requires an enormous amount of power to use, which isn't normally a problem except the ship is burning four times as much fuel per second as normal to fend off these Flood attacks."

"Then why are we sitting around here talking?" snapped Shepard. "Grayson, get us the hell out of here!"

"And where should we go?" he shot back, strangely calm considering the circumstances. "Your galaxy belongs to those monsters. So does this one. My home is probably besieged at best, if not totally subjugated."

"I may not be able to get you there, but I have an idea…"

Sarah rapidly recalled the coordinates from her ship's computer that she'd noted down upon stumbling into a Republic Intelligence Service operation. She had little idea how any of these machines worked, but knew how to enter information rote-regurgitation style.

She stepped back, looking for all the world as if she'd just solved an intractable problem that vexed everyone until she graciously provided a simple solution.

"Great. Did the Eridians teach you math?" asked the Admiral, trying and failing to keep sarcasm in check. "That's hundreds of millions of light-years from here! Unless you're going to hook up the kids as batteries again I think we're going to exhaust our hypermatter supplies a long time before we get there."

An urgent message came through from _Farsight_. "You have five minutes at our current rate of energy burn. If you want out, tell us where and clear us a path!"

"Path?" asked Grayson. "Why would an FTL drive need such a long realspace path cleared ahead to activate?"

"This galaxy was heavily influenced by Forerunners, Eridians, Guiding Hands, whatever the name is today" explained Cortana. "While the UNSC and Covenant advanced their understanding enough to allow immediate entry, it's likely this galaxy didn't develop technology on the same level despite there being enough relics here to keep the UNSC research division busy for centuries!"

"Too busy shooting each other" muttered Shepard.

"Cortana is correct" confirmed Nova. "_Farsight_ can open an e-space portal large enough to allow every ship to escape, but needs at least 200 kilometers clear in front of her to do it. And…"

"And what?" demanded Grayson as yet another alarm went off.

"Well, this ship doesn't have an e-space drive. That means at least two things. First, the ship may not stay in e-space on its own if it moves too far away from _Farsight_'s field. Second, without a drive, it may not transition back to normal space properly in absence of _Farsight_."

"According to information made available when _Farsight_ joined our cause, e-space is relatively similar to slipspace. At least in that the ship's velocity headed in is what pushes it through, anyway" said Cortana. "The problem is that _Farsight_ isn't exactly a rescue-and-recovery vehicle. I doubt its engines could propel both itself and _Ultimatum_."

"The bubble is also not large despite the long wind-up" continued Nova. "So we'd have to stay pretty close to you in order to make this work."

"Two minutes" warned Mal.

"I've already given orders for all ships to dock" replied Grayson. "Given the circumstances I am breaking protocol and am not going to do a full accounting of ships and personnel until we're away. Cortana?"

"Yes sir. This is what we need."

Using a different projector, she rematerialized and also manipulated holographic representations of the two ships. Essentially, _Farsight_ would have to either sit atop _Ultimatum_ with the Star Dreadnaught pushing or the reverse, which had just been dismissed as implausible. The real-time view showed the Eridian-derived dreadnaught reorienting itself to align its axes with _Ultimatum_, though as Mal proceeded to note, no such thruster-firings had been ordered.

"What's going on?" she asked, showing signs of panic.

"We lost the rest of our escorts that aren't docked" answered Grayson. "These Force users—all of them—are pulling the two ships together at the expense of Battle Meditation, so our combat effectiveness is deteriorating rapidly. As to why, I'm not sure—Sarah definitely assured us that the effects lingered…"

"Merging shields."

Engineering took their hands off their consoles as Cortana yet again did the impossible—smoothly combining Eridian-derived energy fields with Trans-Galactic Republic standard two-part (particle/ray) shields.

"Clear a path!" ordered Nova. "There are Flood ships in the way of our projection cone!"

"I may regret this…"

Grayson ordered Weapons to bring the superlaser online.

"Sir, with the damage it took from that Element Zero explosion…"

"I know the risks!" he replied irritably. "It's either that or die here, and I for one am not writing my own obituary yet!"

Due to battle damage, Sam was reminded of those "cross-section" books sold to children interested in engineering and science. One could see the tributary lasers converging into the central stream through holes in the hull. Or, she guessed, what should have been lasers, plural, was apparently laser, singular.

"Admiral…"

"Yes, yes, I know! It will still work even with only one secondary beam!"

A brilliant red lance emitted from _Ultimatum_'s bow, missing _Farsight_'s underbelly by what seemed to be mere meters (even though kilometers was more like it at this point)—before it stuttered and died. Sam was on the verge of denting another bulkhead in frustration, until whatever happened to the superlaser resolved itself, leading red energy to once again stream from the Star Dreadnaught. Any ship in the weapon's path found itself blasted from existence as the ship did what it was designed to do: utterly pulverize any opposition. Grim satisfaction crossed the faces of those present as the yellow-brown shell of a Reaper disintegrated in less than a second. A captured _Clean Sweep_ bought the farm not soon after.

A bump signified the "docking" of _Farsight_ to _Ultimatum_'s front.

"Engines, give me every bit of power you have."

A/N: For those wondering, the Flood ship's inspiration is an extinct animal first publicly reported in March 2015 called _Aegirocassis_, which actually only ate plankton. But it looked badass in images so I decided to use it as the basis for the biggest, nastiest Flood ship yet.


	99. Happiness and Hyperspace

**Chapter 98 – Happiness and Hyperspace**

"You realize, Admiral, that all this energy has to come from somewhere, right?"

Engineering couldn't find enough reserves to meet their commander's demand—not with the superlaser firing, weapons blasting, and shields alone consuming more power than some main-sequence stars.

"We're opening the portal. You have to push us in!" urged Mal.

Grayson opened his mouth to give the order to shut off the superlaser. Instead, the weapon deactivated on its own, owing to massive amounts of heat buildup and warped focusing systems that actually caused the beam to fire _through_ parts of the ship's front as opposed to flowing only in its dedicated channel.

"That seems to have solved itself. All power to the engines!"

Admittedly, all present found the situation rather odd. Fighting off monsters while wielders of a mythical energy field lashed one ship to another so both could enter a dimension where travel faster than the speed of light was permitted was not on anyone's day-planner. Still, "strange" beat "dead." Even Shepard, hardly unfamiliar with weirdness on a galactic scale, just went with it.

The thrum of over two dozen engines reverberated throughout the ship.

"I think 'misuse of the propulsion system' will probably be relatively mild as far as policy violations go" muttered Grayson to himself, recalling part of his half-humorous, half-serious briefing from KDY's architects upon taking command.

"Just because the ship has twenty-nine engines doesn't mean you use them all at once! The fourteen smaller units are meant for maneuvering only, not sustained thrust. Using them as primary propulsion will likely wreck their ion turbines, cause heat damage, and void the warranty."

"Which part?"

His cheek went unanswered as dignitaries demanded his presence elsewhere at the time.

"I don't think 'fighting extradimensional monsters' was part of the coverage either…"

"Good-news-bad-news time!"

Cortana's head appeared larger-than-life, rather than the figurine-size projection from a comm.

"Well, spit it out!"

"We're in…well…'e-space,' which is basically slipspace."

"That seems a bit abbreviated. Let me guess, everything else is bad?" asked Sam.

"Distance to where we're headed is over 300 million light-years in a straight line. At current speed, we'll arrive… Well let's just say our great-great-great grandchildren will get to take on the Flood for us."

This time, Sam's fist did meet the metal of a console. And as expected, the console gave way while her hand was no worse for the wear.

"Tali!" she barked into her omnitool.

"Yes, Shepard?"

Sam stumbled back from the console she'd just punched, landing painfully on her rear.

_Since when does Tali not need her helmet?_

"What do you think would happen if we fired up a hyperdrive in slipspace?"

Tali, Gaige, Jackie, Kevin Filner, and anyone else with even the slightest knowledge on the topic were gathered in a briefing room outside the Force Coordination Center. The quarian wore her familiar purple garb, including a face-obscuring plate.

"I'll tell you more about that later" she'd said to Sam upon arriving.

"In theory, it should work" hypothesized Tali. "We'll either break out of this strange form of slipspace or, more likely, enter an accelerated version of hyperspace."

"There's a bad part" insisted Shepard. "There's always a bad part!"

"Indeed there is" continued the quarian engineer. "Slipspace and e-space have temporal distortion issues. Hyperspace would to an extreme—except the nature of a hyperdrive prevents it from actually affecting the crew. Now, a hyperspace tunnel made inside slipspace is going to see these temporal issues become several orders of magnitude larger."

"Since when are you a hyperdrive expert?"

"Admiral, she's been studying your propulsion systems since your forces arrived in this galaxy." Shepard's old defensiveness toward her crew surfaced again—though she respected Adam Grayson as a military commander his attitude, even improved since the Reaper War, toward those his society might deem less advanced annoyed her. "You weren't in charge when we recovered survivors from my home. The quarians _made their own evacuation ships run better_."

She didn't add "Take your technological plateau theory and shove it" despite dearly wanting to. It seemed no one bothered giving the hyperdrive, a device which did not undergo major changes for millions of years, a complete rebuild.

"Anyway" interrupted Tali, "by my estimates we'll get where we're going in less than twelve hours, but the hyperdrive will overload and blow us back into real space."

A spirited discussion ensued, involving long technical terms like "alluvial damper," "Thorsen field driver," or "cyclic particle accelerator" that gave Samantha Shepard, biotic specialist, a headache. To summarize, it was deemed a "calculated risk" to up their speed from its current—such a small multiple of the lightspeed constant _c_ as to almost not be worth mentioning.

"Do you think the _Avengers_ can hang on at those speeds?"

Neither Tali nor Gaige could make any guarantees. Direct hails to the ships in question, crewed by both geth software housed within the ship itself and mobile platforms operating parts of the ship, offered no further assurance.

"We will do our best."

"Great" fumed Shepard. "On the run again, possibly losing what few warships other than this one and _Farsight_ that we have left… The latter running on a skeleton crew. Could it get any worse?"

In preparation for "hyper-slip," all viewports were ordered closed. Any that could not be saw whatever rooms were behind them evacuated as all personnel retreated deep into the ship.

"At least one thing is going right" muttered Sam as she brushed past Sarah, her followers, and Bailey. They hadn't said a word since assuming the task of keeping _Farsight_, with its e-space drive, attached to _Ultimatum_ through what from her perspective was sheer force of will. In the end, flipping on the big Star Dreadnaught's hyperdrive while simultaneously running another form of faster-than-light travel led to no immediate complications, unlike the time initial hyper-zero tests resulted in a spectacular explosion of RNS _Regal River_. Turns out reducing a ship's mass to zero, then firing up a hyperdrive intended to propel a vessel massing hundreds of millions of tons to velocities exceeding light represented a poor choice. In this case, a small bump was all that anyone aboard the Trans-Galactic Republic flagship noticed.

In Engineering, though, "sweating blaster bolts" might have been more accurate. A hyperdrive's stasis field kept everyone within temporally synchronized to realspace. Without it, crews would age into dust in very short periods of time. Such a field consumed a significant portion of any hyperdrive-equipped ship's power while at speed, and due to the orders of magnitude greater temporal stresses imposed by entering hyperspace within a dimension where time already flowed at nonstandard rates the stasis field aboard _Ultimatum_ worked in overdrive. Doubly so as it extended around _Farsight_. Keeping the ship's systems from redlining and reaching critical in a situation nobody ever anticipated provided both thrill and bone-chilling fright simultaneously—what good engineer turned away from a problem like this? Of course, any mistake would destroy both vessels, kill millions and likely end any non-RISE organized resistance against the greatest threat the Home Galaxy had seen in recent memory.

"The drive now has a fixed lifetime" warned Chief Engineer Olson. "Basically, we're only getting out of whatever we're in when the drive fails, and thanks to our quarian genius here we know exactly how fast the hyperdrive needs to be set at in order to 'drop' us back to realspace at the coordinates we were given."

In an odd twist, Tali's recommended hyperdrive setting was actually _slower_ than the normal cruising speed of 2.0 and definitely less than the theoretical maximum of 0.5 (which Admiral Nimitz had proposed but never tested).

"We're very, very fortunate" concluded Olson. "Just keep your eyes on those monitors and let myself or Tali know if there are any unusual readings."

Tali'Zorah had to force herself to pay attention to her new subordinates rather than gawking around at the engine room she found herself in. Unlike _Normandy_ or other similar craft, this vessel stretched so far that "engine room" was a bit of a misnomer—the actual engines were many kilometers back and this merely represented an interface to them. Working on the ship's propulsion in person required donning special hazard suits and crawling through ductwork (on the inside) or donning a maneuvering suit and jetting around outside. Even without the actual engines anywhere nearby, the sheer amount of information offered had her staring. Assuming they survived this, she would see about leveraging the goodwill from quarian hyperdrive improvements to get her hands on some of this technology. Though _Normandy SR-2.5_ possessed at various times a hyper-zero and slipspace drive, neither could compare simply due to scale differences, and she found herself wandering until an ensign shook her back to the present.

"How close to critical are we allowing, again?"

"Within 1.592653%" she answered.

Grayson issued a fleetwide directive: everyone, save those ensuring the "hyper-slip" remained stable, was to take leave-in-place. That is, shore leave without the "shore" part. Without imminent combat, he figured it best to sooth jangled nerves through (forced) relaxation.

"Oh c'mon Shepard, loosen up a little!" taunted Jack as she oversaw a few students (and others) playing a spirited game of biotic-enhanced water volleyball. The former Spectre sat in a chair, wearing casual clothing but no swimwear.

"You remember the Admiral's orders!" yelled Brick, yanking her datapad away and crushing it with his mechanical arm.

"Wait a minute, I…"

Too late. Jack lifted, Brick shoved, and Samantha Shepard did an involuntary headfirst dive into the deep end of the pool.

"Did you get it?"

Tali stored this in the same directory as "Reaper Problem – Remix." She played it back to a gaggle of amused students.

"Well, she didn't exactly dive gracefully" said Garrus.

"Yeah, we belly-flopped her on purpose!"

A soaked Shepard appeared, having dragged herself out of the pool.

"For once in my life, I wish those Force users were here so they could drop you from twenty meters up!"

"For once in your life, forget about the war, forget about carrying everything on your shoulders, and have some fun. You're like the goody-two-shoes version of me. Except with less destruction and more following rules…"

With that, Sam left a confused group behind.

_Fine. If I've been ordered to have fun, I'm going to do what I think is fun. If that means watching those stupid Persephone's Predators videos in my quarters by myself, then I'm going to do exactly that! Still, kind of odd that "everyone meet at the pool" meant Jack, Brick, Garrus, and maybe a quarter of the KOMBT students…_

Opening her door, she found herself covered in confetti, dazzled with bright lights, and everyone who wasn't at the pool yelling "Happy birthday!"

Sam froze. She hadn't had a birthday party since… She couldn't remember. In fact, she'd stopped paying attention to her age, necessitating some quick mental math to zing the Psychotic Biotics for poking fun at how "old" she was a while back (thirty-eight as of now, apparently). She blew out the cake's candles in one go.

_I wish for this all to be over. I want to retire and live a normal life. Assuming I can even figure out what "normal" means…_

Several hours and some inebriation (except for Sam no matter how many ryncol shots she downed) later, a large number of people were going to need to sober up.

"You have three hours to do it" warned Cortana, "before the drive overloads and throws us out of whatever we're in."

Shepard almost felt a twinge of guilt that Sarah and her similarly-empowered friends were not invited, since they had to hold the two ships together. Even some of the clones aboard _Farsight_ "attended" via hologram, singing an unexpectedly good (but sort of creepy due to them all being of the same vocal range) war ballad they'd apparently written themselves.

"…_and when the last gun falls silent, only then will we rest_."

"I never knew Jakobs worried about artistic abilities."

"They didn't."

Jackie walked up with Athena, who spoke in turn.

"It's the greatest strength and greatest weakness of clone armies—immensely superior to loaders, but also prone to annoying spates of independent thought. Hence _Farsight_'s killswitches."

"Is this it?" asked a frustrated former Spectre. "Is this the actual, honest last-last battle?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Cortana, of course.

"Even assuming we defeat the Flood—which I have confidence we will assuming the sensor readings Sarah passed to me are accurate—there's still a matter of handling the Republic Intelligence Service. But, I daresay that's small potatoes by comparison."

"What'd Sarah tell you?"

"It's a surprise."

Cortana winked, curtsied, and disappeared.

"Oh for the love of…" Sam put her head in her hands. "One hell of a birthday present: more stress! Totally needed that!"

All relevant personnel returned to the Force Coordination Center for the arrival at wherever Sarah's scouting had suggested they go. Everyone was on pins-and-needles over it.

"Now I see why Cortana kept this a secret. The fleet might mutiny if they were told our destination was set by the Siren who tried to kill us! That sort of thing doesn't just get forgiven because a few years have gone by…"

"All hands brace for hyperdrive overload in…ten seconds."

Cortana helpfully counted down over the ship's PA system after Grayson made his statement.

"…two, one…zero."

The hyperdrive's planned failure synchronized with _Farsight_ shutting down its e-space drive, hurling both ships back into realspace. Within the first few seconds, everything seemed to be perfect, until a holographic representation of _Farsight _sitting atop the Star Dreadnaught's ruined bow flew forward and out of view.

"Well, that didn't work."

Grayson knew that using _Ultimatum_'s dozen gravity-well projectors to "anchor" the ship as it came out of hyper-slip posed a risk, but he figured the Force-wielders could adapt to it. Apparently not.

Bailey's voice blasted out of the comm. "Medic!"

A rapid response force arrived to find something of a mess. Drythlyn Narb lay on the deck, bleeding profusely from pretty much any place it was possible to bleed from without actually being lacerated.

Sarah crouched over her prone body.

"She's gone."

Grayson, Shepard, and others on the command staff stood quietly, unsure of how to react. Years ago during Sarah's reign of terror, they would've cheered this news without reservation. Now it just didn't feel right.

Two identification badges clattered onto a nearby console. Only the Admiral recognized them as Coruscant Policing and Enforcement—one read "MENZEL" and the other "BELL." He picked one up and examined it, before shoving it in Sarah's face.

"Where did you get this?"

Grayson kept his tone even, but still questioning in a not-necessarily-friendly way.

Sarah sat in a nearby chair before relating the series of events which led her to both their present position and her possession of the Great Holocron. She forced herself to avoid making cutting remarks regarding her doubts over whether they believed her.

Lips pursed, brows furrowed, and the wheels of many minds worked overtime parsing the Siren's story. Finally, Sam spoke first, letting out a huge sigh as she did so.

"Okay, that's it. We're done. Or, at least I'm done anyway. If Sarah was going to kill us, deceive us, or do something else along those lines, she would have done it a long time ago. She's been nothing but helpful for over a year! Me being paranoid she's going to lightstaff me in the back isn't helping her or me, so I'm through being suspicious of her. I'm not saying everyone has to invite her to their birthdays, or that she hasn't joined us in doing things we're not proud of, but it's my opinion we at least stop acting as though she will betray us at any moment."

Shepard deliberately avoided adding "And it wouldn't matter if we knew what was coming."

Nobody could recall the tall Siren ever smiling before, even if only a little. Admiral Grayson finally saw fit to answer his communicator.

"Yes?"

"_Farsight_ has been hailing us for several minutes sir. If you observe sensor readings…"

Sam contained a small giggle. The entirety of the former Jakobs supership pointed upward away from an even larger space station. Essentially, it looked as though _Farsight_ launched off _Ultimatum_, flipped end-over-end, and then crashed into a nearby structure, embedding itself engines-first in its new perch like a child's toy stuck in a tree.

"That's…odd" conceded Grayson. "How did this happen?" He knew full well what likely caused it, but wasn't going to mention turning on the gravity wells in front of Sarah while medics covered Drythlyn with a sheet and called in service droids to mop up the blood.

"Some complication from the realspace reversion, according to Cortana. She's not sure what happened."

"Can you tell me more about these facilities we're seeing?"

His subordinate and Sarah answered simultaneously, so he shushed his comm, waiting to hear from the Siren's direct experience involving said facilities.

"These are very large digistruction docks, capable of producing warships like the one we are on now at an extreme pace. Also, you might not be aware of heat buildup warnings, but the phenomenon known as a dark star is in fact real, and powers these shipyards. It also significantly raises the temperature of nearby space."

"They say to never insist on inspecting a freighter bearing gifts…" muttered Sam.


	100. Dibs!

**A/N: **Silly site-wide 503 errors meant no update this past Tuesday, September 1, 2015.

**Chapter 99 – Dibs!**

Speaking to his team aboard an assault transport, Admiral Grayson went over the briefing once more from his Force Coordination Center.

"You're telling me these stations are full of civilian scientists with only a token guard force, they're powered by something I can't even see, and they'll crank out Star Dreadnaughts until the end of time. I have to agree with Samantha that this seems too good to be true."

"Yes, but it could also be that the Republic Intelligence Service is just so monumentally _arrogant_… Think about it!" intoned Shepard. "They built these facilities around stellar phenomena that are widely-regarded to be a myth, in a place nobody travels. It was almost sheer dumb luck that Sarah even happened to find this outpost in the first place—remember, even with all your fancy sensors, space is still pretty big."

It was not in the Admiral's nature to accept large claims sight-unseen, however, he wasn't about to complain having been dealt a straight sabacc on the first hand of the game. _Farsight_ protruded from what appeared to be an absolute monstrosity of a space station—one which had four huge digistruction bays that made the Jakobs MODDER look like a small-scale experiment by comparison. The bays were arranged in pairs, and were laid out so the length of a ship's keel ran parallel to its neighbor but the opposite direction of the ship across the station from it. It could be said the station from above resembled a giant "H."

An eager Maya let off a few blasts from the transport's ion cannons before a hail came through.

"We'll let you in! We surrender!"

"Sounds very un-RISE to me" said Sam under her breath. "Then again, if they paid a bunch of eggheads to live in deep space…"

"The UNSC did the same thing with _Infinity_ and _Eternal Protector_" explained Cortana from _Ultimatum_. "Built them far away from any prying eyes and swore everyone who lived there to secrecy. I'm pretty sure they did a better job of protecting their assets, but the idea's identical."

As their ship closed in, it struck everyone how preposterous, yet awesome, it was to see a quartet of Star Dreadnaughts slowly appearing in their bays. The station itself had to be at least 75km on its longest axis in order to accommodate _Revenant_-class vessels end-to-end. And of course, the power requirements would have been enormous, save for strange arrays protruding from the station's bottom that observers assumed were whatever this "dark star"-based energy was taken in through.

"Prepare for an ambush" warned Sarah as their craft touched down in an unoccupied but open hanger. "The scientists were pliable—even without the Force—but their guardians are much less so."

On cue, a half-dozen black-armored assailants identical to those the Siren fought off the first time appeared. She could tell—this wasn't the station she visited before, so she would use her great speed and power to surprise those who sought to inhibit the progress of her team.

Samantha Shepard, Garrus, Tali, Gaige, and Legion found their heads yanked all over the place trying to keep their eyes on Sarah. However, one of the attackers managed to break away from the general melee created by the two-meter titan and take several swings in Garrus' direction. Shepard tackled him out of the way, and she swore she could feel the heat of an angry red blade miss by centimeters even through her Helljumper armor. Swinging around she blasted away with a huge ShieldSlammer shotgun she'd pulled from her SDU.

The gun cycled, both triple-shots spent. A flash of movement caught Sam's eye—two of the greeting committee were down and out but a third locked in deadly blade-combat with Sarah. Much to Shepard's surprise, the Siren almost seemed to allow this other person to have a go at removing her arm. A split-second later, an arm did indeed drop to the deck and for a moment after that several stomachs were turned. The other arm let loose a flurry of punches that somehow opened a gigantic crack in what was assumed to be battle armor as the missing arm reappeared.

Exchanging a brief glance, both Garrus and Sam vowed to remember to ask about this, but only after the fight ended.

In the short time Sarah spent splintering armor with a bare fist, another blade would have lodged itself in her back, excepting Garrus not permitting such things to happen. Guessing (correctly) most Force-wielders were more mindful of their chests than their legs, he took one shot that crippled the attacker's right calf. Instead of stabbing Sarah, whoever it was landed with a grunt a meter short, lightsaber scraping along deck plating instead.

Tali's combat drone didn't last long against energy swords, but even a few seconds of distraction could be lethal as she let loose with an "old-fashioned" heavy repeating shotgun. No energy-infused shield-breaking rounds, just plain old nasty metal shrapnel. It wasn't called the Shredder for nothing as its twenty-four round drum magazine circled, emptying shell after shell of small but flesh-hungry razor flechettes. They were ineffective against armor but Tali wasn't aiming for bodyshots—instead she went for the head and its likely-vulnerable optics. As the second-to-last opponent clutched its face reflexively (eyepieces destroyed), she switched to a heavier cartridge.

"Goodnight, _bosh'tet_."

Anti-armor rounds needed more careful usage so they would detonate ahead of their target for maximum effect, but it took the quick-loading quarian only two seconds after changing magazines to calibrate the weapon's dispersal settings through her omnitool and let loose.

The final opponent made use of limited flight and attempted to surprise the party from above. Instead, a sickening "pop" heralded Legion's railgun-amplified Widow finishing the fight in a rather permanent way.

Sarah ripped the facemask off the soldier Tali shredded.

"Same clones that chased me in these facilities and on Coruscant. Some notorious criminal named Venus Assage the Republic Intelligence Service decided to clone and imbue with the dark side of the Force" she said with some level of disgust. "They're not so tough though."

This time, no creative methods were necessary to ascend the spire.

A balding, short scientist-looking type appeared with his hands up.

"We heard what happened at Constructor-7. Please don't kill us!"

He said this all very fast.

"You didn't hear, then" shot back Sarah. "I killed no one."

"There are seven of these things?" blurted Sam.

"We don't know" answered the scared researcher. "They kept us in the dark—said if we went along we'd never have to worry about money for the rest of our lives. The ones who said no, we never heard from again."

"Reminds me of a prank some of my classmates pulled. Got three varren and labeled them one, three, and four, let them loose inside." Sam smirked at this memory. "Thing was, sure, everyone expected there wasn't a fourth, but _you had to be sure_, so they tore the building apart and sent us home early."

"How does this work?" asked Garrus.

"From up here you just push a few buttons, and a few weeks from now, you get another _Revenant_…"

"Do you at least know how many you constructed?"

"Well, technically, it's digistructed, but yes. Twenty-seven have left this station so far. One of the bays jammed, so the twenty-eighth ship is late. Numbers twenty-nine through thirty-one have at least one week left."

"Does anyone know how many people you need to run one?" asked Sam loudly. "I mean, I'm pretty sure they're not living here, or else we would have run into them."

"Truth be told, we don't know. They just ordered us to make these facilities work!"

"Do you know who you're working for?" inquired Garrus.

"Well, no, but most of us figure it's probably the Republic Intelligence Service, what with the whole 'attempts to contact the outside world will be punished' and all."

"We're not RISE" insisted Sam firmly. "What we are is a group who wants to get rid of the Flood—without engaging in…whatever it is they were doing."

Sarah spoke up.

"When I read through records aboard what is apparently Constructor-7, it suggested a reduced crew was necessary due to 'enhanced battle computers,' but what it really meant were highly-intelligent artificial creations similar to Legion being used in place of organic crew in many places."

"Their attempts to conceal this behavior suggests that it may be unethical by certain standards" concluded Legion. "Though I cannot say precisely whether the use of…"

The Siren forcefully cut off the geth's speech. "The problem is that these constructs were created without those constraints we call ethics or morals. They were compared to assassin droids, which as noted in the file, were considered illegal and have been banned—at least on paper—for millennia."

Sam mentally noted Sarah's use of the word "we" describing those very constructs she'd dismissed previously, but said nothing in direct response. Instead, she wanted to know if this programming was already present.

"The core load and personnel load take place at the same time. The ship's intelligence is tied directly into the brain of each soldier operating it for maximum efficiency."

"That isn't creepy. That isn't creepy at all" said Tali with revulsion.

"To conclude, we have several, if not many, uncrewed, empty Star Dreadnaughts here for the taking. I call dibs."

"You can call as many dibs as you want, but unless you have some way of adding crew to operate them and several trillion liters of Tibanna gas, I don't know that it matters."

Cortana being a buzzkill, again.

"Okay, yeah, we know RISE is arrogant, but _stupid_?" countered Shepard. "They have to at least have a way to move the ships so they can be fit out…"

"Technically, one person can fly them" squeaked the scientist, "but that's it—maneuver and nothing else. Lots of slave-rigged circuits."

Grayson patched in through Cortana.

"Could these digistruction units duplicate this piece of technology?"

Over came plans for the CUBE.

"Cloning Ultimate Badass Experiment? Really?" huffed Shepard. "That's what it stands for?"

"If you want to copy this really quickly, it will significantly cut back the number you can produce at a time" explained Terek Xemo, having introduced himself rather than be "that scientist" all the time.

"What kind of reduction are we talking about here?" questioned Grayson.

"Given the scale of the item in question, combined with how large these facilities are, it's not as significant as you think. Sure, you can only use half the volume because processing power won't support that many simultaneous digistructions at full speed, but with over 3,700 cubic kilometers to work with in any one bay… Fifty percent of that is still enough for 619 billion cylinders at once."

"So if we put in orders today…"

"You'll have your cloning cylinders in seven days. I daresay you might have to wait a wee bit longer for whatever you're copying though."

"We kind of have to clear out those bays first though…" complained Sam. "You know, with the partially-finished Star Dreadnaughts already in them."

"If I may suggest—the remaining _Avengers_ would be able to make use of the material and clear each bay in less than twenty-four hours."

"Admiral, you heard Legion. What ships are left?"

Grayson held up a hand. "The following _Avengers_ neither fell off in hyper-slip nor were they destroyed during our latest retreat: _Avenger_, _Protector_, _Victory_, and _Shield_. The rest are gone."

"Well, they're about to get a whole lot bigger!" chirped Sam.

"Now we just have to hope that while we're tinkering with toys that neither the Flood nor the Republic Intelligence Service decide to come knocking."


	101. Windows Up, Pedal Down

**Chapter 100 – Windows Up, Pedal Down**

As Admiral Grayson's fleet awaited the completion of its army-building machinery, the Republic Intelligence Service under the guise of what was simply now called the Council (and its policies, "New Future") consolidated power as much as one could in a galaxy three hundred quadrillion beings. Everyone out to the Mid Rim found themselves forced to knuckle under or face the wrath of dozens of Star Dreadnaught-size vessels, which led to more than one person asking where such ships came from so quickly.

"Rest assured, the Council has everything under control" assured David Vance, now Executor within the Council. "We knew the Flood was coming, and prepared technological and political means to overcome the threat that your previous government left to fester."

Whether this was actually true (few believed it) didn't matter—since the Council _said_ it was true, it was treated as such. Recalling the glories of republics long past, Executor Vance extolled the virtues of the New Army which required very little citizen participation due to cloning technologies. Of course, it was left deliberately vague who the source material happened to be, and claims regarding Venus Assage went unanswered by the Council and were met with skepticism by many.

"We wield the power of the Current to protect you. Even now, our capable forces are fighting back against the Flood in the Mid Rim! Where once the Trans-Galactic Republic fell back, we hold the line! We advance!" bellowed a decorated Admiral of the New Navy.

"At least we're done playing semantics games with military policy" came the wry observation from Galaxy News Service. "Call a stave a stave!"

Some actively supported the removal of many high-ranking members of what used to be Spacelane Protection on the grounds that Spacelane (and Planetside) services were incompetent. Attempts to parlay members of the Band into military service failed if only because while the citizenry disliked Trans-Galactic Republic authorities, the Band's freewheeling privateering prior to the Council taking power did them no favors. Of course, other officers of the Protection services resigned on their own rather than serve "a corrupt Undercurrent magocracy."

Much to the surprise of pundits expecting many of these voices to be silenced under suspicious but impossible-to-prove circumstances, not a single member of the former Spacelane Protection group calling itself the Admiralty—mostly high-ranking ex-Spacelanes, ended up dead.

"Let them talk!" boomed Vance. "They're nothing but empty words—we bring action where they quibbled."

Indeed, parts of the Mid Rim found themselves informed that "it is now safe to move between systems" rather than remaining in fortified hamlets that were the Trans-Galactic Republic's initial response to the Flood crisis. Naboo, a popular tourist destination that managed to avoid significant infestation of abundant lifeforms calling the planet home, now accepted visitors by the cruiser-full from behind a screen of four Star Dreadnaughts. Though there were plenty of legitimate gripes about how they came about, portable Flood analyzers that contained both catalysts and sensors became quite small and very easy to obtain—they would either show someone clean, detect latent spores, or in the case the pathogen tried to hide, forcibly set it off.

The third option was only sold on variants issued to Council Army/Navy personnel.

"Interesting" said the holos, "that we, a society who mocked our neighbors for having their travel restricted to mass relay lines, are now forced to do essentially the same thing."

Massive interdiction fields beyond the size any Hyperwave Inertial Momentum Sustainer could cross ensured the dictate was followed, even by smugglers. So long as their holds were clear of Flood or those who carried it, Council Marines tended to take a cut and let them go. The outermost edges of the Mid Rim—like Bryx, Halla, or Maldrood, found themselves bereft of the bounty of ships the Council Navy deployed, so minor refugee crises abounded. Until this, citizens resigned themselves to the "fascist, but efficient" rule of the Council. That is, until holos of Council warships vaporizing inbound freighters from these outer reaches of the Mid Rim (full of civilians) without even bothering to check for Flood reached the Core.

[...]

"Looks like the Flood isn't too big into using all three dimensions of space either" commented Admiral Grayson upon finding that, for the past month, no Flood incursions against his increasingly-large battle group occurred.

"Don't forget the Star Dreadnaught screen" added Shepard.

Full inventory revealed twenty-seven Star Dreadnaughts which had not yet hypered off to their fitting coordinates (Cortana would crack that "soon"). Further examination suggested whatever had been done to these battleships cut their crew requirements drastically—down to 800,000 instead of well over a million personnel if the advanced synthetic intelligences created by RISE were used (they wouldn't be).

Athena stood with her mouth open. She hadn't really paid much attention to the goings-on after her DNA was sampled again ("To reduce the likelihood of errors," they said). Rapid digistruction left 2.4 trillion CUBEs usable (total, in one station). The power of the Force (or, in this case its absence) permitted ridiculously fast maturation rates—2 trillion clones in the course of the two subsequent weeks after the devices were finished.

"Battle Meditation can affect entire star systems" explained Bastila Shan. "I've done it. Though, I cannot say for sure whether Sever Force can be used on such a large scale…"

As it turned out, only one person needed to maintain the anti-Force field, freeing up the rest to train and generally live for the first time since the wars started. Again, this one person ended up being the strongest wielder, but she'd spent a good portion of the initial fight against the Flood meditating within _Ultimatum_, so Sarah simply changed the focus of her energies. As powerful as she was, there were eddies, abnormalities, and just plain "leaks" in her bubble—"That's a very advanced technique, one that is considered the single strongest attack a Jedi can perform."

Nomi Sunrider almost mentioned having second thoughts, but it wasn't as if Sarah's Force-severing was going to alter the equation of "If she goes bad, then what?" It did, however, have the potential to do quite a bit of _good_, so while the tanks digistructed Sarah underwent intense meditation in preparation for pushing the Force out of a huge area around the would-be cloning facility.

In the end, one out of every six clones proved useless, but it didn't matter. In their enthusiasm for raising an army, nobody bothered to figure out what, exactly, one would do with said army—being that it was big enough to take over an entire galaxy. Rapid digistruction eased housing shortages, bloating out Star Dreadnaught drydocks to three times their original size in order to accommodate the galaxy's biggest barracks. All ships were fully crewed, observation of which led to Athena's slack-jawed expression.

"A larger army, the Republic could not muster" said Yoda's projection. "Truly terrifying, this is."

"If the Flood could feel fear, I'd be glad to hear this." asked Grayson. "We're just contesting space right now."

"We can't contest anything" harrumphed Cortana. "Not with these computer systems. I'll leave it to the actual programmers, but the software you are running is woefully inadequate to maintain records on this many soldiers!"

"We're not using _all_ these digistructors, are we?"

"No, Admiral, we are not."

"Get that scientist back up here. Ask him if we can borrow a computer core…"

Another battalion marched by. The bays formerly used to build Star Dreadnaughts on Constructor-2 were now jammed with CUBEs and clones moving about below, all exact copies of the Prime Clone, herself an amalgamation many predecessors.

"I guess we could study genetic memory now—see whether it really exists or if Athena is a coincidence" mused Garrus.

"Or we could destroy the Flood."

The Chief, short on words as always.

Grayson rolled his eyes and slammed a fist into his console.

"Really? We're getting held up by _provisioning delays_?"

"You just summoned an entire army in a month" said Brick loudly. "If this is the worst of our problems…"

"No, the worst of our problems would be if this army were turned on us" snapped Jack. "Did anyone bother to make sure that can't happen?"

"Duh." Now Cortana's digital eyeballs moved about. "We integrated self-destruct mechanisms into every clone courtesy of Jakobs. Besides, for now, as the Admiral mentioned, we're going to be fighting in space."

Now tasked with smaller vessels, the quartet of Star Dreadnaught digistructors at this location cranked out new ships classified as _Legionis Minerva_. In truth, these were hastily-redesigned _Curator_ Mk-IIs with their weapon loadout drastically reduced, heavy armor shorn, and most interior space dedicated to housing soldiers. Despite the vast amount of storage space available on a Star Dreadnaught, it wasn't as if every command ship carried blueprints for the entirety of Spacelane Protection's arsenal onboard. Consequently, designers had to make due with incomplete scans from Citadel species, Cortana's analysis of these scans, and any other scraps of related information that could be found.

Thankfully, when it came time to design an assault craft to ferry troops, engineers had it easy. The _Fireant_ blastboat could readily be gutted of most of its heavy weaponry while maintaining its legendary durability. It was half-jokingly suggested the ship be named "Workerant" as a result, which somehow stuck despite being both boring and "non-badass" (as Brick put it).

"We need nineteen _million_ of these _Minerva_ troopships?" complained Grayson. "That's going to keep us tied down here for…" He rapidly did some math. Approximately three cubic kilometers per _Minerva_, 3,700 cubic kilometers per bay, twelve bays. Result: 3,699 ships. Such small ships could be produced far more quickly, but borrowing one of the digistructor's computer cores to manage soldiers left only three with enough computational power to do anything of use. Still, even if that many could be produced per day it would require over 5,000 days of continuous production in order to have their army ready to go.

"We could try to find more of these things" suggested Sam.

"And how would you do that?" asked Athena incredulously. "Weren't we just talking about how big space is?"

"We have a map."

Cortana displayed information she'd finished decrypting laying out the locations of other extra-galactic construction facilities in addition to the "kit-out" places discussed previously. Fifty-four constructors existed in all, and they were spread out in groups of two to five semi-randomly far above the galactic disk. They all fed into sixteen outfitting stations grouped in bunches of four. These were far closer to, but still decently above, the Home Galaxy.

"Someone thought in three dimensions for once" smirked Shepard.

"Well, it worked" said Admiral Grayson, "at least inasmuch as nothing bothered us. Still, I'm surprised since the group we took is far closer to the galactic plane than the others…"

[…]

Constructor Cluster 7 consisted of five yards, the largest configuration. Technically, constructors could produce parts for more constructors, but unlike everything built inside they had to be assembled manually. With the number of already-available facilities, nobody in the New Navy saw any reason to push for more since a barrage of Star Dreadnaughts (by some counts almost a hundred now) were ready and operating. That left these difficult-to-find yards with little protection.

Both clone soldiers and civilians found themselves awoken by the blare of contact alarms.

"Must be another drill" murmured most of the eggheads as they rolled over, clenched pillows over heads and tried to ignore the racket.

The Assage duplicates felt no such compunction to remain in their bunks.

"Go, go, go!"

More than one ended up on the wrong end of the base commander's lightsaber for being slow at drills, so each was treated as if the "Jedi" of legend were attacking. Said officer, "Valla," had to admit (to herself) that the force now facing them far exceeded anything anyone had been trained for.

She did not hesitate to dole out death for personal failure, though she did refrain from punishing people merely for relaying bad news in which they had no direct hand. For instance, Sensors quaked in fear when asked to repeat how many contacts were on scope.

"Over three thousand, ma'am."

"You're absolutely sure this isn't some kind of sensor reflection, trick, or…"

Seeing the displays for herself, Valla stopped her line of questioning. Not only were dozens upon dozens of sensor images very much like _Curator_ Star Destroyers, but four(!) Star Dreadnaughts hovered behind a massive screen of smaller vessels.

Admiral Grayson opted to let Samantha Shepard do the talking, in the hope she could reason with what the Great Holocron's keepers called "minions of power-mad tyrants drunk on the Dark Side."

"Look, I don't know who you are or what you want. I can guess who your masters are, as if that's supposed to make me scared. That won't work. What it will do is cause me to apply this very large fleet we acquired in two months of running your own hardware combined with a few secrets of our own in ways that will not end well for you. You can either surrender and let us have these construction facilities to head off an even worse fate, in which case you walk away unscathed, or I will personally disembowel every single one of you."

She shut off the comm.

Valla could sense no Current capabilities within this "Samantha," but even without them three thousand ships and their troops would most certainly win if only by attrition. Of course, this train of thought represented a _logical_ conclusion. The hardwired loyalty every Venus Assage clone possessed to RISE, the Council, and Humanity Over All left no room for such things when there were fights to be had in the name of the New Future.

"Here comes the lightshow" said Nova eagerly as every assault ship's computer linked through _Farsight _using a core taken from one of the Constructors. It was decided not to place every item of strategic importance aboard _Ultimatum_ for safety reasons; besides, coordination of the clones was best left to the clones themselves rather than having Grayson or his underlings do it.

Though each _Legionis Minerva_ mounted only a token array of synthetic-Tibanna turbolasers (two dozen), the heavy ion cannons flanking each ship's bridge were retained and increased in number from four to six. The persistence of triangular warships had a solid rationale—such vessels could unload all guns forward assuming proper mounting. Tellingly, each _Minerva_ unleashed the full power of its ion cannons, leaving Constructors 54, 12, 27, 45, and 32 with greatly reduced defenses.

"If they thought having Constructor numbers not match the expected location would confuse people, I guess it would work" mused Garrus, "except that we have a complete map."

It wasn't that the Constructors didn't try to fight back—any space station larger than some small asteroids generally had weapons. However, a few hundred turbolasers against enough ion cannons to fry a planet never ended well. Lest Shepard &amp; Co. think they would get off easy, they had another thing coming: fighters poured out of hanger bays to swarm incoming Workerants.

"I almost feel bad."

Sam stood on the bridge of the invisible _Normandy SR-2.5_ as it roared in cloaked. Workerants exploded left and right at a rate of 2-3 per second (that Sam could see) from sheer volume of incoming fire that melted even their stout armor. Joker jinxed _Normandy_ left to avoid a cluster of clones thrown from such a carrier craft. Some would survive, since all wore sealed gear, but in the chaos of battle thousands would die of oxygen deprivation before any direct combat between soldiers even started.

"_Clones are expendable. Clones are expendable_" chanted Shepard to herself, a marked departure from her usual of trying to save every life. "Even Athena herself accepts this. You need to accept it too!"

If this were atmospheric, flak detonations would've deafened everyone. Apparently the Republic Intelligence Service had backup defenses that weren't nearly so reliant on electronics as muzzle flashes from powder-propelled guns lit up like so many twinkling stars. A burst caused _Normandy_ to lose part of her cloak momentarily, though no further direct strikes occurred.

"Based on the poor performance of armor against incoming fire so far, I estimate our enemy is utilizing explosive flechette charges which these vessels were not designed to withstand."

Sam watched a relatively distant Workerant explode as Legion finished speaking.

Ultimately, casualties turned out lower than anyone watching the fireworks expected—9% (measured in ships destroyed).

"Quantity has a quality all its own" was the first maxim of what Grayson called "the new Grand Army of the Republic," the other being "An army of one, but the right one for the job!" Groups of clones boarded through normal entry-exit points such as hangers, but some went spaceborne, slicing into parts of the station with specialized equipment. Sure, it meant holes to patch up later, but correctly assuming Constructors followed a general design pattern enabled damage to inhabited areas to be limited. The biggest question revolved around whether defenders would split since their own Force-sensitive clones were easily more than a match for squads of non-Force-wielders or bunch up and hope invaders gave up trying to cut a very tough knot. The answer ended up being both.

Sam never heard the agonizing cries of clones being choked, electrocuted, crushed, stabbed, or simply punched until they died. Though they wielded immense power, the poorly-trained mass-produced copies of Venus Assage (whose mastery of the Force would not stand up to a properly-trained Jedi or competent Sith of the past) tired from simple attrition. That didn't help the similarly mass-produced (but well-trained) copies of Athena who faced an enemy far beyond ordinary soldiers. Still, their weight pressed defenders of Constructor-54 back until they were contained within a small nucleus. Such a setup led to deadlock—not enough Assage to push out, but their Athena opponents lacked the sheer power to completely close the trap.

Shepard avoided the mega-squads of missions past, sending Garrus with one group and leaving other personnel assignments up to Admiral Grayson. Before shipping out, she commed Steven Hackett, whose fair-handed dealings earned him the difficult task of managing civilian refugees who'd escaped the Citadel Rout before being picked up by Trans-Galactic Republic rescuers following a combination of luck and heroics from a quarian named Kael'Shiro vas Honorata.

"I'll say it again, you've done a hell of a thing, Shepard."

"In more ways than one" she replied, standing to leave after only a few minutes of conversation. "I can't really forgive myself for my past, but there's no point in dwelling on it either. I'll just be the best person I can and count on others to help me stay on that thin bright line—like everyone else in this ball of misfits."

She found herself consciously selecting Sarah the Siren as her group's resident Force-user; while Sam definitely had far more personal respect for Armando Bailey if the chips came down she would prefer raw power over the ability to shoot the breeze over synthol. Though the Siren had no knowledge of schoolyard activities, Sam felt like the team captain choosing a kid who always got picked last, first. Sarah almost seemed happy, or at least that is what it looked like to Shepard. She winced as Cortana described exactly what had not been transmitted over her comm.

"Yet again, I find myself only progressing by walking on a path covered in other people's blood. Seems pretty normal."

"That this bothers you is what tells me you're still sane, and not a combat sadomasochist or bloodthirsty thrillseeker. It is also why, no matter what Caitlin Flanders says, you're still cleared for combat."

Sam gasped.

"She actually tried to revoke my clearance?"

"No, but a little jaunt into her personal files revealed she has in fact filled out the forms, with meticulous levels of documentation, that would request exactly that."

As Shepard departed, Cortana reflected this might not have been the best time to let this piece of information out.


	102. For the Win

**Chapter 101 – For the Win**

"The phrase, I believe, is 'curb-stomp'" explained Sam to Garrus, who had not yet heard this particular human-ism yet. "It means that one side has no hope of winning."

"Well, for once that side isn't ours" replied the turian.

With Cortana's map and huge digistruction facilities originally built by the Republic Intelligence Service using technology imported from a galaxy so impoverished that "we have no idea how they came up with this," bringing the remaining stations into the fold became trivial. For all its power at home, neither the Council nor its New Military considered the notion of anyone finding their deep-space installations. Or, perhaps, finding them and also having enough soldiers to climb over RISE defenses using a pile of their own troops' dead bodies, anyway.

Constructor Group 2 fell to swarming _Legionis Minerva_ combined with a triple-threat from _Ultimatum_, _Pisinoe_, and _Molpe_. The _Minervas' _shields flared like lightshows until ion fire from their own massive guns combined with Star Dreadnaught support disabled the stations' energy weapons. Workerants fell rapidly to projectile-based point-defense, but there were simply so many that it didn't matter.

Observing this, Sam wryly commented it seemed odd to be using the same tactics employed by the Reapers and later Flood—simply _having more attackers than your opponent could possibly shoot down_. The clones, having learned from the first engagement, endured slightly lower casualties this time around. A version combining DNA from the captured RISE clone commander Valla would produce a new, sturdier warrior for use in later battles—one that could don far tougher armor infused with anti-lightsaber microweave in addition to hefting bigger weapons.

Second Lieutenant Maya finally got her wish for a full combat deployment. Under the watchful but mostly non-interfering eyes of Jeff "Joker" Moreau, she ran support in a heavily-armed _Punisher_ fighter. As he sent her on her way, Admiral Grayson said "I do agree with Nimitz on one thing—to hell with whatever RISE thinks about us using these ships!" Between vicious strafing runs, she unleashed a seemingly-unending supply of proton torpedoes made possible by experimental miniature digistruction plants. Sure, that drained a huge amount of power, but it wasn't any more demanding than a cloaking device that was optional and not installed (the reactor was still sized to handle it).

Ultimately, two digistruction plants were lost due to such high numbers of casualties even Grayson backed off. Final tallies showed more than twenty billion clones (in excess of 1% of the whole army) lost to flak cannons, boarding actions, and other associated violence related to capturing enemy-held stations.

Samantha Shepard, newly-minted (under protest) commander of _Star Shepherd_, sat in her overly-spacious quarters, head buried in her hands. This was precisely what she and virtually everyone else had berated Sarah for. They'd stood in smug judgment, as if none of their hands would ever be quite so bloody. Instead, here she was in a space meant for an Admiral, having sent tens of millions to their certain deaths even as Sam herself saw as much combat as any clone who ended up surviving. For a split second, she wished the ultra-high-pressure dark fuel reactor would just pop like a balloon (liquefied dark star mass was even more dangerous than hypermatter) and give her leave of this place.

Purple entered her vision.

_Of course she can teleport around now. These are cookie-cutter dreadnaughts! As funny as that is to think…_

A dark chuckle emanated from her. Now, ships her society had been in awe of almost a decade ago were so common as to be unremarkable—over one hundred completed. The fleet cruised toward an inevitable collision with the Flood in her home galaxy, hyperdrives set to "economy" mode to keep stress on reactors down and conserve fuel.

"I suppose you're here to gloat" snapped Sam, giving up on the mask of calm she'd been wearing for so long. "Your crusades killed hundreds of millions in months—we sent _billions_ to die in a week."

"Even Athena understands this. These clones were bred for a single purpose—to take whatever orders we gave them. Their loyalty is unquestioning, their will to die for the cause as integral to their DNA as the genetic memory that carries the combat skills of Athena herself."

Now Shepard couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. She, the woman forced into the role of therapist for how many people with issues being soothed by someone with the chronological emotional experience of a teenager at _best_.

"I'm sure you're probably using that Current, or Force, or whatever so I don't run around screaming…"

She hated to admit it, but as soon as the purple appeared, her unspoken desire for a fiery end had ebbed quite a bit.

"You are angry that this is happening, and as much as you say otherwise you still resent that I or even Jackie—who is quite harmless by comparison—might have had anything to do with all of this."

"What am I, Sarah?" she snarled. "A hero? I survived Akuze because I hid! Sovereign fell to dumb luck! The whole team I assembled for the Omega mission was massaged and rigged from the start! And who knows what else has been done for me that I haven't known!"

The Siren opened her mouth to speak, but like many she got bowled over: once Samantha Elizabeth Shepard got on a tear she wasn't going to stop.

"Every time, we got knocked back. Against the Flood, against RISE, against _you_… We get just close enough to think we're going to win, only to see it all slip away over and over. Yet somehow, everyone keeps thinking I will personally fix it when I can't even tell what I actually deserve credit for anymore. And I can definitely" (her voice rose) "call Cortana a smug, secret-keeping, manipulative bitch for the _Nova Vita_ crap too! She could have just told us!"

"Have you read the history of your planet lately?" asked Sarah quietly.

"What the fuck would I do that for? And why would you care?" Sam's words grew less coherent; her words now fit somewhere between shouting and sobbing.

"The conflict your ancient historians called the 'Second World War' was fought over six years. Would you not agree its outcome was ultimately worth the time it took to reach its conclusion?"

Sam caught her breath long enough to do some fast math. The Reapers showed up six years ago, the "Siren War" had been a bloody but brief interlude, and then the Flood arrived.

"If you haven't noticed" she hissed, "we're nowhere near the Invasion of Normandy. Right now, this is the Battle of the Bulge."

[…]

Were Admiral Adam Archibald Grayson present, he might have disputed this notion. Having used a pedal-to-the-metal construction method combined with dangerously-fast cloning only made possible by holding the Force in abeyance, he now commanded a force so large it would quite literally blot out parts of space as it moved. In slightly more than a month, what he and everyone else fervently hoped would be the final conflict was set to occur as his forces crashed into whatever Gamma-Six became. Given the constantly-evolving, always-bigger Flood vessels they'd been fighting, he almost didn't want to know what waited there.

"It doesn't matter if the Trans-Galactic Republic or Spacelane Protection approves of what I do. This is about the survival of every society in the known universe!" he dictated into his Admiral's Log. "No man or woman has led such a force in all of known history. But never have we faced an enemy such as this. They will advance until our last galaxy falls, but we will not let that happen. We will fight in space, we will fight on planets, we will fight until every last one of us is dead, or every last abominable spore has been burned!"

Grayson tapped eager military-types who used to serve in the Systems Alliance, Union, Hierarchy, and other navies that he'd rescued after the disaster at the Citadel. He'd even placed Admiral Steven Hackett in command of a whole task group (including _Star Shepherd_) with his flag planted on _Vindicta Terrae_. In groups of six, Star Dreadnaughts tended to masses of troopships, transports, and smaller attack craft. The sole unique vessel remained the clone-run, clone-commanded _Farsight_. Attached to a hyperdrive sled to avoid the complications of "hyperspace in slipspace" ("Eliminate as many unnecessary complications as possible!" thundered Grayson at the suggestion), the ship remained in formation with her own task group centered around _Ultimatum_. Hyperdrive might be slower, but it guaranteed ships would revert in the same place holding identical to the formation they had upon entering with no temporal distortions.

A small debate broke out over whether, assuming victory, the fleet should regroup or immediately head on to stellar neighbor Gamma-Three (then perhaps check up on other members of that cluster). Grayson dismissed it as "putting the speeder before the repulsor."

"Only when the last turbolaser falls silent should we plan for peace."

**A/N:** There is a complete sequel that will be published in fifteen short (~2k words/chapter) installments. That will be the end of what I never imagined would grow into such a large project.

I toyed with episodic/TV-like continuations focused on the rebuilding of the three galaxies as a trio of stories, but I just couldn't find the motivation to do it.


End file.
